Good Friday: We Come to the Cross as We Are

Our Good Friday Passion Service ended about an hour ago. It was marked by solemn, beautiful silence and reverence. Not exactly a full house, but our English celebrations often aren't in my mostly Spanish-speaking parish. But the community gathered there to hear the Passion and venerate the Cross was just enough.  Everyone who was meant to be there was.

During the Veneration of the Cross, I watched as Father, one of our deacons-in-training and the two Eucharistic Ministers carefully raised the cross to a position where most of us could reach it, nearly upright. I came forward, gave the cross a bit of an embrace before I kissed it. Then I wound my way back to my seat.

As I looked up, I saw her. One of our parishioners has severe disabilities that keep her confined to a motorized wheelchair. She inched her way forward in the line, pulled her chair up next to the cross, but was still unable to reach it. As she started to struggle to her feet, our pastor and one of the ministers instantly, as if synchronized, reached out and supported her by the arms, pulling her up so she could kiss the wood of the cross. As she sat back down and shifted her chair to move away, I found myself in tears.

We each come as we are to the cross. When we do it as a community, when we help one another, it speaks of the wondrous love of God who came among us to suffer and die on that Cross. Tonight I have another Triduum snapshot to add to my memory scrapbook.

Paschal Mystery: How the Easter Triuduum Helps Us Walk With Grief

It's Holy Thursday morning, and once again, we stand at the brink of the celebration of the Easter mysteries. In fact, what we will experience from tonight through Easter day is the heart of what we pray at Mass every time: "The Mystery of Faith" - the very death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, which we call the Paschal Mystery.

Paschal Mystery symbol in Freising Cathedral, Bavaria

Meanwhile, real people are suffering their own versions of paschal mystery. In a conversation this morning on social media, a friend whose wife died of cancer a while back reminded me that he had learned his wife was losing her battle with the disease from a phone call while on his way to the celebration of Good Friday. I am conscious that another friend learned a few days ago that his wife's cancer has metastasized and is now inoperable. 

Almost eight years ago, I suffered a major loss when the man I had intended to marry died suddenly. Most of us, if we have lived long enough, are, like Jesus, men/women of sorrow, well-acquainted with grief. Grief and suffering are very real and inevitably a part of the human life in which Jesus came to earth to share with us.

This is where deeply surrendering to the experience of the Easter Triduum and walking through the Paschal Mystery can be restorative. If we are open and ready to accept the message that the love of God for us is so strong that Jesus, by his dying and rising changed human death forever, we can receive healing of those deep wounds that grief impresses on the heart.

As usual, what we pray in the liturgy throughout the church year, especially in the celebration of funerals, is what we believe.

In him the hope of blessed resurrection has dawned,
that those saddened by the certainty of dying,
might be consoled by the promise of immortality to come.
Indeed for your faithful, Lord,
life is changed not ended,
and, when this earthly dwelling turns to dust,
an eternal dwelling is made ready for them in heaven.
(Preface for Christian Death I)

For as one alone he accepted death,
so that we might all escape from dying;
as one man he chose to die,
so that in your sight we all might live for ever.
(Preface for Christian Death II)

Even more impressively, in Preface V, we have this:

For even though by our own fault we perish,
yet by your compassion and your grace,
when seized by death according to our sins,
we are redeemed through Christ's great victory,
and with him called back into life.

We don't even have to go to a funeral or memorial Mass to hear this reassurance of eternal life. It is, of course, embedded in the prayers of every Mass. However, at the Masses of Easter we will hear it reemphasized:

For he is the true Lamb
who has taken away the sins of the world;
by dying he has destroyed our death,
and by rising, restored our life. (Preface I of Easter)

Through him the children of light rise to eternal life
and the halls of the heavenly Kingdom
are thrown open to the faithful;
for his Death is our ransom from death,
and in his rising the life of all has risen.  (Preface II of Easter)

What is the message? HOPE. In the midst of the suffering of this world, we have the promise that this earthly life is not all there is. Hearing this message over and over again, for all the years necessary until we each are ready to let go of tears for our beloved dead and can instead manage to see their faces as "the children of light" and feel their presence around the altar at every Mass - this is the power of the Eucharist to heal the effects of grief. 

Each person heals from a great loss at his/her own rate. I cannot pretend that grief ever really goes away. Anyone who has walked its dark corridors will tell you it's a myth that time heals it all. Grief always lurks behind that closed door of the heart, waiting to ambush us when we are "triggered" into remembering, as Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote so perceptively:

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year’s bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,—so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

For me, preparing to enter the great mystery of the Three Days is a reflective time for emptying myself and reaffirming that the reason we can find joy in celebrating these intense days of walking with Jesus Christ through suffering and death is that he has indeed risen from the dead and offered our deceased loved ones - and us - the gateway to eternal life with God. 

When the words of the Easter Proclamation (Exsultet) ring out in the darkness at the beginning of the Easter Vigil, I will be there trembling with barely suppressed joy because I truly believe that  "This is the night, when Christ broke the prison-bars of death and rose victorious from the underworld."  Because of what Jesus did, death can no longer conquer us. It is not the end. Our loved ones are alive in him.

As Christians, we must each, whenever we are ready, climb out of our personal despair from grief at the death of those we love. We can, through faith, join them around God's altar when the earthly liturgy meets the heavenly liturgy at every celebration of the Mass, knowing that someday, we too will be rejoicing around God's throne, united with them in him, for all eternity. 

Today, I pray for all who grieve and for all those facing the certainty of the death of those they love, that they may receive the gift of faith that I have been granted, and through the power of the liturgies of the Three Days, come to know the truth that for their beloved ones, that "life is changed, not ended."

Easter Triduum: Opening the Mystery

The following is something I wrote that has just been published in our diocesan magazine, Christ is Our Hope.

