The lamb chops and asparagus and cheese grits were a hit. Artichoke dip got rave reviews. But the tres leches cake? Divinely ordained, apparently!
I taught a make-up lesson this evening, and caught most of the first act of Into the Woods at the Webster University Conservatory, where the cast and crew were finishing tech weekend with a first full run tonight.
And the choir sang wonderfully. And Handel’s “Hallelujah” Chorus rang out joyfully.
Then I rushed home. The artichoke dip is made and uber-Parmesanish. The cheese grits are cooking now. Lamb chops await. D brought a tray of rolls for us to share. A tossed salad will be fashioned soon enough. For now, I rest a few minutes. My right leg is clearly not liking how much I’ve been walking cane-less for the past 30 hours.
Oh yes . . . the Vigil included all nine readings, and clocked in at 150 minutes. Now you know you’ve been to church when the time passes two hours . . . .
At the Lamb’s high feast we sing
praise to our victorious King,
who hath washed us in the tide
flowing from his pierced side;
praise we him, whose love divine
gives his sacred Blood for wine,
gives his Body for the feast,
Christ the victim, Christ the priest.
Where the Paschal blood is poured,
death’s dark angel sheathes his sword;
Israel’s hosts triumphant go
through the wave that drowns the foe.
Praise we Christ, whose blood was shed,
Paschal victim, Paschal bread;
with sincerity and love
eat we manna from above.
Mighty victim from on high,
hell’s fierce powers beneath thee lie;
thou hast conquered in the fight,
thou hast brought us life and light:
now no more can death appall,
now no more the grave entrall;
thou hast opened paradise,
and in thee thy saints shall rise.
Easter triumph, Easter joy,
sin alone can this destroy;
from sin’s power do thou set free
souls newborn, O Lord, in thee.
Hymns of glory and of praise,
Risen Lord, to thee we raise;
Holy Father, praise to thee,
with the Spirit, ever be.
~17th Century Latin text, translated by Robert Campbell, 1849