Alleluia

Easter has come and gone. I feel as if I went into the tomb during the triduum and am just now emerging. And now it's ordinary time. Time for tears. I've been damming up my sorrow for too long.

Yesterday heralded the 150th commencement for Seabury. Andrew Shirota and Karen King orchestrated an excellent service at St. Luke's in Evanston. We all talked on the garth and ate a light lunch. Well, we didn't all talk. I just listened and smiled and posed for pictures. I was sad.

I went back to my apartment and began to pack my car. Three times I found myself sitting in a chair staring at the walls. Sadness. It took me three and a half hours to pack my car. I think it should have taken one and a half at the most. People had gathered in the yard behind our building to talk and drink and eat some more. I didn't want to be there; I just wanted to go home. I began to wonder if I might be suffering from a clinical depression.

Today, I don't think so. I'm just sad. Really sad. In the past two months I've been very conscious of putting off grieving for my Dad. Whenever I became sorrowful, I'd allow myself five minutes of wailing and then I got back to work. The result: I managed to get through the semester and finish on time, but I'm sad. Now, I have a whole month ahead of me with absolutely nothing planned. I intend to loaf, read, nap, watch soaps, and be sad whenever I need to be. I expect I will be so bored with this behavior by the end of the month, I will more than ready to plunge into an active June.

And then there's the sadness of Seabury. Yesterday at the commencement service, I felt as if I was finished also -- without the benefit of a diploma. This semester has had one "little death" after another. The "non-closing" closing of Seabury, the layoffs of the staff, the blanket firing of the faculty, the resignations of Frank Yamada and AKMA Adam, Ruth Meyers' sabbatical, and Rosemary Gooden's visiting professorship at Virgina Theological Seminary. Then, there's the dissolving fall schedule and the closing of the bookstore. Sunt lacrimae rerum. I know next year will be sad but I also know that there will be joy and that we will be alright. The Dean suggested the other night that we bless God for what is. I intend to do just that -- and to feel sad when I need to.

And I have a backlog of about seven movies to review. I'll get busy. Most of them are out of the theatres already, but I can always mislead you about whether to rent them or not.