In 1987, I experienced my first Easter Vigil when I came into Full Communion with the Catholic Church. My main memories are of my family being there, of the large brass image of a descending dove on the canopy above the altar, of receiving communion for the first time. Thirty Easter Vigils later, I must say, that “night of all nights” never gets old for me. Each year I experience anticipation, excitement, and joy in a different way. It’s been like Forrest Gump’s famous box of chocolates. You never know just what you’re going to get!

As I have experienced the Easter Triduum (the “Three Days”) in the years since, as a music minister, liturgist and catechist, I have come to love the Vigil on Holy Saturday night as the climax of those special days. I’d like to share some of my own spirituality, impressions and experiences, hoping to invite others to a deeper celebration of the Easter mysteries.

Each Holy Thursday I take the day off from work to prepare, sometimes helping at my parish to set up the Altar of Repose for the evening liturgy.  I run any personal errands that would have occupied my weekend and quiet myself in anticipation. If I am to serve as a cantor, I rehearse my music. As evening approaches, I begin to consciously observe the Triduum fast – turning off the TV to better focus myself. I arrive at church early, and as the Mass of the Lord’s Supper begins, I slip into a familiar groove – a mix of excitement and contentment. I feel “at home” in the celebration.

Over the years, I have had Holy Thursday “moments.” Watching the holy oils, blessed by the bishop at the Chrism Mass, be presented for use in the parish. The time I had my feet washed.  The beauty and joy of watching others wash and be washed, in the image of Jesus and his disciples. The singing of songs with texts that speak of the love of Christ and our love for one another. But always, the final, beautiful solemn procession honoring the Eucharist, accompanied by the ancient chant “Tantum ergo.”  The silent departure, without formal dismissal, always seems to say we are not yet finished – we must come back because there’s more. For those who choose to stay, the silence and candle-lit beauty of the Eucharistic vigil is a true invitation into Jesus’ Passion. 

Good Friday should be for all of us, a quiet day of fasting and penance. (I find it truly sad that some people must work these days.) The reading of the Passion is, for me, always an emotional experience – because it is hard not to visualize Jesus’ betrayal and suffering. The long, formal intercessions and the starkness of a simple Communion service instead of a Mass remind us that this day is different from all others. Christ has died. The rest is yet to come.

In the years when I had a garden, I used to spend the afternoon after the Good Friday liturgy hand-tilling the soil with a spade for new planting. The achingly hard work and silence were a way for me to be in solidarity with Christ’s suffering. These days, since I now live in an apartment, I simply go home and fast from the television and internet – which for me, is true sacrifice!

Holy Saturday morning is a special time: Jesus is still in the tomb and all Creation holds its breath. If we are keeping the Triduum fast, focusing more on “being” in the Three Days, this is the time to begin preparation for Easter. At home, this might be cooking and cleaning, perhaps going to church for the blessing of the Easter foods.  In churches all over the world, this is when many helpers prepare the worship space and catechumens and candidates who will be initiated are in final retreat and rehearsal for the night’s liturgy. Flowers are arranged, altars are dressed, the people’s candles and the new paschal candle are prepared.  When all is ready, all go home to await the setting of the sun.

As darkness falls, it gets exciting. At St. John’s, we gather in a circle around a large outdoor bonfire in the middle of the courtyard, to bless the new paschal candle. One year, as our pastor recited the words “Christ, the Alpha and Omega…” as he pressed the incense nails into the candle, I saw something astonishing. Across the circle from me, her wrinkled face lit by firelight, was an elderly Hispanic woman, with tears streaming down her cheeks.  I found myself overwhelmed and grateful for her simple, open emotion.

The procession into the church with the candle, the lighting of the people’s candles from its flame, and the chanting of the Exsultet – the great song of praise to the candle, the light of the Risen Christ and the proclamation of the Resurrection, when we are invited to rejoice with all the powers of heaven – is the most beautiful moment of the year:

This is the night,
when once you led our forebears, Israel's children,
from slavery in Egypt
and made them pass dry-shod through the Red Sea.

This is the night
that with a pillar of fire
banished the darkness of sin.

This is the night
that even now, throughout the world,
sets Christian believers apart from worldly vices
and from the gloom of sin,
leading them to grace
and joining them to his holy ones.

This is the night,
when Christ broke the prison-bars of death
and rose victorious from the underworld.

               (The Exsultet, from the Roman Missal)

As we sit down and extinguish our candles,  we listen to the readings of the Vigil, the story of our salvation, from Creation to the coming of Christ. We sing once again the “Glory to God,” silenced since the beginning of Lent, then, we hear from St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans that the Resurrection of Christ makes all the difference. The triumphant return of the “Alleluia” and the Gospel proclamation of the Resurrection lift us into the presence of the living Christ.

How fitting it is, that after the homily, those coming into the Church through baptism and Confirmation are initiated, joining us for the first time at the table of the Lord. I have had the privilege of preparing some of these RCIA candidates over the years, and it is always an occasion for joy. 

One of my favorite memories is of Jose, who approached the font with the casual expression of a typical young man, but who emerged from the baptismal waters with a beautiful smile and an obvious quiet joy that made me want to shout: “IT’S IN THERE!” He had met Christ in the water of new life.

After the baptisms, the entire assembly renews its baptismal promises, ending with “This is our faith. We are proud to profess it in Christ Jesus.” Renewed as a people and ready to resume our places in the Body of Christ, refreshed in the light of his Resurrection, we prepare and partake of communion, as at any regular Sunday Mass. Everything is now familiar, but I am convinced we cannot be the same as we were before the Three Days. If we have fully surrendered to the experience, we have truly walked with Christ.  

