Buona Pasqua!

 Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

The strife is o'er, the battle done

The victory of life is won

The song of triumph has begun:

Alleluia!

Happy Easter Monday! Holy Week and the Easter Octave are my absolute favourite times of the liturgical year. growing up in a devout non-denominational evangelical home, my most consistent experience of Holy Week was that we went to church on Palm Sunday, and then again on Easter. there were a few years where we participated in a Seder service to commemorate the Last Supper, sometimes including foot washing. one memorable year, we celebrated this memorial dinner with friends who lived on waterfront property. they had constructed a small wooden cross and placed several votive candles in glass holders on the cross. we each privately wrote down some sins on small pieces of paper, folded up the papers, and placed them into the flames of the candles to burn. then the cross was launched out onto the waves, bearing our sins with it. (I very well could be remembering many parts of this erroneously -- did we really just let it all go out into the Sound without retrieving it?) but apart from those years, I often felt a slight sense of manufactured joy on Easter Sunday. we were certainly celebrating the Resurrection, but somehow I felt that we hadn't fully memorialized Jesus' suffering and death. it was almost as if we were rooting for an undefeated sports team that ultimately swept the championships -- very exciting, but where was the drama, the tension, the darkness before the light?

then I became Catholic, and Easter has never been the same since. at some point I would like to chronicle the full story of my journey (which has always felt to me like worshiping the same Jesus I have always loved, but understanding Him and all of His friends in a much deeper way), but the watershed moment was when I was reading a collection of writings by the early church fathers (Ignatius, Polycarp, etc) as part of my ploy to convince Nick, my Catholic boyfriend, that he was wrong about his beliefs. I will never forget sitting at a scratched up table in our college library, reading a line about how anyone who denied the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist was a heretic. my heart skipped a beat. I blinked and read it again. here was a man who lived just a few centuries after Christ, who I thought would be on my side, telling me that I was a heretic! as I read on, I realized that the New Testament church these early saints described, and which we had always striven to emulate, sounded an awful lot like -- gasp! -- the Catholic mass. I can't remember if I vocalized it, but in my head, I definitely said, "oh crap!". 

the next year was spent reading, praying, processing, discussing and wrestling with myself. I think I put up even more of an internal protest against converting because I didn't want to give any ground due to whatever subconscious desire I had to be in agreement with Nick, who ultimately became my husband (spoiler alert!). but I knew that I had to investigate every angle for myself, and the further I dug, the more I struck gold and had to keep going. eventually, there was no denying it: all of my arguments against Catholicism turned out to be based on misunderstandings of the actual doctrine, or issues with misguided cultural representations or devotions that aren't essential tenets of the Catholic faith. after months of study and debate through the wonderful Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults (RCIA) program offered through the University of Pittsburgh, I was officially confirmed a Catholic on Easter Sunday, 2009.

the week leading up to this was everything I didn't realize I was missing in previous years. at the conclusion of the Mass of the Last Supper on Holy Thursday, Jesus, in the form of the consecrated Host, was removed from the tabernacle by the main altar and carried aloft in a solemn procession while we knelt in adoration and chanted the thirteenth century hymn composed by St. Thomas Aquinas: Pange lingua gloriosi / Corporis mysterium / Sanguinisque pretiosi / Quem in mundi pretium / Fructus ventris generosi / Rex effudit gentium. (Sing, my tongue, the Savior's glory / of His flesh the mystery sing / of the Blood, all price exceeding, shed by our immortal King / destined, for the world's redemption, from a noble womb to spring.) then He was placed at a side altar, known as the altar of repose, and we continued to pray there with Him, remembering His pleading to the sleepy disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane to pray and keep watch. 

on Good Friday, the statuary around the church was shrouded in purple. the afternoon service included veneration of the cross. anyone who wished could come forward to kneel and kiss the cross. Communion was distributed from the Host consecrated the day before; the main tabernacle was left empty with doors open and candle snuffed out, a visual representation of Christ's absence that I found surprisingly jarring.

and then it was time for the Easter Vigil, the longest mass of the year at about three hours on average. God bless my parents, who flew across the country to be here with me even though they didn't fully understand my decision -- for their first experience of a mass, this was quite the introduction!
the Vigil traditionally begins after sundown on Saturday, with a huge bonfire outside the dark church. the priest lights the huge Paschal candle from the fire, and then parishioners light their own candles and process inside while singing. on this particular night, the church remained lit only by candlelight. then, after each of seven traditional Old Testament readings that prefigure the Gospel (from Genesis through Ezekiel), more and more interior lights were switched on, until the church was ablaze with light. the joyful sounds of the organ, bells, and brass rang out to accompany our singing the Gloria, which hadn't been sung through the entirety of Lent (except for Holy Thursday). I could barely sing through my tears of joy and pride, as Nick was directing the choir and musicians and playing the organ in the altar loft.

