Passion Week began with preparation in our hearts. Not unlike the signs of this season it carried itself along with the traditions that make our celebration of His Crucifixion, Death, Burial and Resurrection meaningful for us.
Hot Cross Buns for Good Friday Tea, a table set in the sun room for 3:00 p.m., the ninth hour.
Most of the day Saturday I was preparing foods in the kitchen. I could not refrain from thinking about the disciples and how they must have felt on this day after knowing their Lord was arrested, condemned and crucified:
scared
disconsolate,
angry,
hopeless perhaps?
I pondered the significance of the foods I prepared for our feast to be served on Easter Sunday:
the red bloodied meat of the lamb as I unwrapped its covering,
with the trimming of its fat,
placed in a buttermilk marinade with garlic and rosemary.
Leeks and fennel sauteed in butter, to be added to the potatoes.
Promises made and fulfilled.
Once slaves, but now free.
Cloth napkins of pink linen ironed for our Easter table.
Sweet cookie dough rolled and shaped into crosses, butterflies and sheep. The white frosting colored with drops of red, pink and yellow. Pale pink sugar sprinkled.
Easter Morn will dawn.
