Suffering the Triduum with the Easter People
It's Easter.
Finally.
I'd like to say that my Lent was beautifully penitential, that I suffered well, that I took up my cross daily and died with Him so as to rise again with Him to new life in this Easter season. But, to be honest, my Lent was pretty weak. I was pretty weak. My personal penances and aspirations faded early on in the process. My personal prayer started off strong but by mid-March had caught the struggle bus and rode it well into April. So, when Palm Sunday rolled around I decided I was going to take advantage of Holy Week and make up for lost time. I was going to do extreme fasting. (Extreme fail.) I was going to pray more! (I'm pretty sure I actually figured out a way to pray less.) I was going to attend ALL of the Triduum liturgies WITH my children...
Let's take a moment for some back story in case you don't know me...
My husband is a liturgical musician which means I'm basically a pew widow. Every Sunday, every holiday; I'm on my own. I have 3 young, very active boys. They all have big personalities, they don't like to sit still,(ever) they each have some rare condition that makes them completely unable to whisper (undiagnosed) and in their presence the words "not an appropriate place to wrestle" fall on deaf ears as if I were speaking in some foreign aboriginal tongue. You'd assume having both parents work for the Church for their entire lives and living in a home that bases their desserts on the liturgical calendar would ensure that these children are fully acclimated angels in Church. But everybody knows what happens when you assume. And that's pretty much what they act like in Mass.
In addition to the actual liturgies themselves, the weeks surrounding Christmas and Easter, in particular, are filled with lots of extra work, rehearsals, and stress for my husband. On Christmas Eve, for example, He provides music for the Vigil Mass, comes home to have dinner with us and other relatives and then heads back to Church at 9pm for one last rehearsal before Midnight Mass. I put the excited, giddy children to bed alone (again) and then me, George Bailey and a cocktail of some sort finish wrapping gifts for the rest of the night. I'm not complaining, it's been my tradition for the last 10 years and something about it is familiar and nostalgic and feels right. Never the less, every year without fail I find myself lamenting the fact that I'm not at midnight Mass; because I want to support my husband's hard work and because I always hear how beautiful it is and honestly, the only thing MORE nostalgic than 'It's a Wonderful Life' on Christmas Eve is Midnight Mass. It makes me sad that I'm not there. But not sad enough that I'm willing to do it alone. Alas. Anyway, he gets home at about 3 AM (after a very long Mass and a celebratory drink with the clergy) and then we're up again at dawn to watch the boys rip through their presents and for all of us to put on our best duds for baby Jesus and head back to Church for Christmas morning Mass. Easter is pretty much the same story, times 3. Holy Thursday, Good Friday, a (7 reading, full immersion Adult Baptisms) Easter Vigil and 2 Easter morning Masses.
For years I've sat at home on Holy Saturday and said, "one day". Last year, I said, "next year." And after my milk toast Lent, I said, "ENOUGH. THIS IS THE YEAR.". I decided I was going to take my 3 precocious and precious balls of energy to EVERY second of the Triduum liturgies. And, just so you know how sincere I am about my holiness, I tallied up all the hours of liturgy that this would entail (you know, so you can actually measure the sanctity and stuff.) 1.5 hour Holy Thursday Mass + 1 hour re-enactment of the stations of the cross through a public park, followed by a 2 hour veneration of the Cross service, followed by eternity (1/2 an hour) waiting in line for confession (have you ever yelled at your kids IN line for confession? Good times.) + (wait for it) a 3 HOUR Easter Vigil. That's almost 8 hours of Church in a 3-day time span for children who act like 1 hour on Sundays is the Babylonian exile.
Now, based on my previous failed attempts at Lent-ing you would be correct in assuming that I failed at following through with this lofty goal. BUT...BUT..lucky for me our little family had a better Lent than I did personally. (Thanks to my husband.) We had been praying decades of the Rosary together regularly at night, we held up our family penances well and I had seen many graces and fruit at school at the weekly stations of the cross with my boys. Somehow our experience as a domestic church during Lent had primed us and given me the grace I needed to try what seemed to be impossible.
