Holy Week

Little sweetheart, Holy Week - the seven days between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday - begins today. I remember that even when you were here, it was of interest to me. I think my curiosity was first piqued when Kris and I were wandering around a particularly deserted part of London one Christmastime looking for something to do and discovering that St Paul’s had organ recitals. 

The music first brought me in. Then later, I’d just go as soon as I arrived. Typically, I’d fly in late night, so the first things I’d do when I woke up in North London was to go for a run on Hampstead Heath, and then take the tube down to Embankment, walking along the Thames on the South Bank side before crossing over the Millennium Bridge to St Paul’s. 

One time when I visited, I found the cathedral thick with incense and didn’t put two and two together until I remembered that is was a Wednesday - Ash Wednesday. 

Anyway, I began to look for services like those at St Paul’s, here in New York, once I got back. For some time I found them at St Thomas and then later at the little church - West End Collegiate - that I told you about up at W77th Street. I was already inclined to a kind of quiet contemplation even before the tragic events but the observation of holy days became ever more important to me, little sweetheart, in your absence. 

For within these quiet moments I am helped to find your presence - your celestial, encouraging, presence helping to comfort and guide me. Mid week is when these days are most resonant, little sweetheart, and I’ll observe them and tell you of it all, okay? 

With all my love forever.