Ten Days in April

Disclaimer

When I am a student, I use up my words. I write papers. I talk in discussion groups. I am continually reading, even on the bus and when walking to friends' houses. It has been hard to find the time and mental space to post entries in this blog. But even harder is finding words.

Good Friday

Classes had just ended. I rewarded myself by sleeping in, and then I headed downtown to the Catholic cathedral for stations of the cross. For my Biblical exegesis class, I was working on a paper about Jesus' baptism in Luke 3, and therefore my mind was on the beginning of the gospels, and not the climax, not the cross.

The cathedral is in the part of downtown that slips into the east side. After travelling Europe, I feel I am using the word cathedral loosely. But then I imagine myself a poor Canadian immigrant wanting to build something to the glory of God, and am then amazed by the beauty of it all. I came up the grey steps and was ambushed by a reporter.

My eyes danced wildly. Microphone. Camera. Guy in a suit sticking microphone in my face. Oh no! I'm not wearing make up. I'm not wearing earrings. "What does Good Friday mean to you?" "Um." All I can think about is baptism. "Why can't you eat meat on Good Friday?" "Um, I'm not Catholic. I'm Lutheran." Are Lutherans not supposed to eat meat? I escape and join the devout nestled inside. Surely my interview will hit the cutting room floor. I felt so fragmented that I assumed it came across fragmented as well.

I love the people. Faces of every color and age and class. As we kneel to pray, the creaking of old knees is hidden by the creaking of the kneelers. We relive Christ's walk to Golgotha, his death, and burial. I look up, remembering that Jesus referred to his suffering as a baptism to be endured. A shaft of light comes through a high window, shining like heaven on the mottled body of Christ kneeling and mumbling prayers in faith. We all know the story. Jesus doesn't stay dead.

Easter Sunday

Joy. Whenever I am far from family, God provides me with new family in times of celebration. Twenty-some of us gathered to feast on lamb and sweets and wine and each other's company. I bring my first-ever apple pies like a kind of offering. My heart overflows with love. He is risen. He is risen indeed. Because of him we live. And Easter Sunday, we live it up.

Monday to Wednesday

Argh. Exam week. Two exams and a paper. There are two places I can be found: the library or holed up in my house like a mole who never sees the light of day. To lighten my mood, I wear my Old Navy cowboy hat on Tuesday. This however, always makes me paranoid. I meet people and assure them I am not actually a cowgirl. I just like to dress up. An obese homeless man pushing a shopping cart smiles, and compliments me on my hat. After I say thank you, he asks, "Are you from Calgary?"

Thursday

The Greek test over, I sat down in earnest to finish that paper on Jesus' baptism. About half way through, I stopped and headed downtown to support my friend at her graduation.

My friend has just completed a program in conjunction with a university so my friend Katie and I want to support her by going to the party. The project she was involved in is called, "The History of Sex Work in Vancouver". Provocative title. It was a provocative night. Our friend has a big heart, always feeding people, but has a strength of character, being the only one in the program to not see sex work in a positive light. We are very proud of her and the paper she wrote, and she was glad we were there, and introduced us to a lot of people.

We met current sex workers, a police liaison officer, transvestites, important people from universities, workers from downtown programs, among others. It was a different crowd from the one I'd spent Easter with, but as I looked around this room, my heart filled up with love again. When Jesus walked among us on earth, he hung out with "disreputable" people, and I think he would have been comfortable in that room.

Before Katie and I could head home, what we thought was going to be a can can line or some kind of dance turned up to be a burlesque striptease. I was pretty uncomfortable, and really hoped I was the only one taking a break from that paper on Jesus by seeing a show like this.

Friday

I handed in the paper. Then I slept.

Sunday

One of my Sarah friends (Rinaldi) and I put on our running gear and attached chips to our shoes and joined the throng lined up on Georgia St. It was time for the Sun Run, a 10 kilometer run around Vancouver, and the largest race of its kind in Canada. This year, there were over 54 000 people. Sarah and I had doubted ourselves and signed up for a slower time than we should have. This resulted in us continually passing people, which made me feel like I was fast. I have never been and never shall be fast, so I enjoyed this feeling immensely. Coming over Camie Bridge, we began to sprint our way to the finish line. My progress was impeded by the narrowing area as we ran down the off ramp combined with the runner pushing a wheel chair.

When it was all said and done, we finished in 52:56, both scoring the exact same time and finishing in the top third of the racers. Now half-marathon training begins.

Postscript: Monday

My mom emailed to say a family friend had seen me on Vancouver TV. I got excited, thinking it was the recently ran Sun Run. Um, no.

My interview didn't make it to the cutting room floor after all. Yikes.