Grace is a tricky friend, though. It turns out it was indeed enough to get us there night after night. I wish I could tell you, however, that it was also enough to help them sit still and quiet through every minute of it but, they are still children. It was hard but very worth it. Oh. so worth it. Contrary to the previous multitude of paragraphs that got us to this point, this is not a story of how I threatened my children with throwing away all of the Easter candy that had not yet received, in muffled whispers, repeatedly, while Jesus Christ became truly present on the altar. (I mean, maybe it is a little bit) But actually, No, this is a story of how I experienced the Passion and Death of Jesus in the midst of community and how through that community I was caught up into the joy of the resurrection.
What's it like to be a part of a real, active, beautiful, faithful to the magisterium, Catholic community? Well, I'll tell you. It feels like being 'known' by God, through others. The families and individuals we go to Church with are also the families we go to school with, they also happen to be our friends. I am blessed by rich liturgy, incredible music ;), passionate, intelligent preaching, a deep Sacramental life and people who illuminate and bring life to all of those realities. In the midst of that community, my weak Lent was lit on fire (not literally thankfully) during the Triduum and it granted me the sweetest gift of a joy full Easter. Here's how it happened:
Holy Thursday:
On Thursday evening, as Father washed the feet of the young men (college chapter) of the Knights of Columbus my children were enthralled at what was going on on the altar (people were taking their socks off so it was pretty captivating). I seized the moment of peace and took a look around the Church. Here's what I saw; First, I noticed a large group of my students, sitting together. Many of them are making their Confirmation in a couple weeks and some of them were there with their families. Teaching Scripture and Moral Theology to teenagers is always part Theology and part Youth Ministry. Faith and the doubts that accompany it are personal for them and at this part of the year, we've been on quite a journey together. I flashed back to my husband and I's first Holy Thursday Mass as a married couple. We were living in Denver and attended that Mass near our home that night. We had just learned that we were pregnant for the first time and while we were happy, it had been quite a surprise for us. I remember experiencing anxiety over what to expect. I remember feeling convicted and oddly comforted that night about the fact that I would have to suffer to be a mother. I remember entering into prayer with Christ in the garden that evening feeling resolved to accept God's will for whatever I was called to with this new life. Looking across the Church at my students and on the altar at some of the many college students I've been blessed to journey with throughout my years in college ministry and feeling the tug of my own children at my side I felt as if God was showing me the fruits of that Holy Thursday night 11 years ago. I have suffered for and been edified by all of these children, physical and spiritual. The suffering servant is such a powerful witness for parents. We lead them by suffering for them and in turn teaching them to suffer. We give, as a reflection of Christ's gift in that Last Supper, the gift of our very self. "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13 (I'm not one to challenge the Gospel writers but John could have added children to this verse too.) But, speaking of friends; I also noticed that my friends were all present. These are the families we journey within a real way. They are the ones that make me laugh, who I call when I'm sad, who I lean on when I'm hurt, who challenge me when I'm resistant, with whom I share my joy. And I felt, in a real way that we were all in it, in this moment, together.
Good Friday:
For the past 10 years, I worked for our Church Parish and always helped the college students who reenacted the Stations of the Cross or took pictures of the event for the ministry. This is a massive event. The college students practice for weeks (this year giving up part of their Spring break to do so) and hundreds of people show up to pray as the students take us through each moment of the Passion of Christ. In all my years as a part of this ministry, it has never rained for this event. This year seemed like it would be no different in that regard. This was the first time I was free from my camera and the first time I brought my children with me. We arrived in beautiful sunshine but in the span of 10 minutes, as we waited for the first station to begin, the sky cracked open and we were all sent running for shelter. Luckily the rain only lasted a few minutes and before long we were free to follow Christ through the mud, past the park dwellers enjoying their bar-be-que's with family.
