Circumstances enabled me to attend Stations at St. Greg's in Hamilton Square tonight. My parish was doing a "parent & child" version that tries my patience ... too much. Another one of Mike's "let's break with tradition" traditions.

I walked in during the First Station. No big deal. It's low-key. I had my booklet already in hand, according to Fr. Liguori's version. Not my favorite version, as I mentioned on another blog, but nothing too out of the ordinary. There can be comfort in the old, familiar standards.

One young guy hadn't grabbed a booklet on his way in, so he was looking lost and confused and ended up leaving early. Another family didn't know the melody to Stabat Mater, so they were largely silent. I do know the melody, even the tricky parts where the English words don't quite fit. I wish I didn't know it, because I sing so bad. I imagine those around me also wish I didn't know it.

Things wrapped up on the hour and the church bells sounded and chimed 8 o'clock as everyone dispersed to the parking lot.

Church bells: reminders of the call to prayer, the passage of time. Tonight I became acutely aware of their solemn tolling for me.

"Teach us to count our days aright" - Ps. 90:12