The Eighth Sermon to the Dead

I'm reading a book called The Time Paradox , by Philip Zimbardo and John Boyd. One of the many questions they ask in this book is "What is your first memory?" My first memory is of the house on the west side. It's hazy. I was probably four years old. The house itself is green-ish, with a front porch, on a city block. There's a dog, a white dog with black ears that I'd creatively named 'Snoopy'. A year later, that house would be gone, and my dog would be dead. I think I learned fairly early on that the things and people we love in this life are impermanent. That's why I've always had an interest in Religion and Magic, which claim in their own ways to touch something which is imperishable. It's also why I place more value on a good dinner with friends than a nice house in the rich area of town. All things are transitory, and I like to acknowledge that up front rather than hide behind the illusion of permanence. That house will pass j

Today is the third anniversary of my Ordination. I was looking at my random thoughts on the idea, here. I'm still astounded that this has happened to me. Some days, I don't know what I'm doing. The past few days have been trying to grind me down. Last Night, I was privileged to celebrate a sacrament for someone. That experience reminded me why I do this. It gave me strength. A few days ago, I was able to help someone who had some emotional trouble over the phone. That experience reminded me why I do this. Sunday, I celebrated Easter Liturgy. That too, reminds me of why I do this. I thank you all for the chance to serve you, in whatever capacity. Priest, friend, confidante, obstacle, foil, nemesis.