Simon of Cyrene was forced to help Jesus. He was snatched from the crowd alongside what looked to be a child's first birthday party. The balloons rattled in the wind as he was thrown to the cross against his will. Once again the community was here, alongside the cross. In sync with Simons good will the tires of my stroller became stuck in the mud in the midst of the crowd and as if we were fleeing from Egypt toward the promised land people around me instinctively picked up the front wheels and moved us along without missing a beat.
We followed Him to the hill on the far side of the park and sat in prayer while we watched him breathe his last, watched his weeping mother hold him, then watched the fathers and brothers in our community carry his limp body back to the Church. The Good Friday Stations of the Cross that followed that Holy Thursday Mass all those years ago in Denver was the exact time and place that I began to suffer the miscarriage of my first child. I would suffer 3 more but they would all be united with Christ's suffering on the cross and Mary's grief over losing her child. There on that hill this year as I looked at the 500 people around me I was reminded of God's promises and his faithfulness. "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." Job 1:21 Once we made it all the way back to Church we were wet and sweaty, tired and a little muddy. I expected most people to leave before the veneration service began. I seriously thought about it myself. But, we squeezed in tight and all found a seat and communally pretended like nobody smelled like they had been caught in the rain. This one day of the liturgical year when Mass is not celebrated, we stayed and prayed and listened to the choir chant his sorrows. We kissed his wounds. Grown men and women humbled themselves to venerate a cross; the means of our salvation. We watched little ones, standing on their tiptoes to reach his wounded hands and those tiny ones who could not upon their best effort reach his outstretched arms, made themselves smaller to kiss his feet and hug his unbroken legs. One by one again I saw my friends and their families. One by one they witnessed to me faithfulness, humility, and grace. So many people stayed for this 2-hour service in fact, that there was almost not enough hosts for everyone in the Church. Father looked out at the unending line approaching to receive their Lord crucified and began to break the Eucharist that had been consecrated the night before, the body that was broken, broken again to feed His flock. Confessions followed immediately. I took the boys to the confession line outside, partly because they needed a little space to move after the service and partly because the 4 Priests hearing confessions IN the Church were friends of mine. I know, I know, it shouldn't matter but when you've worked for the Church for so long it is a difficult thing to present yourself to Priests you know so well. So, I waited outside for the Priest I know but not as well. I waited and the line barely moved. All the while heralds of mercy kept announcing to those waiting with me that the lines inside were short or gone and that we were welcomed to go there. I resisted. I sent my children in to them. I resisted still until I couldn't anymore. I left it up to the Holy Spirit and ended up face to face with my longtime college friend. He listened. He forgave and in his words I heard Christ saying to me the words I heard the night before, "Greater love has no man than to lay down his life for his FRIEND. You are my friend. See?" Yes, Lord. I see.
Holy Saturday; The Vigil:
At this point, I really did try to give myself an out. We had been in the sun all day, my children were exhausted. At 6PM I had decided it was too much to ask of them to attend such a long service that began at what is normally their bedtime and lasted much later than any of them have ever been awake on purpose. But, to my surprise when I suggested we wait until the morning to attend Easter Mass instead of attending the vigil, they protested. Of course, it was partly the thought of staying up late that was enticing and mysterious to them and mostly that the thought of a party with all the candy and cake you can eat in the Church hall that follows the vigil was too much to pass up. But they also rallied in a way that was unexpected. "Dad's worked hard, mom! We want to go!" And of course, there was no way I could say no to that.
