walking the tightrope of good friday

Since the days of spiritual renewal that led to my adult baptism, Holy Week has held a special place in my heart and my history. I was blessed to be able to participate and attend services in communities where the services of the triduum--Maundy Thursday through Holy Saturday--were done with competence and reverence. They held power for me and brought depth and breadth to my journey that isn't touched by other means.

Over time and through the transitions of being with other congregations, I have lost touch with some of that mystery. I carry it within me, but the communities I have served have not had traditions and experiences of power to anchor the opportunity of this week in their own lives of faith. No Easter Vigils, or poorly attended ones. In the last two years in the congregation I now serve, attendance during Holy Week services is embarrassingly small. It grieves my soul. This week is what it is all about.

In the midst of grounding myself in the holiness and pain that are these days, life and humor intervene. Last night I was in the middle of reading the gospel, the passage from John where Jesus washes the feet of his followers and gives the new commandment to his disciples to love one another as he has loved them. Six people were in the congregation (see earlier note about embarrassing). A cell phone rang. I continued to read, assuming that the call would be ignored and the phone turned off or switched to vibrate. And then the hushed voice reverberated in the mostly empty space, "I can't talk now, I'm in church!" I finished the reading. "Let me call you back." I couldn't help myself. Doing my best to keep a straight face I raised the book while reciting the familiar words, "The Gospel of the Lord," closed the book and stepped to the side to allow the crucifer to lead us back to the sanctuary. I could hear and sense the restrained giggles of others. I returned the Gospel book to the altar and turned to face the congregation to preach. I could no longer control myself and laughter escaped.

After the service, standing in the sacristy crowded with all the items removed from the chancel following the stripping of the altar, I was asked what sort of set up was needed for the Good Friday service.

"The paten, chalice and a purificator," I said, "and the reserved sacrament."

The newest member of the altar guild looked at me with a blank expression. "The what?"

"The paten and chalice--the plate and the cup."

She nodded. Got it. "And you need the host."

"No," I replied. "On Good Friday Jesus dies and we bury him. We don't resurrect him until Sunday. There is no celebration of Eucharist on Good Friday, which is why we consecrate extra bread and wine tonight to use tomorrow."

Another blank look. "So you don't need the plate since there won't be a host."

"No, we do need the plate because we need to serve the already consecrated wafers."

I watched her process this bit of information. Then a light went on and she broke into a smile. "Oh!" she brightened. "Tomorrow we're having leftovers!"

And hence the tightrope. I love this time of year.

friday five: adoremus te

Adoramus te, Christe,
et benedicimus tibi,
quia per sanctam crucem tuam
redemisti mundum.
Qui passus es pro nobis,
Domine, miserere nobis.

We adore you, O Christ,
and we bless you,
because by your holy cross
you have redeemed the world.
O Lord, who suffered for us,
have mercy on us.

1. How will you pray and worship today?
I will lead worship at our Stations of the Cross at noon, and again at our Good Friday liturgy at 6:00 this evening. As much as is possible when leading, I will use both those opportunities for worship and prayer. I suspect, however, that more private devotion will be the route for honoring the significance of this day with integrity. I plan to spend some prayer time with my Virgin of the Passion icon, which has opened up new avenues to the divine for me this Lent. I expect that God, too, will surprise me by some means in the course of the day.

2. Share a powerful memory or memories of Good Friday past.
I was baptized at the Great Vigil of Easter when I was 30 years old. At the Good Friday liturgy the day prior to that, I was praying in my pew while the congregation was receiving communion from the reserved sacrament. My prayer touched upon the awareness that this would be the last time that I would have to stay behind and not receive communion, as the next evening I would be initiated into the Body of Christ and welcome at the table from that time on. It was a prayer of thanksgiving for the journey that had led me to this moment, and would lead me on to places unknown.

I was on my knees, my hands clasped in front of me with my head resting on my hands. I wept. I then felt a weight like a heavy blanket draped across my shoulders. I knew it was the Holy Spirit, and that she was blessing my triduum with her extraordinary, tangible presence. A couple sitting in front of me returned from receiving communion, and the woman saw me weeping. As she knelt down to say her own prayers she reached behind her and covered my hand with hers, not letting go while she prayed. Though I can’t recall entirely the chronology of those two episodes they are fused in my memory, so I believe them to be connected. They hold enormous power for me.

3. How have you grown and experienced God's love during this past Lent?
The last several years have been spiritually void in many ways. I was content for that to be so for a while, but then resented the emptiness that was seeping into the rest of my life. I began to pray for restoration to a life of more complete faithfulness, and eventually I prayed for transformation. The icon-writing workshop in which I participated this Lent was the vehicle through which transformation began, and my soul continues to be blessed from what began then.

4. In whom do you see the face of the suffering Christ most clearly?
I see the suffering Christ in those who seek justice and advocate for the needs of others. Reading The Last Week brought home for me anew the essential component of justice in Jesus’ ministry.

5. Where do you find hope for resurrection?
I always find hope in creation. Nature’s instinct for renewal and rebirth is persistent and stubborn. It models for me grace and perseverance, and evidence of God’s hand in the smallest detail.

Bonus:
I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year,
"give me a light, that I may find my way in the darkness."
And he said,
"put your hand in the hand of God, for it is better than light,
and safer than a known way."

--Minnie Louise Haskins