Pascha Reflections of an 11 Year Old (Now 58)

By Dan Abraham

Each of us brings into the Lenten and Paschal season our humanity then hope and pray we emerge with heightened spirituality. For me, each year is a journey into my pre-teen and teen years when I learned the way of the Lord. It was not intellectual learning, but the beginning of a journey that continues today. Remembering when and how it began gives me hope for tomorrow.

I grew up in a household where fasting was an important part of our family life. I probably didn't fully understand its meaning, but I abstained as my dad did and ate only what my dad consumed. Making it from beginning to the end was a challenge for an 11 year old, but also a source of humble pride when I succeeded.

Palm Sunday has special meaning because it was my first day as an Altar Boy at the young age of 6. I remember my white Altar Boy robe made especially for me by the ladies of the church (our moms). I still remind the ladies who made our robes that I still remember.

When I was old enough that my parents let me attend evening services, it was almost like a rite of adulthood at that time. I had the good fortune of living 5 blocks from church. I walked or rode my bike each evening often arriving before my Priest. I waited anxiously on the steps. It was time to prepare the church - him and me.

Later in life Holy Thursday morning was precious. It seemed that the women of the church were always there. It was special to be with them. Now one is no longer with us, but her memory will certainly live on. I was the one who got to do all the reading and she always told me what a good job I did.

Thursday evening is probably most memorable. My Priest was tall, thin, and with white flowing hair. When he carried the cross during the procession, it seemed to a young Altar Boy of 11 that it was Christ himself with us.

It was time for the Paschal midnight service when we chanted, "Christ is Risen!" Maybe at 11 I didn't fully understand its meaning, but I knew at 12:01 my fasting was over and I could have my Hershey kiss.

Now 47 years later I know my weaknesses and my sinfulness, but instead of my Hershey Kiss, I feel the hand of God reaching down for mine telling each of us that in all our human shortcomings, He still loves us.