We got to Church just in time to put our things in a pew and meet the rest of the congregation outside for the lighting of the pascal candle. Everyone had their candles and honestly, I was hoping my children wouldn't notice because sure, let's add fire to this fiasco. It can't turn out well. But, of course, they noticed and they wanted their own. The crowd was thick and the candles were in a box far from where we were standing. Luckily our friends; a coworker of mine and a former coworker of mine (the cutest newlywed couple you ever did see) were standing near us and the husband kindly offered to take my oldest to get candles for everyone. There again, I could see all of my friends. The same friends who had also been in attendance Thursday night and Friday afternoon and new friends who were joining us for the first time.
We watched as Father lit the pascal candle from the giant fire and followed as the deacon intoned into the darkness of the Church, "Christ, our light! and the masses responded "Thanks be to God!" as if to say, "At last! At last! the night is coming to end. We see the light upon the horizon and day is upon us!". I gathered the boys up and headed toward the far side of the Church where we were sitting. I was hoping to hold off on lighting our individual candles until we were settled in our seats because a 4-year-old traveling with fire is just a comedy of errors waiting to happen. But while we were still a way off from our seats in the middle of the aisle stood our friend Lucy. 5-year-old Lucy with her candle burning bright and her smile burning even brighter. She was taking much joy in lighting everyone's candle around her and I could see that we weren't going to deny her the task. I immediately thought of Saint Lucy, who wore a candle lit wreath to light her way when bringing food to Christians in the catacombs so that her hands would be free to carry as much food as possible. So there on the edge of the darkness, we let Lucy, whose name means 'light', spark our candles and send us on our way.
As we made it to our pew and tried our best not to catch the musicians in front of us on fire, I couldn't help but watch the Church slowly come to life with dancing flames, one lighting the next until the light overcame the darkness. All from one light. This is how the light spreads. This is how the gospel is shared; from one glowing heart drawing near to another with its flame so warm that it cannot help but set the other ablaze. At this point, my children were taken in by it all. Easter vigil really is a feast for the senses AND the soul. Catholicism wants you to celebrate with your whole person, as I tell my students. Be FULLY human. Smell the incense, hear the bells, the songs, the voice of your neighbor, see the fire of faith lit anew, feel the warmth as the dark quiet Church becomes bright and filled with joy. We sat for the readings, 7 from the Old Testament that would tell of Salvation history and set the stage for the coming of Christ. The lector who read the creation story has one of those voices that stops you in your tracks and makes you experience the words anew. She proclaims the word, not in theatrics or melody but with the beauty and clarity of her voice and the intentionality of her speech. In-between each reading the choir and musicians (led by my husband) sang a beautiful chant or hymn. One, in particular, had our hearts soaring; "Like a deer that longs for running streams. My soul longs for you, my God." Psalm 42. Teaching Scripture for the first time this year really has added a richness to the Mass and my personal prayer. Thinking of the desire that echoed throughout salvation history for a savior, thinking of King David's desire for God made this hymn that much more desperate and sincere and beautiful. Then I caught sight of the lector who only moments before had been proclaiming the word to us with her words, now seated, eyes closed, heart floating proclaimed it to me in her countenance. Watching her experience the psalm, subtly yet profoundly moved me to experience it in a new way. As the last Old Testament reading was declared I noticed that everyone around me and in the whole church had extinguished their candles. Most likely, like me, it became too arduous to keep it lit. The wax was hot, my hand was tired and I could no longer make sure my children did not catch each other or those around us on fire. (I can't believe that doesn't happen more often at Vigil Masses honestly.) The Church was again dark. But then I noticed on the other side of the Church one little light burning bright and a little face illuminated by its flame. Lucy, the light bearer, had not extinguished her light and she sat proudly in its glow. She smiled and it made me smile too.