Wednesday of Holy Week: Standing on Tiptoe

It's a sunny afternoon as I write this. By this time tomorrow, I will be in final preparation for the start of Easter Triduum. In the background, I'm listening to the CD of music for Triduum prepared by our parish music director. It's bilingual music, often rhythmic and heartfelt, other times lyrical and sometimes almost sensuous, like this version of Psalm 51

One gift of being in a parish where the majority of my fellow members are Hispanic is that the music and style of worship often really speaks more directly to that part of my heart where the joy lives, rather than first to the head. It's the gift of a simple, less complicated faith, which is what speaks to me most clearly right now. I need to shed the layers of formality and go directly to the joy.

So it is, that I stand on tiptoe this Wednesday afternoon, leaning forward in joyous anticipation of the mysteries of the Easter Triduum.

Macrina Wiederkehr captures my feelings this afternoon perfectly in this delightful poem:

"Standing on Tiptoe"
On tiptoe we stand, Lord Jesus
eagerly awaiting
your full revelation
always expecting you
to come some more.

Our hands and hearts
are open to your grace.
Our lives are still waiting for
the fullness of your presence.
We are those who have been promised
a Kingdom, and we can never forget
Yet we have a foot in both worlds
and we stumble.

But still we stand
on tiptoe
owning our kingdom-loving hearts
and our earth-eyes
We lean forward
and hope.

Tonight: Jesus is BAA-AACK!

During Holy Saturday, we prepare and we wait. Jesus has gone into the grave. Knowing what we know, that this is not the end of the story, unlike the disciples, who are readying themselves for the end of the Sabbath, when they can anoint the body and complete the burial, we spend the day readying for Christ's return.  

Many of us will be at our parish churches later this morning decking the altar with our most splendid altar cloths, masses of beautiful flowers and candles which will be fully revealed tonight when out of the darkness of the Vigil, the light returns at the lighting of the candles and the church as we sing the Glory to God on this "truly blessed night," when we see Christ rising from the dead.

But before that can happen, we will go, with Christ, into the darkness. After the sun sets, we light the Easter fire and stand around it as we bless the Paschal Candle. Moving into the church, we each receive a lighted taper and stand together to hear the great proclamation of the Exsultet, a hymn about the candle itself, which explains the connections between the candle and God - who appeared to our ancestors in faith as a pillar of fire and who now appears as the Morning Star.

To prepare for tonight, read through this magnificent text. There is absolutely no better way to get ready.

The Easter Proclamation (Exsultet)
Exult, let them exult, the hosts of heaven,
exult, let Angel ministers of God exult,
let the trumpet of salvation
sound aloud our mighty King’s triumph!
Be glad, let earth be glad, as glory floods her,
ablaze with light from her eternal King,
let all corners of the earth be glad,
knowing an end to gloom and darkness.
Rejoice, let Mother Church also rejoice,
arrayed with the lightning of his glory,
let this holy building shake with joy,
filled with the mighty voices of the peoples.

(Therefore, dearest friends,
standing in the awesome glory of this holy light,
invoke with me, I ask you,
the mercy of God almighty,
that he, who has been pleased to number me,
though unworthy, among the Levites,
may pour into me his light unshadowed,
that I may sing this candle’s perfect praises).

(V. The Lord be with you.
R. And with your spirit.)
V. Lift up your hearts.
R. We lift them up to the Lord.
V. Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
R. It is right and just.

It is truly right and just,
with ardent love of mind and heart
and with devoted service of our voice,
to acclaim our God invisible, the almighty Father,
and Jesus Christ, our Lord, his Son, his Only Begotten.

Who for our sake paid Adam’s debt to the eternal Father,
and, pouring out his own dear Blood,
wiped clean the record of our ancient sinfulness.

These, then, are the feasts of Passover,
in which is slain the Lamb, the one true Lamb,
whose Blood anoints the doorposts of believers.

This is the night,
when once you led our forebears, Israel’s children,
from slavery in Egypt
and made them pass dry-shod through the Red Sea.

This is the night
that with a pillar of fire
banished the darkness of sin.

This is the night
that even now, throughout the world,
sets Christian believers apart from worldly vices
and from the gloom of sin,
leading them to grace
and joining them to his holy ones. 

This is the night,
when Christ broke the prison-bars of death
and rose victorious from the underworld.

Our birth would have been no gain,
had we not been redeemed.
O wonder of your humble care for us!
O love, O charity beyond all telling,
to ransom a slave you gave away your Son!

O truly necessary sin of Adam,
destroyed completely by the Death of Christ!

O happy fault
that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer! 

O truly blessed night,
worthy alone to know the time and hour
when Christ rose from the underworld!

This is the night
of which it is written:
The night shall be as bright as day,
dazzling is the night for me,
and full of gladness. 

The sanctifying power of this night
dispels wickedness, washes faults away,
restores innocence to the fallen, and joy to mourners,
drives out hatred, fosters concord, and brings down the mighty. 

On this, your night of grace, O holy Father,
accept this candle, a solemn offering,
the work of bees and of your servants’ hands,
an evening sacrifice of praise,
this gift from your most holy Church. 

But now we know the praises of this pillar,
which glowing fire ignites for God’s honor,
a fire into many flames divided,
yet never dimmed by sharing of its light,
for it is fed by melting wax,
drawn out by mother bees
to build a torch so precious.

O truly blessed night,
when things of heaven are wed to those of earth,
and divine to the human.

Therefore, O Lord,
we pray you that this candle,
hallowed to the honor of your name,
may persevere undimmed,
to overcome the darkness of this night.
Receive it as a pleasing fragrance,
and let it mingle with the lights of heaven.
May this flame be found still burning
by the Morning Star:
the one Morning Star who never sets,
Christ your Son,
who, coming back from death’s domain,
has shed his peaceful light on humanity,
and lives and reigns for ever and ever.
R. Amen.

