whenever my boyfriend, john, leaves the house, my dog, music, is bereft. music loves john in a way that i never will. i often say that music is actually john's girlfriend, and that i am the nice lady john has to spend time with so that he can be with music. if i were going to describe this using a ratio, like i did in high school math, i would say that john is to music as jesus is to me. he is her god. when he goes out the door, even for a carton of milk around the corner for 5 minutes, she is deflated.
today, when i got to church, i saw the altar stripped, the eucharist that was consecrated last night was on our side chapel altar. i sat for an hour of "adoration" although i'm not a transubstantialist. as i sat there, thinking of jesus dying, i thought of music and how she seems to feel when her god has left. she always gets this really sad-dog/confused-dog look on her face which causes me to say out loud to her, "where did that nice man go? i love him." so i prayed to god today, "where did that nice man go? i love him."
when my mother was alive, she was in the habit of leaving the house and telling music, who always expected to come with us wherever we were going, "i'm sorry, we're going where doggies can't go." when she died, i thought, she went where doggies and daughters can't go. so, in answer to my own question of "where did that nice man go?" i answered myself, "he went where doggies can't go." (of course, all good dogs do indeed go to heaven.).
it sounds silly, and it is silly, but it's not irreverent. it's making extremely personal, a concept that i find difficult at best to understand. an event that took place 2K years ago, in a land far away, to a person i have heard about all my life but still struggle to get to know.
i hope you are having a blessed holy week.