I looked at my youngest, fast asleep in the pew and I thought of our Old Testament ancestors asleep, waiting for Christ. I thought of the apostles, bellies full on the Lord's supper, asleep as he prayed and sweat blood for them and for us. The 8-year-old poked me and pointed to the missal booklet. "It's time, mom!" He squealed. The bells on the altar began to ring, followed by the tower bells. A smile stretched across his face as his dad stepped up before the choir and signaled for the musicians to be ready. And then, as if to say figuratively throughout the Scriptures and literally to all of the little children who had drifted off during them, "Arise O Sleeper!", The choir proclaimed triumphantly, "GLORIA! GLORIA! In Excelsis Deo! The lights came on in the whole Church and we all winced as those who had become accustomed to the dark. But now, able to see, I could recognize once more my friends, my community, those who not only journey with me in life but who had been here with me in this Church for the past 3 days. We had together entered into the mystery of his death and now were being triumphantly welcomed into his resurrection, together. As the second reading affirmed, "For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his." Romans 6:5
Alleluia, He is risen. Just as He said he would.
Finally.
I'd like to say that my Lent was beautifully penitential, that I suffered well, that I took up my cross daily and died with Him so as to rise again with Him to new life in this Easter season. But, to be honest, my Lent was pretty weak. I was pretty weak. My personal penances and aspirations faded early on in the process. My personal prayer started off strong but by mid-March had caught the struggle bus and rode it well into April. So, when Palm Sunday rolled around I decided I was going to take advantage of Holy Week and make up for lost time. I was going to do extreme fasting. (Extreme fail.) I was going to pray more! (I'm pretty sure I actually figured out a way to pray less.) I was going to attend ALL of the Triduum liturgies WITH my children...
Let's take a moment for some back story in case you don't know me...
My husband is a liturgical musician which means I'm basically a pew widow. Every Sunday, every holiday; I'm on my own. I have 3 young, very active boys. They all have big personalities, they don't like to sit still,(ever) they each have some rare condition that makes them completely unable to whisper (undiagnosed) and in their presence the words "not an appropriate place to wrestle" fall on deaf ears as if I were speaking in some foreign aboriginal tongue. You'd assume having both parents work for the Church for their entire lives and living in a home that bases their desserts on the liturgical calendar would ensure that these children are fully acclimated angels in Church. But everybody knows what happens when you assume. And that's pretty much what they act like in Mass.
In addition to the actual liturgies themselves, the weeks surrounding Christmas and Easter, in particular, are filled with lots of extra work, rehearsals, and stress for my husband. On Christmas Eve, for example, He provides music for the Vigil Mass, comes home to have dinner with us and other relatives and then heads back to Church at 9pm for one last rehearsal before Midnight Mass. I put the excited, giddy children to bed alone (again) and then me, George Bailey and a cocktail of some sort finish wrapping gifts for the rest of the night. I'm not complaining, it's been my tradition for the last 10 years and something about it is familiar and nostalgic and feels right. Never the less, every year without fail I find myself lamenting the fact that I'm not at midnight Mass; because I want to support my husband's hard work and because I always hear how beautiful it is and honestly, the only thing MORE nostalgic than 'It's a Wonderful Life' on Christmas Eve is Midnight Mass. It makes me sad that I'm not there. But not sad enough that I'm willing to do it alone. Alas. Anyway, he gets home at about 3 AM (after a very long Mass and a celebratory drink with the clergy) and then we're up again at dawn to watch the boys rip through their presents and for all of us to put on our best duds for baby Jesus and head back to Church for Christmas morning Mass. Easter is pretty much the same story, times 3. Holy Thursday, Good Friday, a (7 reading, full immersion Adult Baptisms) Easter Vigil and 2 Easter morning Masses.
For years I've sat at home on Holy Saturday and said, "one day". Last year, I said, "next year." And after my milk toast Lent, I said, "ENOUGH. THIS IS THE YEAR.". I decided I was going to take my 3 precocious and precious balls of energy to EVERY second of the Triduum liturgies. And, just so you know how sincere I am about my holiness, I tallied up all the hours of liturgy that this would entail (you know, so you can actually measure the sanctity and stuff.) 1.5 hour Holy Thursday Mass + 1 hour re-enactment of the stations of the cross through a public park, followed by a 2 hour veneration of the Cross service, followed by eternity (1/2 an hour) waiting in line for confession (have you ever yelled at your kids IN line for confession? Good times.) + (wait for it) a 3 HOUR Easter Vigil. That's almost 8 hours of Church in a 3-day time span for children who act like 1 hour on Sundays is the Babylonian exile.
