Today we celebrate the Ascension of Jesus into Heaven.
The young priest at St. Paul’s is wearing long white vestments trimmed with gold.
He says Jesus is the greatest priest of all time,
and he can hardly wait until June 19th, when by Vatican decree,
the Year of the Priest begins.
“If a priest is holy,” Father says, “the chances of his parish being holy go way up.
If a priest isn’t holy, the chances of his parish being holy go way down.”
I could argue with that, but I am thinking other thoughts.
I am thinking about Earth’s imminent ascension.
As Earth moves into a higher dimension and our vibrations rise,
my friend Vicki feels the need to email me and say goodbye.
Suddenly I am left without her psychic hunches and her astrology,
and I have to struggle to remember all that she taught me.
I guess I feel alone.
I wonder if Father feels alone.
He must be lonely,
in this diocese where he is young
and other priests are older and retiring.
When he attends the annual Priests’ Assembly,
and he belongs to the Society of–well, it’s one of those new orders
that weren’t around thirty years ago–when he belongs to this Society
and they are just diocesan priests,
does he feel like little David
in the company of giants?
Or has he found among them father figures and a fovorite confessor?
I can hardly wait until the Earth ascends.
Now, because Vickie’s gone
I’m suddenly taking seriously a calling to be lightworker.
Suddenly it’s time to get up off my lightworker butt.
Jesus ascended, and poof! He was gone.
I know how those apostles felt.