after the gospel reading and a brief sermon, it was time for the baptisms and confirmations. as I had already been baptized as a child, I simply joined with the rest of the congregation in renewing our baptismal promises. then it was time to join the other confirmandi at the back of the church. one by one, we slowly processed up the aisle as the congregation sang the Litany of Saints, asking for the prayers of individual saints and all the holy men and women of God. I felt as if this were a prefiguring of my wedding day, and had to keep blinking back tears as I approached the altar. once I reached the altar rail, suddenly I felt a hand on my back. Nick had made arrangements with the musicians and choir to carry on without him so that he could come down to the rail with me (I learned later he was giving some hand signals behind his back from time to time!). the bishop anointed me with the sweet-smelling chrism oil, and welcomed me into the church by my confirmation name, Gianna -- a twentieth century pediatrician and mother. 

as for receiving the Eucharist for the first time, I cannot describe it any better than the adult convert and eventual monk Thomas Merton in his autobiography, The Seven Storey Mountain: 

And my First Communion began to come towards me, down the steps. I was the only one at the altar rail. Heaven was entirely mine -- that Heaven in which sharing makes no division or dimunition. But this solitariness was a kind of reminder of the singleness with which this Christ, hidden in the small Host, was giving Himself for me, and to me, and, with Himself, the entire Godhead and Trinity -- a great new increase of the power and grasp of their indwelling that had begun only a few minutes before at the font.

I left the altar rail and went back to the pew where the others were kneeling like four shadows, four unrealities, and I hid my face in my hands. ... And He called to me out of His own immense depths.

so much joy!

with Bishop Adamec (also, Nick's luscious locks only lasted a few more months. he's had it cut short ever since then!)

 

Nick playing the postlude following Easter Sunday mass

over the years, as our own family has grown, I haven't been able to attend many of the Holy Week services, but just knowing that they are available helps me enter more fully into the penitential spirit of the Triduum. in 2019, we spent Holy Week in Spain, an absolutely stunning experience (read more here). the videos below show just a few of the traditional processions that wind through the city of Seville throughout the week, including one that woke me up from sleep at 1 AM passing right below our window:

of course, Easter 2020 looked like nothing we had imagined. we found ourselves unexpectedly back in the States, watching livestreamed masses as we were not permitted in the churches. one of our best priest friends and Nick collaborated to celebrate the Triduum alone together in an empty church while the congregation watched and responded via Facebook. the below photo is very poor quality (a screenshot from the Facebook live video) but still brings me right back to that uncertain time when we clung to as many traditions as we could. 

finally, that brings us to this year. my typical workdays are Wednesday through Friday, but this year I took all three days off to spend time with my sister, brother-in-law and nephew who were visiting from out of town. I plan to do the same moving forward if I'm able -- I truly underestimated how much more I'm able to enter spiritually into the contemplative nature of the Triduum when I'm not at work! the girls and I attended the Mass of the Last Supper on Holy Thursday, which was absolutely packed. despite wrangling toddlers in the narthex and enduring the eyerolls of certain children who did not wish to spend extra time in prayer at the altar of repose, it was just so good to be observing these traditions again. Cecilia's shock at seeing the empty tabernacle reflected my own on that Holy Thursday so many years ago. 

we had every intention of going to the Good Friday service, but unexpected plumbing issues with sewage backup (GROSS) necessitated that I stay home while the plumber was working that afternoon, since Nick was playing for the service. (to make a very long story short, over the course of the week Nick contacted three different plumbers, all of whom thought we had a collapsed line and would need to dig up the yard -- very fittingly penitential for Holy Week. the plumber who came on Friday was able to jet the pipes clear and, while we may be looking at a more permanent solution in the future, we now have completely functional pipes, no more sewage backup, and I can do laundry in my own house instead of taking it all to the laundromat! a true Easter miracle!)

while I think Greta and Cecilia could handle the Easter vigil at this point, I'm not brave enough to attempt it with a toddler by myself (plus the thought of stuffing and hiding their Easter baskets after getting them home and put to bed at nearly midnight makes me want to gouge my eyes out), so we attended the beautiful Sunday morning mass instead. the choir sounded particularly excellent and the girls paid attention and behaved well. I can't help but wonder if some of that was because they both absolutely loved the Easter dresses they picked out for themselves, and wanted to act as beautiful as they felt! whatever the reason, it was a wonderful way to start the Easter festivities. the Easter Octave (eight days following Easter) is celebrated with just as much liturgical solemnity and pomp as Easter Sunday itself, and the Easter season itself lasts for fifty days, until Pentecost. after forty days of Lent, we are ready for feasting and celebration! Happy Easter to all! 

Elizabeth dancing along to Daddy's playing