Now, based on my previous failed attempts at Lent-ing you would be correct in assuming that I failed at following through with this lofty goal. BUT...BUT..lucky for me our little family had a better Lent than I did personally. (Thanks to my husband.) We had been praying decades of the Rosary together regularly at night, we held up our family penances well and I had seen many graces and fruit at school at the weekly stations of the cross with my boys. Somehow our experience as a domestic church during Lent had primed us and given me the grace I needed to try what seemed to be impossible.
Grace is a tricky friend, though. It turns out it was indeed enough to get us there night after night. I wish I could tell you, however, that it was also enough to help them sit still and quiet through every minute of it but, they are still children. It was hard but very worth it. Oh. so worth it. Contrary to the previous multitude of paragraphs that got us to this point, this is not a story of how I threatened my children with throwing away all of the Easter candy that had not yet received, in muffled whispers, repeatedly, while Jesus Christ became truly present on the altar. (I mean, maybe it is a little bit) But actually, No, this is a story of how I experienced the Passion and Death of Jesus in the midst of community and how through that community I was caught up into the joy of the resurrection.
What's it like to be a part of a real, active, beautiful, faithful to the magisterium, Catholic community? Well, I'll tell you. It feels like being 'known' by God, through others. The families and individuals we go to Church with are also the families we go to school with, they also happen to be our friends. I am blessed by rich liturgy, incredible music ;), passionate, intelligent preaching, a deep Sacramental life and people who illuminate and bring life to all of those realities. In the midst of that community, my weak Lent was lit on fire (not literally thankfully) during the Triduum and it granted me the sweetest gift of a joy full Easter. Here's how it happened:
Holy Thursday:
On Thursday evening, as Father washed the feet of the young men (college chapter) of the Knights of Columbus my children were enthralled at what was going on on the altar (people were taking their socks off so it was pretty captivating). I seized the moment of peace and took a look around the Church. Here's what I saw; First, I noticed a large group of my students, sitting together. Many of them are making their Confirmation in a couple weeks and some of them were there with their families. Teaching Scripture and Moral Theology to teenagers is always part Theology and part Youth Ministry. Faith and the doubts that accompany it are personal for them and at this part of the year, we've been on quite a journey together. I flashed back to my husband and I's first Holy Thursday Mass as a married couple. We were living in Denver and attended that Mass near our home that night. We had just learned that we were pregnant for the first time and while we were happy, it had been quite a surprise for us. I remember experiencing anxiety over what to expect. I remember feeling convicted and oddly comforted that night about the fact that I would have to suffer to be a mother. I remember entering into prayer with Christ in the garden that evening feeling resolved to accept God's will for whatever I was called to with this new life. Looking across the Church at my students and on the altar at some of the many college students I've been blessed to journey with throughout my years in college ministry and feeling the tug of my own children at my side I felt as if God was showing me the fruits of that Holy Thursday night 11 years ago. I have suffered for and been edified by all of these children, physical and spiritual. The suffering servant is such a powerful witness for parents. We lead them by suffering for them and in turn teaching them to suffer. We give, as a reflection of Christ's gift in that Last Supper, the gift of our very self. "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13 (I'm not one to challenge the Gospel writers but John could have added children to this verse too.) But, speaking of friends; I also noticed that my friends were all present. These are the families we journey within a real way. They are the ones that make me laugh, who I call when I'm sad, who I lean on when I'm hurt, who challenge me when I'm resistant, with whom I share my joy. And I felt, in a real way that we were all in it, in this moment, together.
