My dad was a Permanent Deacon at our Parish when I was a kid. Holy Week was a busy week for Deacon Don. My mom was the Liturgy Coordinator and Choir Director and she was busy as well.
On a Saturday a couple weeks before Easter my dad and I had to build a cross for our church. I was probably six or seven and I thought we were building it to crucify Jesus.
We went to the hardware store and bought two long boards and three or four big sacks of nails. The nails were more like spikes and the bags weighed a ton.
I wasn’t any help for my dad on this particular Saturday. Everything was big and heavy so my job was to hold the tape measure. The tape measure had a belt clip that my dad used to clip onto my Sears Toughskins. I was proud walking around the hardware store with my daddy’s tape measure. The one he used for work.
The Ace man helped Dad put all the material into my dad’s truck. I always liked Saturday errands when we took Dad’s work truck. It was way more cooler than his Cadillac.
The Ace Guy knew my dad from church and wasn’t surprised when my dad told him we were building a cross for Good Friday.
I knew this was a big job when we didn’t stop at the diner for breakfast. Breakfast that morning was a chocolate donut and a KayO from the White Hen. I didn’t fill me up, but we were on a mission for God.
The rest of the morning and into the afternoon my dad was busy building his cross. I sat in the lawn chair next to his work site eager to help in any way. Remember, I was in 1st or 2nd grade and I still thought we were going to crucify Jesus.
My dad finished the cross and told me to stand back. He stood it up off the work bench and it towered over my dad. He put it on his back and walked around the back yard just like Jesus did in a movie.
After his trial run he sat it back down on his horses and started drilling holes into his cross. Rows and rows of deep holes all measured out perfectly. He must have drilled hundreds of holes in his cross.
He grabbed one of the big bag of nails and started fitting them into the holes. I wasn’t sure what was going on because all the crosses that I saw had Jesus nailed with just three nails, not five hundred.
My dad was satisfied with his work. He told me to go grab the wicker baskets from mom and put them in the truck.
We took the big cross, the bags with the nails and two big wicker baskets my mom bought over to the church.
My dad pulled into the back of the rectory and Father Coogan came out to see Deacon Don’s cross.
Father Coogy was an old school priest that was still baffled about having a “Permanent Deacon” in the parish. My dad showed the perplexed priest his cross and showed him all of the nail holes.
My dad explained that he was going to carry the cross into church. Set it down in front of the altar next to the baskets. The baskets will hold all the big spike nails.
He explained to Father Coogy, that was what I called Father Coogan..... that all the people would come up and place a nail in a hole on his cross.
Father Coogan loved the idea and my nervous dad was filled with pride. All morning he kept telling my mom that he was worried that Father might not like this idea. The symbolism of each parishioner putting their personal nail into the cross could have been way over the line. Remember, Father Coogan was ordained well before the changes that Vatican II brought.
Good Friday came and my dad carried our cross down the aisle and sat it down on the altar. I was sitting proudly with The Sadowski’s. I heard Mr. Sadowski whisper to his wife, “Don sure has outdone himself on this project.”
One by one everyone put a nail in the cross. It looked like a porcupine when it was all said and done. Some people cried as they put their nail into the hole.
This was one of the few times I ever heard my mom tell my dad she was proud of him. Deacon Don pulled off a stunt that the parish used for years. My dad left a positive mark on our faith community. An example that stuck with me for years to come.
The story doesn’t end all giddy though. After the service I had the job of pulling all the nails out of the cross. Father Coogan ended up helping me.
He leaned over and said, “Big John…. This is a fine cross that you and your father built. You’ve done a good thing young man.”
I was full of pride as I pulled out all of those nails with Father Coogan.
This is the week that we put our personal nail in the cross. The nail that represents our sins. Sins that will be forgiven because a skinny Jewish kid died on the cross...
Remember that on Friday…..
