I’ve been walking in the wilderness the last couple of weeks. Like the ancient Israelites, my mood has been alternatively despairing, angry, resolute, back to despairing. My nights have been sleepless and more than a few tears have been shed…

It seemed odd to be weaving vestments on this day when all of the altars are stripped bare.  Tomorrow they will be ablaze with white, but today, surrounded by vigilants in silent prayer, the altars - wood for the cross or stone for the tomb - are not softened with any fabric.  

I’ve always wanted to try my hand at liturgical weaving, but since my dad, the preacher, retired long before I started weaving, I never really had a reason to.