At a Good Friday mass this afternoon, I remembered a scene described in Brideshead Revisited, by Evelyn Waugh, which I recently finished. One of the themes in the story is the extinction of a deeply flawed and aristocratic Catholic family, the Marchmains, living in England during the interwar period. Recounting the aftermath of the matriarch’s passing, Cordelia Marchmain (the youngest daughter), describes the closing of the family chapel:
After she was buried the priest came in—I was there alone. I don’t think he saw me—and took out the altar stone and put it in his bag; then he burned the wads of wool with the holy oil on them and threw the ash outside; he emptied the holy water stoup and blew out the lamp in the sanctuary and left the tabernacle open and empty, as though from now on it was always to be Good Friday. I suppose none of this makes any sense to you, Charles, poor agnostic. I stayed there till he was gone, and then, suddenly, there wasn’t any chapel there any more, just an oddly decorated room. Continue Reading »
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