The Cross - Sign of Wondrous Love

Today, as millions around the world venerate the wood of the Cross, we remember the great love that God showed us -  in spite of ourselves - that he gave his only Son to suffer and die for our sins.  St. Paul got it exactly right:

For Christ, while we were still helpless, yet died at the appointed time for the ungodly.Indeed, only with difficulty does one die for a just person, though perhaps for a good person one might even find courage to die. But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us. How much more then, since we are now justified by his blood, will we be saved through him from the wrath. Indeed, if, while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, how much more, once reconciled, will we be saved by his life. (Romans 5:6-10)

We acknowledge our unworthiness, but claim that love when we venerate the Cross - but we also accept that the Cross has a place in our own lives at the times we are called to our own suffering - and to the sure knowledge that not only do we not bear those sufferings alone, but we, too, can be transformed by our suffering because of Christ's Paschal Mystery. His death and resurrection prove that God has the power to create good and set us free from evil and assures us that is possible in our lives if we believe.

Love, lifted on the cross for me

My Lord, my God, my salvation

Love, lifted high to set me free

My Lord, my God, my salvation...

Coming Soon: The Most Important 3 Days of the Church Year

As we move into the final days of Lent, it's not too early to start planning one's activities around the events of Holy Week, particularly Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday. These three days, called the Easter Triduum, are simply the most important in the entire Church year, as we follow Christ through his last supper with his disciples, his arrest, condemnation, suffering, death on the cross and resurrection, i.e., the Paschal Mystery.

I always tell people who only show up on Easter Sunday that they actually missed the main event:  Jesus has already risen. Sure, it's great to celebrate that, but if we are present at the Easter Vigil on Saturday, we witness Christ's rising among us as we pass from darkness into light. I have written before about the importance of the Triduum, but I simply cannot say it enough.

Triduum (pronounced TRID-YOO-UM, not TRID-EE-UM, as many people say it) means 3 days. Since Pius XII restored the Easter Vigil in 1955 (based on ancient practice), the Church has celebrated these three days as a time apart - an experience of Paschal Mystery for the entire community. It is meant to be on every Catholic's calendar as a time to set other concerns aside.  Even though it is less common for employers to suspend work during the period between noon and 3 p.m. on Friday, Catholics should still be able to find ways to participate in all three days, as many parishes provide an evening service.

Jesus loved you enough to go through his suffering and death, so the least you can do is acknowledge that with your presence at the important liturgies of the Triduum. Thursday night is beautiful as we commemorate the institution of the Eucharist and wash feet as he did.  On Friday, we remember the great the love of a God who gave his only Son to suffering and death for our sake. On Saturday night, we witness the lighting of the fire of renewed life and hear about God's great plan for our salvation as we wait for the proclamation of Christ's Resurrection.

Maybe it's just me, but I have never once missed a day of the Triduum since I became Catholic. I cannot imagine not being there, and I certainly cannot understand why anyone would stay home or carry on with normal life activities while something this important is happening. Humor me, please, if you are one who has not typically attended the celebrations of the Triduum. Mark your calendar now - or as soon as the times for the liturgies of the Three Days are announced at your parish.  I guarantee you will not regret it.

Pope Francis at Chrism Mass: Priesthood Not About Itself, but Action

Pope Francis, in his homily for the Chrism Mass, pretty much laid it on the line: he has little patience for empty trappings or for priests who do not preach - or live - in ways that matter and galvanize their people. He called for priests to go out, to act, and to spend themselves in order to find their own fulfillment and blamed a failure to do that as the reason some priests are unhappy and "lose heart."  To illustrate his message, he focused on two sacramental symbols of priesthood: oil and vestments, both of which are received at ordination.

Connecting his message to the  Chrism oil used in anointing at ordination, he named the role of the priest as one who shares his oil and "anoints his people."  Priestly vestments, too, are sacred symbols, he noted, but are not as important as the action and activity of the priest and the effect on his people. In fact, he noted, the people should "feel that their names are written upon our priestly vestments." Speaking to vestments and holy oil:

From the beauty of all these liturgical things, which is not so much about trappings and fine fabrics than about the glory of our God resplendent in his people, alive and strengthened, we turn to a consideration of activity, action. The precious oil which anoints the head of Aaron does more than simply lend fragrance to his person; it overflows down to “the edges”. The Lord will say this clearly: his anointing is meant for the poor, prisoners and the sick, for those who are sorrowing and alone. The ointment is not intended just to make us fragrant, much less to be kept in a jar, for then it would become rancid … and the heart bitter.

A good priest can be recognized by the way his people are anointed. This is a clear test. When our people are anointed with the oil of gladness, it is obvious: for example, when they leave Mass looking as if they have heard good news. Our people like to hear the Gospel preached with “unction”, they like it when the Gospel we preach touches their daily lives, when it runs down like the oil of Aaron to the edges of reality, when it brings light to moments of extreme darkness, to the “outskirts” where people of faith are most exposed to the onslaught of those who want to tear down their faith.

He notes the importance of the priest "going out" - and of not staying in a "self-help" mode - instead, spending what little they have for others. In that, he said, a priest finds his true satisfaction.

A priest who seldom goes out of himself, who anoints little – I won’t say “not at all” because, thank God, our people take our oil from us anyway – misses out on the best of our people, on what can stir the depths of his priestly heart. Those who do not go out of themselves, instead of being mediators, gradually become intermediaries, managers. We know the difference: the intermediary, the manager, “has already received his reward”, and since he doesn’t put his own skin and his own heart on the line, he never hears a warm, heartfelt word of thanks. This is precisely the reason why some priests grow dissatisfied, become sad priests, lose heart and become in some sense collectors of antiques or novelties – instead of being shepherds living with “the smell of the sheep”, shepherds in the midst of their flock, fishers of men...

Clearly, living among the "smell of the sheep: is how he himself has lived his priestly ministry - spending himself tirelessly for his people - and he will continue to do that as Pope.

