The Bride

pant cuffs wet from an extended walk through the cold slush, the odor of struggle and hard times emanated from His person. perhaps, if perceiving

correctly, this was the type of persona that made you want to secure your things close to your own person. a stranger, i had seen Him only a few times before.

now He  occupied the pew furthest from the candle that glows for Your Holy Presence, slightly hunched over in the warmth of the church. He stood, He

sat, and He kneeled to Your Holy Cadence but when it came time to receive You, He remained kneeling seemingly on pained knees while the rest of us walked

toward the altar. when the Friday celebration concluded we collected our coats and our keys and started for the door when suddenly He yelled “aren’t you

going to stay for the Stations of the Cross?”, looking directly at us. not recognizing the Bride, consumed with our own plans, i replied “no” and the priest,

sensing our discomfort, replied “oh yes, the Stations of the Cross, but not tonight.” and we went on our way. as we pulled out of the parking lot i saw the Bride walking

alone in the cold, shoulders slumped over and my heart ached for missing the cue to spend a few more minutes with Him. and so went the Bride, the Bride of Christ.

Gary Edward Geraci