Yesterday, we attended a Sunday mass. It was Palm Sunday, it marks the beginning of Holy week. Everyone had their own ornate palm fronds and the mass was one hour late but I didn't felt mad about it. Jesus had to die crucified and who am I to complain for a small inconvenience. Right?
So, the Holy Mass started by re-enacting the arrival of Jesus, and all the palms were blessed during the Mass and brought home to be placed on home altars, windows, and inside the house, where some people believe they can cast away bad spirits.
By the end of the Mass, some people (including me) had failed to get our palms blessed with the roaming holy water. So we went outside, waited inside, and then went outside again but I'm not convinced the holy water reached even the tip of my precious palm. So we ended up waiting inside the church again and I think the lay minister noticed us several times. I laughed when he finally approached us and blessed our palms as if he's watering a potted plant but with holy water. It was so funny. I've never felt so blessed in my entire existence.
Celebrating Holy week, going to church and watching shows about holy week takes me back in my childhood in Cavite. I remember when we used to go to church during Sundays.
