Packed and dressed in my clergy collar, I spent Good Friday morning flying to Dallas to be with my family.

I’m always interested to hear how men in clergy garb get lots of attention when they travel. For women clergy, at least in my experience, we are invisible.

On this Good Friday, the snafus of travel were active, and I had more often than not to refocus myself to kindness and patience. I had to remind myself over and over the contrast with what Jesus experienced going through the hours of that long ago Friday. And me? A delay? A long line? And then another? Cranky people?

Armed with my collar (even if no one else recognized that I was clergy or even a nun), I had to especially remember kindness and patience. I tried to turn my irritation to prayer, and even remembered to ask a few people how I could pray for them.

Two of the women working at Hertz had specific requests. I suspected that when one of them asked me to “pray for our country which is in such crisis,” that within the context which she asked, she and I might disagree about what to pray for if we were to give God our specific list.

This is why I love the prayer of simply lifting to God and knowing that God is and will tend to things. We might both be surprised at how God is working God’s purpose out.

The cross as God glorified as an example.

I had two options for noon day services, and the glitches of the day narrowed me to one on time possibility. I arrived at St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields, Keller, with mere moments to spare.

Worshipping with my friend, Alan+, I was once again struck by what the solo pastor carries during Holy Week. Once again, I hope my presence let him know that I carried his responsibilities with him with my prayers.

The rhythm of over thirty years of serving in congregational leadership is nowhere more imprinted in my soul and spirit than during Holy Week. No matter where I am in my faith walk or relationship with God, Palm Sunday calls me to the daily walk of Holy Week.

Prayers and readings for Holy Monday, Holy Tuesday, and Holy Wednesday set the stage for the great culminating activity of the Triduum.

I am aware of how all of the years of serving in a church—planning liturgy, proofing worship booklets, and writing sermons—leaves a bit of an empty spot in my ministry as priest on a diocesan staff because I no longer “belong” to a place.

That makes it easy to rationalize “worship at home” rather than the steps of making sure I am worshipping in community.

Maundy Thursday, I was planning to go the church that I call my sorta home when I’m not serving a congregation. As I moved through the day, I felt a tug to worship with the church nearest my home, Hope Episcopal. I had a heart pull to worship with that small congregation and to support the lone priest, a woman I respect very much. I remember the extra responsibility single clergy have walking with their congregation during Holy Week, and I didn’t want her to be alone. So I put on my collar and drove in the rain to church.

The worship was lovely and well thought through. My feet were washed by a woman of color, and I washed the feet of a heavily masked man.

We were all invited to participate in the stripping of the altar, and as we few gathered silently removing hangings, palms, and accoutrements, the musician sang, “Stay with me. Stay here with me. Watch and pray.” Having the whole congregation work reverently in community to prepare the church for Jesus’ arrest, crucifixion, and death was prayer in motion.

As my sister priest left at the conclusion of the liturgy, she stopped beside me and took my hand as we shared, for a moment, our connection as priests.

The night was long. We had one of those horrific spring storms with pounding rain, bellowing thunder, and continuing lightening keeping the sky bright. I could not sleep. So I joined the millions through out the world in vigil with Christ. I decided not to be anxious about the memories the storm nudged or that I needed to be on the road early to go to Dallas.

I watched. I stayed. I prayed.

Wednesday we were up early to replicate, sort of, Percy’s trip to Camp Half Blood in Montauk, at the far end of Long Island.

Ubering and train-ing, we rented a car and began the two and one half hour drive to Montauk. The trip through woods and towns with glimpses of the ocean, was even more delightful as we listened to The Lightening Thief in the car. As we heard the words, we could reminisce about places seen and places ahead. Thankfully, we were not attacked by a Minotaur.

Imagining Percy’s adventure, we ended up at the very tip of Long Island by the Montauk lighthouse where Austin had a zen moment building a cairn.

We took brief hikes around Fort Hero and drove around the Montauk area, listening to The Lightning Thief and picturing Percy’s adventures.

We ended our cold and windy day with a walk for local ice cream.

We were up very early Thursday morning for the drive back to Jamaica (the train station, not the country), with more Lightening Thief listening.

Three trains later, we were in New Jersey, thankfully without an encounter with Medusa or being turned into stone. Not needing the aid of rescuing a cat to buy our ticket, we were on our way back to Redmond.

Hopefully, we’ll meet up with Percy again in St. Louis next trip. After all, we only got Percy to Denver in our book listening. Austin may be able to fly us there.

After a late night, and our second day of walking over 10K steps, Austin and up were up, relatively early for us, for our trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art (Chapter 1).

Why the Met? That’s where Percy discovered that there was something even more curious about himself when a Fury tried to kill him in the Greek exhibit, and Percy defeated her with his pen which transformed into a bronze sword (and no one was able to see him do it because a mist surrounded him. In the Museum!)

More train and bus rides, we started our tour with the eight item Met Percy Jackson scavenger hunt. Austin found them all in thirty five minutes.

Where to go now? Using our MET map, Austin became our tour guide. More Greek and Roman art, then travel through ancient Asia and Egypt.

We stopped for lunch in the cafeteria, then we were off again. The Middle Ages, Vermeer paintings and Cassett prints (for me) and the music room (for Austin). The European painting rooms were closed so we have a reason to come back.

All day our conversation was a lively back and forth, each of us sharing our unique knowledge and points of view.

For example, the Temple of Dendur, which had been relocated from Egypt to prevent its destruction by the Aswan Dam, elicited an interesting chat about why it was no longer housed in the *Sackler* room.

Another bus and train ride back to hotel, we decided to call it an early night, with a Liberty Bagel feast, and a streaming of the original Spider-Man, which somehow, Austin had never seen—chosen by him because it is set in NYC.