Our role as the laity? "...be close to your priests with affection and with your prayers, that they may always be shepherds according to God’s heart."

I will appoint for you shepherds after my own heart, who will shepherd you wisely and prudently. (Jeremiah 3:15)

All of what Pope Francis has named - proclaiming the Good News, going out to those who need to hear, spending one's self for the good of the people - these are all signs of that good shepherd. May our priests continue to be inspired by the Spirit, under the new leadership of our Pope, to become more like Christ, the ultimate Good Shepherd, who emptied and humbled himself even unto death on a cross to do the will of the Father.

Read the full text of his homily here.

An End to Gloom and Darkness: Recovering the true meaning of the Exsultet

Tonight, I get to rehearse the Exsultet. (Big smile.)

As a cantor for the past 25 years, I have been privileged to take part in the great opening chant of the Saturday night Easter Vigil, the  Exsultet, or Easter Proclamation, sometimes as a choir member, sometimes as one of those who chant the verses of whatever arrangement that parish used. In the semi-darkness of a church lit only by the new Easter Candle and the pinpoints of light from the small candles held by each member of the assembly, this has always been my favorite moment of the entire liturgical year.

My first exposure to the Exsultet was in the late 80's through the much-beloved Everett Frese arrangement from OCP, now out of print, which began with a pedal point on the organ's lowest pipe that rumbled and shook the dark room as the light of the Easter Candle was shared with the people's candles. It then moved, after the candle was set in its socket, into a glorious and dramatic chant for two cantors punctuated by choir and assembly. The mystery and majesty of the Exsultet in the years I spent in the parish where we used that setting is still something that lives on in my memory. In later years, I encountered the unembellished chant version sung by either cantor or deacon right out of the Sacramentary. Not as dramatic, to be sure, but still wonderful.

During the past few years my current parish has begun using a bilingual version by Pedro Rubalcava,  also from OCP, with our pastor chanting the Spanish verses and me taking the English ones. The challenge, of course, when we go back and forth, is that the people 'lose" half of the text on both sides of the language "divide." Ideally, I suppose, we should do the whole thing in both languages, as we do the Easter Gospel, but length pretty much prevents that. Still, this represents an attempt to honor both cultures, and the text can be read in the missalette . It is the proclamation itself that is the point - and the soaring refrain for the people emphasizes the importance of the moment: "This is the night, this is the night, this is the night! Esta es la noche, esta es la noche, esta es la noche!" 

As we begin to use the new Roman Missal translation, however, I am conscious that we in the English speaking world had been "robbed" for 40 years of part of the meaning and purpose of the Exsultet. It is not, as it formerly appeared, only a proclamation of the Resurrection, so much as it is a hymn of praise to the Light of Christ and the candle that bears it.

Contrast the old opening to the current section in the new Roman Missal and you see the difference.

Old:  

Rejoice, heavenly powers! Sing choirs of angels!  Exult, all creation around God’s throne! Jesus Christ, our King is risen! Sound the trumpet of salvation! Rejoice, O earth, in shining splendor, radiant in the brightness of your King! Christ has conquered! Glory fills you! Darkness vanishes for ever!

 New:

Exult, let them exult, the hosts of heaven, exult, let Angel ministers of God exult, let the trumpet of salvation sound aloud our mighty King’s triumph! Be glad, let earth be glad, as glory floods her, ablaze with light from her eternal King, let all corners of the earth be glad, knowing an end to gloom and darkness.

(You can see a side-by-side comparison of the full texts, along with the Latin original here.)

Notice that the opening of the new version does not use the words "Jesus Christ... has risen" specifically, but merely references his "triumph." And throughout, the emphasis is now on the Easter Candle itself, the work of the bees (always present in the Spanish translation). This entire section was left out of the former translation, leaving us with an imperfect understanding of the true purpose of the chant:

Father, accept this candle, a solemn offering, the work of bees and of your servants’ hands, an evening sacrifice of praise, this gift from your most holy Church.But now we know the praises of this pillar, which glowing fire ignites for God’s honor, a fire into many flames divided, yet never dimmed by sharing of its light, for it is fed by melting wax, drawn out by mother bees to build a torch so precious.O truly blessed night, when things of heaven are wed to those of earth, and divine to the human.

Much has been made, among liturgical experts, of the "return of the bees." In this key passage, we see the definition of the Easter Candle (and our divided flames on the assembly's candles) as our earthly offering of praise to God the Father, joined to the glory of the light of Christ. This understanding makes even clearer the opening blessing of the candle, during which grains of incense are embedded along with the description of Christ as Alpha and Omega.

As we begin the procession into the church, the presider says: "May the light of Christ, rising in glory, dispel the darkness of our hearts and minds."  Now,  with the meaning of the Exsultet restored,  that makes more sense. It is the risen light which is emphasized here - and by implication, the person of Christ. The chant that follows is in praise of that light.

So yes, the Exsultet is a great paean to the Risen Christ, but in the form of the return of his light, out of the darkness of the grave - not so much directly to his person. It is our offering of the Easter Candle to the Father, returning the work of the bees to its author and Creator, symbolizing that the Resurrection takes place among us each year at the lighting of the new fire.

And now we know.

Holy Week and Triduum on The Liturgical Catechist

I have been working hard, and voila! You may now find resources and videos for catechesis on Holy Week and the Easter Triduum on this blog's companion site, The Liturgical Catechist.  Check it out for resources about Palm Sunday, Holy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil. There is a wealth of great stuff, including videos from noted liturgical experts and Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI.

Please use these to help catechists, students and adults understand the significance and "flow" of these liturgies, which are the pinnacle of the Church Year. I hope you find the site is becoming increasingly useful. Feedback is good, too. Let me know how you use what you find there.