Good Friday:
For the past 10 years, I worked for our Church Parish and always helped the college students who reenacted the Stations of the Cross or took pictures of the event for the ministry. This is a massive event. The college students practice for weeks (this year giving up part of their Spring break to do so) and hundreds of people show up to pray as the students take us through each moment of the Passion of Christ. In all my years as a part of this ministry, it has never rained for this event. This year seemed like it would be no different in that regard. This was the first time I was free from my camera and the first time I brought my children with me. We arrived in beautiful sunshine but in the span of 10 minutes, as we waited for the first station to begin, the sky cracked open and we were all sent running for shelter. Luckily the rain only lasted a few minutes and before long we were free to follow Christ through the mud, past the park dwellers enjoying their bar-be-que's with family.
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| photo by Kaitlin Davis |
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| Photo by RCC media team |
We followed Him to the hill on the far side of the park and sat in prayer while we watched him breathe his last, watched his weeping mother hold him, then watched the fathers and brothers in our community carry his limp body back to the Church. The Good Friday Stations of the Cross that followed that Holy Thursday Mass all those years ago in Denver was the exact time and place that I began to suffer the miscarriage of my first child. I would suffer 3 more but they would all be united with Christ's suffering on the cross and Mary's grief over losing her child. There on that hill this year as I looked at the 500 people around me I was reminded of God's promises and his faithfulness. "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." Job 1:21 Once we made it all the way back to Church we were wet and sweaty, tired and a little muddy. I expected most people to leave before the veneration service began. I seriously thought about it myself. But, we squeezed in tight and all found a seat and communally pretended like nobody smelled like they had been caught in the rain. This one day of the liturgical year when Mass is not celebrated, we stayed and prayed and listened to the choir chant his sorrows. We kissed his wounds. Grown men and women humbled themselves to venerate a cross; the means of our salvation. We watched little ones, standing on their tiptoes to reach his wounded hands and those tiny ones who could not upon their best effort reach his outstretched arms, made themselves smaller to kiss his feet and hug his unbroken legs. One by one again I saw my friends and their families. One by one they witnessed to me faithfulness, humility, and grace. So many people stayed for this 2-hour service in fact, that there was almost not enough hosts for everyone in the Church. Father looked out at the unending line approaching to receive their Lord crucified and began to break the Eucharist that had been consecrated the night before, the body that was broken, broken again to feed His flock. Confessions followed immediately. I took the boys to the confession line outside, partly because they needed a little space to move after the service and partly because the 4 Priests hearing confessions IN the Church were friends of mine. I know, I know, it shouldn't matter but when you've worked for the Church for so long it is a difficult thing to present yourself to Priests you know so well. So, I waited outside for the Priest I know but not as well. I waited and the line barely moved. All the while heralds of mercy kept announcing to those waiting with me that the lines inside were short or gone and that we were welcomed to go there. I resisted. I sent my children in to them. I resisted still until I couldn't anymore. I left it up to the Holy Spirit and ended up face to face with my longtime college friend. He listened. He forgave and in his words I heard Christ saying to me the words I heard the night before, "Greater love has no man than to lay down his life for his FRIEND. You are my friend. See?" Yes, Lord. I see.
Holy Saturday; The Vigil:
At this point, I really did try to give myself an out. We had been in the sun all day, my children were exhausted. At 6PM I had decided it was too much to ask of them to attend such a long service that began at what is normally their bedtime and lasted much later than any of them have ever been awake on purpose. But, to my surprise when I suggested we wait until the morning to attend Easter Mass instead of attending the vigil, they protested. Of course, it was partly the thought of staying up late that was enticing and mysterious to them and mostly that the thought of a party with all the candy and cake you can eat in the Church hall that follows the vigil was too much to pass up. But they also rallied in a way that was unexpected. "Dad's worked hard, mom! We want to go!" And of course, there was no way I could say no to that.
