You know if you read or listen to the news that there were bombs in Belgium. Belgium is a little country compared to my home country of the United States. All were affected, including the Béguinage and the little city of Brugge. Helicopters fly overhead, ferrying the wounded to Gent and Antwerp hospitals as Brussels can not accommodate the scale of the wounded.
This morning I ventured out to the corner B-post to mail my two Easter cards. There is something very subdued about the atmosphere, none of the usual bustling and photographing tourists on the cobblestone streets, and of course no trains from Brussels! The streets were eerily quiet and there seemed even to be fewer Bruggelings buying bread or fetching a prescription at the local apothecary. There was no International New York Times in the local tabac and this was ten o’clock in the morning. I will have to struggle with the Nederlands De Standaard.
I bought a croissant and took the long way home by the canal as I had a few minutes before Mass. The brick path through the not-yet leafy trees was peaceful. The unperturbed views of the canal, the ducks and swans returned a sense of stability to my heart. As I entered the back gate of the monastery and crossed to the canal meandering through our gardens, I spied a Mama Duck with her very early brood. The ducklings were about ten in number and were brown, tiny and fluffy; you could put one easily in the palm of your hand. These ‘mites’ were busily maneuvering the canal, a harbinger of Spring. I crossed for service; the courtyard was also curiously quiet, subdued in reverence for the carnage; only the daffodils waved breezily and hopefully in the air.
Good Friday is the celebration of the passion and death of Christ and then the three day wait for the glorious resurrection. Maybe like Christ, ‘good’ will rise from the ashes of the Bombs in Belgium. This is hope.