Where Charity and Love Prevail

Tonight. It Begins. Again.  As the sun's light fades tonight, Catholics all over the world enter the Easter Triduum - the Three Days outside of time. Three days different from all others. There is no more "business as usual" - instead, we surrender to being swept into the dark world of Jesus' Passion and death, leading us to the glory of Resurrection in the darkness before the dawn of Easter.

In the heart of this - the Paschal Mystery - we are asked to discover who we really are as disciples of Jesus Christ. Through the rituals of the washing of the feet and the procession of the Holy Eucharist tonight, we are led to discover the ultimate meaning of divine love - a love that was and is willing to give all for others without holding back.

In this we find our identity. May we rediscover it tonight with joy. Where charity and love prevail, there is God.

Leaving the World Behind (mostly) for Three Days

This year, the powers of darkness and distraction were especially hard at work in my life as I prepared to enter the Easter Triduum.  I was struggling with the remains of a significant sinus infection (always scary for a cantor approaching these all-important and very strenuous liturgies).  On Tuesday, my home computer suddenly and unexpectedly stopped connecting  to the Internet. Add in a long, tiring rehearsal Monday night,  the disappointment that the Hispanic instrumentalists and most of their choir would not be able to join us due to work conflicts, a few financial challenges and a lingering general exhaustion (probably a legacy from the upper respiratory thing - as well as an unrelenting schedule), throw in a pinch of flare-up of arthritis from the cold rainy weather that had persisted for over a week and I felt especially challenged.

However, all of this seemed to disappear on Thursday afternoon, after I spent some unexpected extra time in the office that morning because of lack of home internet access.  I went home and discovered that my normal joy and anticipatory excitement about the Triduum was beginning to return.  Last year had been a huge challenge for me, as the first Easter after the death of the man I had planned to marry.  Face it - it's hard to see Paschal Mystery through to Resurrection when you are in the depths of grief. Then I had been a bit "off" on the guitar and the Spanish verses of the songs and was frankly struggling to get through things.  I really don't remember much from that year, except that it had been considered to be too muddy to have the Vigil  fire outdoors... and the failure to have the fire outdoors started me off on "the wrong foot" that night.

This time, I discovered that the lack of the computer (on which I am accustomed to spending quite a bit of time) was in fact, a blessing.  Having only my smart-phone available to keep light tabs on email and Facebook, freed me up to focus my energy elsewhere... and by Thursday night, I had enough of said energy to devote to the celebration of the Mass of the Lord's Supper.  I even managed to do a passable job on a psalm on I had never sung Spanish verses before.   So deeply involved was I in the music that I found myself surprised later by praise from several about that psalm.  I  had simply prayed it, as I normally do (with added concentration on the new parts)... without any particular awareness of the musicianship.  It was the same for all of Thursday... concentrating on doing my best... yet deeply aware of the beauty of the celebration.

The evening ended with me spending some time in quiet Adoration, but also with an unexpected call to assist our new deacon with the solemn stripping of the altar. He had been assigned this but had no help and no real preparation. For me, since I had done this for years at previous parishes, it was like coming home to a familiar task.  The slow, reverent movements of removing flowers and candlesticks from around the altar, the careful removal and folding up the of the layers of altar dressing, deliberately calculated to be the least disturbing to those gathered to keep vigil with Jesus in the Eucharist - these, I found unexpectedly soothing. They pulled me into a different mental space - one of servanthood and nurturing. I have always associated this moment with the work of the women who, as the sun set on the day of Crucifixion, helped remove Jesus from the cross and carefully wrapped him in his shroud as they laid him in the tomb. (In one of my parishes, several women would join me as we removed our shoes, knelt in adoration before the Eucharist and then carried out this faithful, necessary work.) It seemed a good ending to the day.I drove home without my accustomed car music, humming strains of some of our songs from that night.

Friday, I went in to rehearse the Exsultet with my pastor (who was chanting the Spanish parts) and the music director, then readied myself for the afternoon celebration of the Passion. Since I would only be there in my role as choir member - no instruments, no vocal solos - I could relax into it. The celebration was simple and heartfelt - and went well.  I found myself deeply moved at the simple, solemn proclamation of the passion, and the people's sincere reverence for the cross. A few minutes breather afterwards and a second rehearsal for our bi-lingual Exsultet and I could go home.  A quiet evening, but with a growing sense of anticipation for what was to come. In rehearsing, I had peeked ahead into what was yet to come... and I wanted to be there.

Saturday dawned a little drizzly at first, but clearing and windy later. I woke with an irrepressible smile as I thought of the night ahead. I breakfasted and drove down to the church to help prepare the space for the great liturgy of the Vigil. Again, I had no desire for driving music - I realized that fasting from all other music was in fact, focusing me on the dynamic movement of the Three Days. By 11 a.m. we workers had re-dressed the altar, put out candlesticks, flowers and plants, decorated the stand for the Paschal candle, put out the towels for the baptisms and prepared the small candles for the people.  Home to rest, prepare an early dinner, dress in my Easter Vigil best, and get back down there...

Shouldering my guitar, equipment bag and my bodhran (Celtic drum), I drove over to pick up my friend Judy, who does not drive, and we headed back to church.  The darkened room hummed with quiet anticipation as I connected the pickup on my guitar and set everything in place.  As we began, we processed out to the bonfire in the courtyard of the friary, to witness the blessing of the Easter fire.  I scooted in ahead of the returning procession to be ready at the cantor stand -- and as the Easter candle entered and spread its light throughout the room, echoed in lit candles held by the assembly, we began my favorite moment of the liturgical year - the solemn chanting of the Exsultet - the proclamation that THIS is the night when Jesus rose from the dead - which Christians everywhere gather to celebrate with great joy.

