in preparation for the ordinations tomorrow, a meditation on the altar's honor canopy, which has a habit of calling me to contrition.
On the Pomodoro Corona and Crucifix
The altar of God:
square, as the heavenly Jerusalem is square;
erected over the relics of the saints of God;
the center of the Church;
the center of life.
Stone, permanent, not to be moved.
Above it, a corona,
"a form of honor canopy suspended from the ceiling, without pillars."
And, in this case, truly a corona, a crown.
A crown of thorns to acknowledge our King,
our crucified Lord and Redeemer.
I look up and see
those golden nails that hold Him fast
as He gives His very spirit to His Father.
"Into Your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit."
It flies away like a dove.
And those thorns, first meant for degradation,
yet becoming glory;
for He is the King, the Lord.
On the cross, and on the altar.
In the tabernacle, and in our own hearts.