Whenever I think of Good Friday I think about the time I stayed over at my Grandma's house in Long Island and she, being a devout Catholic, ripped me a new one when I grabbed a slice of bologna out of the fridge for lunch.
To this day, although I'm so far from practicing Catholicism I might as well be Hindu, I cannot eat a piece of meat on Good Friday without these intense feelings of guilt passing through me. I can hear Grandma in my head going, "Tsk tsk!" and that's it. All cravings for the hamburger in my hand are long gone.
I seriously believe this is one of my reasons for turning away from religion; yet, despite my waywardness, Good Friday + eating meat = G-U-I-L-T. Pa, also being a former Catholic, could care less. In fact, he just came into my office, saw that I was writing about Good Friday, commented on the fact that it was Good Friday and proudly announced he just helped himself to a nice slice of ham. No remorse or signs of guilt--he just smacked his lips and said, "It's Good Friday and that was good ham!" And yet here am I, secretly planning a meatless dinner so that a) I don't feel guilty and b) my husband doesn't figure out I'm purposely going meatless because then he'll make fun of my guilt.
And so it goes, my Good Friday conundrum. Could you imagine if I suffered like this all during Lent?
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