In a less than fully awakened state this morning I clicked on the US Catholic Bishops’ website to check the readings for the day. I thought for a second that I had missed the mark on the small calendar box for today because what came up was entitled “Easter Sunday – the Resurrection of the Lord.” But of course, the readings are for tonight at “the Vigil in the Holy Night” to come. There is no Eucharistic Celebration on this day; Jesus remains in the tomb of our remembrance.
One could argue that my confusion was understandable. As I was coming to consciousness, my eye fell on the first reading for the vigil, the powerful story of creation in chapter one of the Book of Genesis. “Let there be light”, God said. “And there was light.” How fitting, I thought, as I moved my chair to escape the blazing sunlight coming through my window that was making it impossible for me to see the computer screen. The brilliance felt as if it was again the first day of creation. But again I realized I had skipped ahead. Having come late to this blogging task today, I had missed the moment when “the earth was a formless wasteland and darkness covered the abyss…”
So now I sit, ready to engage this day of mourning, hearing my favorite composer of modern liturgical music (Marty Haugen) sing, What shall we do between the times? It’s a long song, chronicling life in different seasons of our lives and realizing that those times are gone. The tone is one of longing and asking the above question at the end of each verse. Coming to the end of the song, however, there is a movement toward hope, a looking toward “the holy mountain” and the promise of the “not yet.”
That is the place where I hope to spend my day – in remembrance of all that has been of both faith and loss in my life, of this moment of stasis, recognizing the absence of Jesus who lies in the tomb, and of the hope that is possible because of the sun rising in our hearts, if only we will accept the responsibility that accompanies the miracle of rebirth.
Today, sorrow and lament fill the praying world as ritual attempts in word and song and sometimes even gesture to reach the depth of pain that is recalled to us from across the ages as “the scandal of the cross,” the suffering and death of Jesus. If awake enough, we see this suffering repeated again and again in our own time and know it as a vivid manifestation of the pain body of Christ. In that way it becomes our pain as well since we are not separate but merely different cells in that very real and present body.
This morning I’m feeling a sense of expectancy. The trees are silent outside – unmoving – as if they also know the call to stand up and be ready. It is the time of “High Holy Days” for Jews and Christians alike, an opportunity to bring the past into the present by remembering and recounting our religious heritage. For Christians the Scriptures of this week have moved from the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem this past Sunday, soon to be followed by ignominy of the crucifixion and burial of Jesus, commemorated tomorrow in a stark ritual. The history of the Jews, stretching back so much further, recalls the exodus of Israelite slaves from Egypt, saved by God’s “passing over” of the houses of Israelites during the tenth plague that killed all of the first-born children of the Egyptians. Passover also stretches over a week, this year from tomorrow evening, March 30, to April 7.
I was a parish faith formation director when mini-courses first made their appearance in religious education. I was a fan for several reasons, not the least of which was the fact that it was easier to get four teachers (one for each 6-week commitment) than to find one willing to show up consistently for a 24-session course. The students also liked the diversity of teachers and topics. One year I decided to push the envelope even further by offering a one-week intensive which would replace one of the 6-week courses for 9th or 10th graders. The curriculum was as follows: mandatory attendance at an introductory 90-minute overview in the week prior to Holy Week as well as participation in services on Palm Sunday, Holy (Maundy) Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil and a one-page reflection paper on the experience, submitted within 2 weeks after Easter. Many of the students took up the challenge and profited so greatly from the experience that I repeated the course for a number of years. One of the added benefits of the experiment was the fact that most of the students needed a ride to church so many parents participated with them and found it profitable as well.
Having nothing of merit to say on this Tuesday of Holy Week, I search Thomas Merton for a worthy word. Although he never disappoints, I find myself looking unsuccessfully for something soothing to counteract the sorrow of what is to come as this week progresses. I settle for an admission of God’s greatness (the only safeguard for us in distress) and the necessity of surrender if we are to take up our role and responsibility in concert with God.
John’s gospel for today (12:1-11) always signals for me a pause in the frenetic events of Holy Week. Yesterday there was the uproarious crowd as Jesus entered Jerusalem and beginning on Thursday the intensity of the Passion commences, not to subside until the next waiting period at the tomb. It feels this morning like watching the ocean waves in slow motion – building, crashing, subsiding and then building again to a crisis point – but in between, a space of silence and repose.
There is so much to read today in the lectionary texts, so many scenarios and complicating emotions! It’s only Sunday and we have the whole Holy Week to deal with, yet the entire drama is placed before us today, perhaps so that we are able to hold it all as the week goes on – even while knowing already both the tragic and the glorious pieces of the outcome.
The daily Scriptures continue to surprise me. Just when I think I have the important messages memorized, a verse shows up saying something I don’t remember ever hearing before. This morning it’s from Ezekiel. I’ve been confident for as long as I remember, knowing that God said “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you…” but this morning the verse before the gospel stuns me with: “Cast away from you all the crimes that you have committed, says the Lord, and make for yourselves a new heart and a new spirit.” (EZ 18:31) That sounds like the retort of Jesus when the disciples tell him the huge crowd that’s been following him needs food and he says, “Give them something to eat yourselves.”
Again yesterday I was reminded of the importance of spiritual practice but this time that message came in a group gathering. Five of the seven members of our “practice circle” who were able to be present came together in Estelle’s lovely living room for what has become an increasingly important monthly meeting. As we first checked in with present events in our personal lives – some painful or difficult – we also expressed our gratitude for the sunshine and promise of spring (regardless of the 25 degree temperature and mounds of snow outside!) as well as our enthusiasm for being together.
Synonyms for constantly: continuously, persistently, always, again and again, frequently, repeatedly, over and over…(You get the picture, yes?)
The Sophia Center for Spirituality 