We got to Church just in time to put our things in a pew and meet the rest of the congregation outside for the lighting of the pascal candle. Everyone had their candles and honestly, I was hoping my children wouldn't notice because sure, let's add fire to this fiasco. It can't turn out well. But, of course, they noticed and they wanted their own. The crowd was thick and the candles were in a box far from where we were standing. Luckily our friends; a coworker of mine and a former coworker of mine (the cutest newlywed couple you ever did see) were standing near us and the husband kindly offered to take my oldest to get candles for everyone. There again, I could see all of my friends. The same friends who had also been in attendance Thursday night and Friday afternoon and new friends who were joining us for the first time.
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| Photo by Our Lady of Wisdom Family Catechism |
As we made it to our pew and tried our best not to catch the musicians in front of us on fire, I couldn't help but watch the Church slowly come to life with dancing flames, one lighting the next until the light overcame the darkness. All from one light. This is how the light spreads. This is how the gospel is shared; from one glowing heart drawing near to another with its flame so warm that it cannot help but set the other ablaze. At this point, my children were taken in by it all. Easter vigil really is a feast for the senses AND the soul. Catholicism wants you to celebrate with your whole person, as I tell my students. Be FULLY human. Smell the incense, hear the bells, the songs, the voice of your neighbor, see the fire of faith lit anew, feel the warmth as the dark quiet Church becomes bright and filled with joy. We sat for the readings, 7 from the Old Testament that would tell of Salvation history and set the stage for the coming of Christ. The lector who read the creation story has one of those voices that stops you in your tracks and makes you experience the words anew. She proclaims the word, not in theatrics or melody but with the beauty and clarity of her voice and the intentionality of her speech. In-between each reading the choir and musicians (led by my husband) sang a beautiful chant or hymn. One, in particular, had our hearts soaring; "Like a deer that longs for running streams. My soul longs for you, my God." Psalm 42. Teaching Scripture for the first time this year really has added a richness to the Mass and my personal prayer. Thinking of the desire that echoed throughout salvation history for a savior, thinking of King David's desire for God made this hymn that much more desperate and sincere and beautiful. Then I caught sight of the lector who only moments before had been proclaiming the word to us with her words, now seated, eyes closed, heart floating proclaimed it to me in her countenance. Watching her experience the psalm, subtly yet profoundly moved me to experience it in a new way. As the last Old Testament reading was declared I noticed that everyone around me and in the whole church had extinguished their candles. Most likely, like me, it became too arduous to keep it lit. The wax was hot, my hand was tired and I could no longer make sure my children did not catch each other or those around us on fire. (I can't believe that doesn't happen more often at Vigil Masses honestly.) The Church was again dark. But then I noticed on the other side of the Church one little light burning bright and a little face illuminated by its flame. Lucy, the light bearer, had not extinguished her light and she sat proudly in its glow. She smiled and it made me smile too.
I looked at my youngest, fast asleep in the pew and I thought of our Old Testament ancestors asleep, waiting for Christ. I thought of the apostles, bellies full on the Lord's supper, asleep as he prayed and sweat blood for them and for us. The 8-year-old poked me and pointed to the missal booklet. "It's time, mom!" He squealed. The bells on the altar began to ring, followed by the tower bells. A smile stretched across his face as his dad stepped up before the choir and signaled for the musicians to be ready. And then, as if to say figuratively throughout the Scriptures and literally to all of the little children who had drifted off during them, "Arise O Sleeper!", The choir proclaimed triumphantly, "GLORIA! GLORIA! In Excelsis Deo! The lights came on in the whole Church and we all winced as those who had become accustomed to the dark. But now, able to see, I could recognize once more my friends, my community, those who not only journey with me in life but who had been here with me in this Church for the past 3 days. We had together entered into the mystery of his death and now were being triumphantly welcomed into his resurrection, together. As the second reading affirmed, "For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his." Romans 6:5
Alleluia, He is risen. Just as He said he would.
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