The Vigil was in motion... and I was swept forward on a wave of Easter joy.  Somehow, every note, every Spanish word, every guitar riff fell into place of its own accord over the next 3 hours and 7 minutes... exhaustion, arthritis, lingering illness and the bitter-sweet dregs of great grief at what could never be - all forgotten for the duration. The great, galloping flamenco-style psalm that follows the Exodus reading required and received every ounce of me - blazing out in what had to be my best rendition ever. It was as if it were no longer I that was doing the work of the musical celebration, but that Spirit-inspired joy was pouring though my lips and my fingers as I played, sang and accompanied our bilingual choir. As the catechmens were baptized and they and several others were confirmed, as we celebrated the Eucharist of paschal triumph, and sang our way out to "Jesus Christ is Risen Today/El Senor Resucito" my feet almost did not touch the ground the entire night.

Scurrying to my car to avoid the downpour of rain, I took my friend home, then spent another two hours winding down before I could go to bed. Was it hard work? Yes. Did it take all my resources of skill and energy? You bet. Was it worth it? Of course! Living the pinnacle of the Church Year is not supposed to be easy. In the spirit of liturgy as "work of the people" it calls us to give our utmost and finest effort - to invest ourselves fully by leaving our worries behind for the great Three Days and giving back the gifts we each have to offer to the community's celebration.

What I have written here was my personal story. Yet each person present during the Three Days brought their own story to the celebration. In return, the celebration not only affirms who we are in Christ and what we believe as his baptized disciples, it has the potential each year to change us for the better.

An Ambitious Video Project - Mystagogical Preparation for the Easter Triduum

Want to experience the Easter Triduum differently this year?  Looking for a unique way to do in-depth preparation?  Timothy O'Malley, Director of University of Notre Dame Center for Liturgy has embarked on a 20-segment video series on the new blog Oblation: Liturgy and Evangelization.  He promises to provide a guide to mystagogical reflection on the Easter Triduum, so that by learning how to read the symbols embedded in the Three Days we can better access the mysteries that are so much a part of that great celebration of Jesus' suffering, death and resurrection.

In Episode 1, O'Malley says "we don't do mystagogy well, because we do mystagogy wrong".  He points out that too often we limit mystagogy to reflection on the rites the catechumens have experienced at the Easter Vigil.  What if, he suggests, we thought about it as "the spiritual theology necessary for an adult formation into faith" -  if we saw liturgical catechesis as a way of helping people see the world sacramentally? As a way of revealing the mystery of the triune God? Take a look at his opening episode - here. 

O'Malley's hope is that this approach will make a difference to how people experience the Easter Triduum.  Join him every Monday, Wednesday and Friday throughout the remainder of Lent - to participate in this project - and to see how it affects your experience of Triduum this year.

The Power of a Bilingual Easter Vigil

All around the world last night, people celebrated the Easter Vigil in their own parishes, each in a unique way, bringing the different gifts, talents and ethnic identities that are integral to that community. Our celebration of the Vigil here at St. John the Baptist in Joliet lasted 2 hours and 45 minutes... but really I didn't think to look at my watch until about the 2-and-a-half hour mark. As usual, the readings, ritual and music were so engaging that it felt like time outside of time. the Vigil Mass was bi-lingual - with all texts in English and Spanish either in a mixed or both format - so naturally it takes longer to do this well. But we never worry about that. And apparently neither do the people in the Assembly, who were with us all the way.

The power of this celebration was evident from the opening Exsultet - with Father and I chanting the text in alternated Spanish and English - to the joyous final song: "Jesus Christ is Risen Today/El Senor Resucito." We were truly celebrating who we are as the Body of Christ at St. John the Baptist - a community in the throes of ethnic transition, where nearly 80% of the members now are of Hispanic descent, complete with all that it means to be in that kind of transition.  The choir for the night was a combo of  the English Choir with a good group of Spanish-speaking singers - which made a great ensemble. The music was from our growing repertoire of bi-lingual music - and even though some were at first tentative about making the leap to singing while playing percussion, many of them joined in doing that for the upbeat preparation song" "Our Paschal Sacrifice/El Cordero Pascual."

The Gospel was read in both languages, the homily  delivered first in Spanish, then English, and the Renewal of Baptismal Promises was also in both. Everyone in the room seemed engaged in the action - they joined in the songs and acclamations with enthusiasm - and  most went back to the font for the baptisms and to bless themselves with the water while the neophytes dressed. 

Last night we baptized two English-speaking adults and a baby - whose grandparents are Spanish-speaking - a sign of where we have been and where we are going - into a future where even more children born here will have a dual heritage.  A reality in which increasingly the children of the parish will grow up speaking English, but still have one foot in their Hispanic devotional and liturgical tradition.

One of my favorite moments last  night was a sure sign that it "took" - the newly baptized mother of the baby was in tears afterwards... no doubt tears of joy. Those of us baptized as adults can only imagine the power of those emotions. The smiles of everyone in the room when the newly-confirmed were asked to turn around and "face your friends" for the welcoming applause were proof that the love of Jesus Christ brings us together.

Anticipation: The Faithful Prepare the Worship Space for the Easter Vigil

It's a cloudy morning here, with rain moving in, but I find my excitement is building in spite of that, as I get ready to go to my parish church to help prepare for the great liturgy of the Easter Vigil tonight. This is the way every Catholic community gets ready for the moment when the words of the Exsultet will ring out: "This is the night when Jesus Christ broke the chains of death..." The annual 3-hour frenzy of decorating and laying out all the items needed for the liturgy is an important ritual for me and for a dedicated group of people who do this every year. This has been true in every parish I have been in. 

These are the people who know that the community's celebration demands their time and talent - members of the Art and Environment Committee, decorators, and people of all ages who just want to help. We will adorn the altar with a special white altarcloth, surround it with flowers and candles, place the Easter Candle and the people's candles in the back of church, lay out towels and the holy oils for tonight's full immersion baptisms, replace the vigil lamp for the tabernacle in anticipation of the return of the Eucharist to the worship space, and more.

