Holy Week

This week is full of symbolism for Christians, even if their religious traditions try to downplay symbolism and formal liturgy.

First, last Sunday, was Palm Sunday, or as the Episcopal Church more formally calls it: "Palm Sunday: The Sunday of the Passion." We began in our Memorial Courtyard blessing palms and hearing the story of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem in procession so obviously reversed from the displays of the triumphal power of Rome. We re-enact the entry by walking carrying palms, singing "All Glory, Laud and Honour", along the front of the churchyard up until we reach the door. Then with shocking suddenness, everything changes. In prayer, we remember that Jesus "went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified" and the hymn becomes "Ride on! ride on in majesty! In lowly pomp ride on to die;" We say the Passion Gospel in which readers say the parts, with the congregation as the crowd shouting, "Crucify him!" We leave church somewhat uneasily.

Thursday night, we call Maundy Thursday. The name comes from the Latin mandatum or "command" for Jesus' command to his disciples to "love one another as I have loved you." It also commemorates the institution of the Holy Eucharist at the Last Supper. Many churches re-enact Jesus' washing the feet of his disciples as a reminder that to follow Jesus is to serve others, not yourself. At the end of the service, we strip the altar and its surroundings of all furnishings, down to bare wood and we leave the church to begin a vigil in our side chapel, obeying Jesus' call to his disciples that night to "Wait one hour with me."

On Friday afternoon, we re-enact the Stations of the Cross. This is an ancient ritual that even the Pope observes. While he does it in fromt of thousands at the Colosseum in Rome, and others will line the Via Delorosa in Jerusalem, we will do it in front of a much smaller crowd in our own church. No candles are lit; no lights are turned on. (In my former home town of San Antonio, they re-enact it every year in an emotional ceremony in front of San Fernando Cathedral.)

Friday evening, we have a sorrowful liturgy which could perhaps be thought of as Jesus' funeral. The church is bare and colorless. When we leave, we leave in silence and darkness, the silence and darkness of the tomb.

Then, in the dark of Saturday evening, everything is changed with the Great Vigil of Easter. We bring the light of Christ back into the darkened church and we sing the Exsultet, an ancient (it dates from between 400 and 600 and is used in the Roman Catholic and Anglican Churches) song of joy and triumph. Following the practice of the early Church, we baptize new Christains and recall our own baptism. We recognize that with Christ's resurrection and victory over death, everything has changed.

Finally (last but not least!), we celebrate again on Sunday morning with a packed church. We may have people that we won't see again until Christmas, but they at least are here this day and we're glad to have them. This may be the end of Holy Week, but it is the beginning of the Great Fifty Days of Easter, and if you want to think of it as a seven-week party, that's fine with us; we do have something glorious to celebrate.