Joan Sauro

The deaths of beloved friends leave memories — and a soft spot near my heart.

There is no joy in Uvalde, Texas, where 19 innocents were slaughtered, and two teachers who cared for them. Nor in Buffalo. Even in the face of hate, the love notes continue, yesterday, today and tomorrow.

"Each day is composed of hours and we are in one. Pay no mind to the hour before and the hour to come, if indeed there be one. We have only this hour. Embrace it. Love it as best you can. Here is the face of God."

The Suffering Face of Christ is everywhere to behold. Two lesbians are being evicted. The grammar school teacher throws up his hands after a year's shutdown and moves out. A 60-year-old neighbor cares for his 98-year-old cousin. 

The voice is rapturous, out of this world, so that even the lips of Christ smile because nothing is set in stone, not joy, not tears, not yesterday and, certainly, not tomorrow. Sing, sisters, sing.

The window is mysterious, does not give up its secrets easily. Then one day, unpredictable and unexpected, the figures slowly take shape, clear enough so there's no mistaking who they are.

My three favorite men in all the Gospels are two husky no-names, carrying their friend who is comatose, dead weight, out like a light and very heavy. The two know exactly where they are headed.

Each moment is eternal. One by one they are offered to us. Some minutes we take hold of, some not. No matter, they all remain. I was awestruck by the beauty in one such moment.

Early morning the walkers appear. ... Unchanging in the upheaval of change. And if they should forget the upheaval, news bulletins puncture the air with dire warnings.

I fell, got up and made my slow way, looking for what I had no idea. I felt like Dante, lost in a "dark wood, a wild and rough and stubborn wood." Which was a fair description of the coronavirus, as well.

The feast of the Annunciation - Recently at my friend's funeral, I started to think of all the nods we give in a day, just a simple bowing of the head. Yes.

We were a gathering of older religious women sitting in a large circle in a barren church hall. A hard journey we had of it, traveling long distances to listen to each other.