Like the women in Scripture who prepare and go to Christ's tomb to anoint his body, these faithful helpers rise early and set aside their personal and family needs, knowing the needs of the community's ritual are greater than their own. The "regulars" would never consider not being there every year to help. It is a call they hear in their hearts - and their response is not an option, it is a necessity.

There is a special atmosphere in the church, too, as this preparation takes place - business-like, but mildly celebratory - lots of mutual good will, with everyone's good ideas welcome. There will be leadership from some, and cooperation from all. It is somewhat like what people do when they are preparing for a party - everything is made ready for the guests - and for the guest of honor.

Tonight, that guest of honor will be the Risen Christ, present among his people. Honored, too, will be those who will be baptized in his name - and the community of those gathered to witness the rising of Jesus from the tomb and the making of new Christians. When we light the Easter fire and the new Easter Candle, all the work of preparation will have been worthwhile.

Good Friday: Life Affects Liturgy Affects Life

Easter Triduum - the great Three Days - has been my favorite time in the Church ever since I came into Full Communion at the Easter Vigil in 1987.  Each year I look forward, especially through the last weeks of Lent, to this great celebration. This year has been no different, although I found the excitement somewhat tempered, since I still have difficulty trusting fully in the God who nine months ago allowed the untimely death of the man I loved. What I did not expect was how deeply this would affect my experience of Triduum. 

I want to be fully immersed in the annual accompanyment of Jesus to the cross and beyond to resurrection. I want the familiarity of that annual communal walk. However, I knew I was in trouble, when at choir practice about a week ago, the refrain of Psalm 31 for Good Friday "ambushed' me emotionally... "Father, into your hands, I commend my spirit." How to surrender to God's will for the circumstances of my own life?  How to "let go and let God"? These are my big spiritual questions right now - and they stand squarely between me and a full immersion into the Good Friday experience.

It is always true that we are affected differently by a passage of Scripture each time we hear it - depending on what else is going on in our lives at the time. Apparently the same is true of ritual experience itself. Today's ritual - the reading of the Passion and the Veneration of the Cross - is one of the most powerful of the Church Year. It also calls for a surrender to the power of the Cross that asks us to abandon our own doubt and despair about the circumstances of our human life and embrace the suffering and death of Christ as a call to hope - a hope that asks us to step out of our own suffering and into His - and beyond.

This afternoon, I will do this as well as I can right now, knowing that God knows who I am right now in my journey and knows I still need more time to get to a better place. I will be placing my faith in the only thing I can trust at this point in my life - that God's compassion is infinitely greater than my own sorrow.

Pray this day for all those who mourn - who wait at the foot of the Cross for healing.

Where we worship - how does it affect how we worship?

I have been following an interesting discussion on my friend Todd Flowerday's blog on worship spaces - decor, images, distraction, Catholicity, etc - second tier discussion is ongoing at http://catholicsensibility.wordpress.com/2009/12/04/should-liturgy-be-easy-or-hard/ - and I have to ask myself when have I found a worship space conducive to my own participation - and not.  As a convert, used to the traditional vaulted ceilings and colored stained glass of Lutheran and other Protestant churches, I have to admit that modern Catholic church architecture occasionally challenges me. I guess I am just more comfortable entering a Gothic-inspired church space that is familiar.  Then I can go about the business of worship without too much thought.

However, I am convinced it is not just the space, but the elements of lighting, art and evironment that contribute to a good (or poor) worship experience.

Last Holy Thursday, I had an interesting opportunity to compare worship spaces. I went on our diocesan young adult 7-churches-before-midnight tour with my son, and I have to admit - the spaces that spoke to me were indeed the more "modern" ones.  And, that sometimes it was the actual space that struck me, and other times it was the way environment was used to enhance (or to detract). The most memorable church, a recently renovated space, was architecturally simple,  but strikingly appropriate because it was totally dark, only lit by a path created by paper-bag lumnaria, which led you to the chapel where the Blessed Sacrament was in repose. Inside the chapel, a scrolling marquee of phrases in English or Spanish (it was a Spanish parish) from the Gospel of Holy Thursday was being projected, crawling over the wall and ceiling around the eucharistic display. What a profound sense of mystery this space created. In the harsh light of day it may seem cold and empty, but appropriate lighting and creative elements enhanced the experience.

In contrast, there was a brightly lit very traditional Gothic space, which was cluttered with a tasteless homemade grotto in which it was difficult to discern the presence of the Blessed Sacrament.  I spent most of my time there trying to find it. Not an appropriate space to enhance the Holy Thursday experience.

Another church, a predominantly African American parish in a lower-economic area, had purple Lenten decor elements out in place of the normal white-enhanced ones - but  in that church the chief adornment of the space was the hospitable spirit of the people, who greeted us with a "mini-revival" instead of the expected Adoration experience. OK, so it didn't feel like Holy Thursday - but you know, I still remember how it felt. They were being themselves - simple, devout and enthusiastic.

In yet another church, the sanctuary was stunningly beautiful - but someone had attempted to cover up the traditional wall-statue images of Mary on one side, and Joseph and Child on the other, by painting them medium grey - to go with the two-tone medium and dark grey used on walls and ceiling (with traditional gold accents). The apparent intent was to harmonize the appearance of traditional Gothic elements with the fabulous Art Deco black marble and gold altar, ambo and tabernacle which are truly stunningly beautiful. Certainly the sanctuary was a delight to the eye, but the distressing attempt to marry the two styles through the paint job on the rest of the church was truly distracting.

So, what? This little tour helped me understand that some spaces lend themselves harmoniously to the worship experience, for whatever reason, while others call so much attention to the space that worship becomes all but impossible. Maybe if I worshiped regularly in one of the distracting spaces, I would become innured to the distraction?