It’s a dark raining Good Friday. But, that is what how it always is on Good Friday. Isn’t it? That thought took me back to childhood memory of standing on the stairs outside Holy Name Cathedral in Chicago. Our junior high school choir group of about twenty girls and three boys was invited to sing during Good Friday ceremonies. That was about 60 years ago and back then we sang in both English and Latin and most of us actually understood the Latin.
As our music instructor, Sister Somebody, I don’t remember her name, gathered us in a group before entering the Cathedral, it started to rain. No big deal, because we expected it. It was Good Friday. As a child my perspective of the world was rather parochial. When it was raining on us, we never gave it a second thought that it wasn’t raining on everyone. I certainly wasn’t alone on this belief.