Incipit lamentacio Jeremiae prophetae

Thus begins Thomas Tallis’ The Lamentation of Jeremiah, a piece we will be singing at church on Good Friday. In has been ringing through my mind the past few days. Today is my mother’s birthday. I would always call her up and talk with her on this day, and on my birthday, I would always get a card from her. Over the years, her beautiful cursive script slowly degenerated and became harder to read as the essential tremors became more powerful.

Last week was public health week and I went to a few health care related events. On Friday was the CT Health Foundation fellows spring retreat and the discussion was about health equity. From there, I rushed home to join Kim and Fiona in heading to the Amity High School production of “In The Heights”. As with all the Amity productions, it was amazing.

The musical was set in Washington Heights as immigrants to our country struggled to get ahead. By and large, I suspect most of the cast of “In The Heights” come from families that came to this country less recently and have gotten much further ahead than the characters they played.

I suspect that most of the students will go on to college or the careers of their choices without the struggles that Nina faced returning to the Heights as the shining student who managed to go to college and then struggled to keep up with the more privileged crew.

The winning lottery ticket and the death of Abuela Claudia struck home for me as I mourn my mother’s death and work on settling her estate. How can my siblings and I do something meaningful with our inheritance?

I remember my days in elementary school when my mother would come in and help. These days, when I write of my mother classmates of talk about how much they liked her, how kind she was. She didn’t come to Williamstown from the farms of Puerto Rico. She came from a farm in Northfield, MA. Of course, growing up, I always assumed that this was the family farm, land my grandfather had owned and had been passed down to him. In fact, someone else owned the land and my grandfather was a worker on the land. Although my ancestors have been in this country for generations, I am perhaps much closer to the new families in the Heights than I realized.

Like Nina, I was a good student, and headed off to college with much fanfare, although in my case it was amidst difficulties at home up on the hill in Williamstown and feeling somewhat of an outcast at school in my hand me down clothes. School musicals were one of those special times to be part of something bigger, part of the school community, and even though I always played bit parts at best, I loved the musicals.

Now, the curtain has come down. We move from public health week, to Holy Week. At church today, we will read The Passion. We will join with the crowds welcoming Jesus to Jerusalem. Shouting Hosanna, Save us, and then change our tune to Crucify Him as The Passion unfolds. I’m rarely one to go with the crowds so this part of The Passion feels less familiar to me. Instead, I find Peter’s denial much more resonant. Loyal, yet clueless the promise to never deny Jesus, and then denying him three times. I’ve done that way too many times.

convertere ad Dominum Deum tuum