His Story is Our Story Too
Blessed Easter! Many people skip parts of the Triduum and jump from Palm Sunday straight to Easter. But they rob themselves of the richness of what is really their story too. You have probably considered which gospel characters resonate with you. Do we see ourselves in Peter’s weakness? As parents, do we know a pain like Mary’s at the foot of the Cross? What about the fear of the Apostles when God asks difficult things of us? Contemplating these figures has value, but we, too, are in the pages of this epic tale.
Holy Thursday is a celebration for our family. The veil of self-denial is peeled back briefly by a spirit of joy and anticipation. We sit down to dinner before Mass and, borrowing a tradition from dear friends, consider the many connections between the Old Testament and the fulfillment of all things in Jesus Christ. The food we eat is rich in symbolism: hearts of palm for Palm Sunday, olives and the Mount of Olives, bread and wine for the Eucharist and the priestly sacrifices that preceded it, roasted lamb for the Passover meal and the Lamb of God who is Himself the sacrifice, “stripping” of artichokes and Christ being stripped of his garments, artichoke hearts and the pierced heart of Jesus, and so on.
At Holy Thursday Mass we are with Jesus as he creates the priesthood. We recline at table with Him as He institutes the Holy Eucharist. We can stay awake in adoration as Christ sweats blood for us in the garden. We struggle to not abandon Him after He is betrayed by a kiss. On Good Friday, as He remains silent before Pilate, we still hope He will put the Roman prefect in his place. We stand in stunned silence when we “behold the man” after his scourging. And still we cry out to “crucify him!”
Then we are on the move, darting between onlookers to catch a glimpse of Him. When the Cyrenian is pressed into service, we are beckoned too. Called to shoulder some share of His Cross and carry it along with Him to the high Hill where his sacrifice can be made more visible to the world. But we are reluctant to do what is asked of us. This is a messy scene. We see first the burden rather than the power of the Cross put before us. We measure its weight from afar and calculate the inconvenience in relation to our own plans. And yet, our Lord never ceases to invite gently, giving us strength to walk with Him a little further on the path.
And so, we continue with renewed courage. We walk hand-in-hand with His mother as the nails are driven through His sacred flesh. With Mary and John, we keep watch as His life slips away; we feel the magnitude of the moment of His death. And we are ready to assist in bringing down His body before placing it in the tomb.
Anticipating Like a Little Child
Holy Saturday has lost some of its resonance in our “buy it now” culture. But, while Christ descends to conquer death, the unseeing stillness that surrounds the sealed tomb summons us.
My mother is from the Azores Islands. Our family makes a traditional Portuguese Easter bread. It can be temperamental, its multiple rises affected by the weather and other factors. I am one of the last in my family to make it, the knowledge having been passed down over generations. It’s simply not Easter until the smell of that bread fills the air. My wife makes several amazing treats that we heroically avoid until after the Easter Vigil.
We are meant to busy ourselves with preparation on that day. To fill our homes with familiar sights and smells that draw our minds to tradition, symbolism, and family. We set these reminders on our tables but resist the temptation. And we wait.
We’ve lost somewhat our awareness of the human need to take in our faith with all our senses. But it is often a sound, or taste, or smell which brings us back when we stray. We are body and soul.
And then when we rush to the tomb in the chill morning air, our patient waiting gives way to a rising excitement. He is no longer there. Our self-denial on Holy Saturday heightens the drama and power of Easter. Like children we behold it all again in wonder.
Blooms on a Crown of Thorns
My wife makes a salt dough crown of thorns each Lent and places toothpicks in it. The dough hardens around the toothpicks. When one of us does a good deed, we put a toothpick in a jar. On Easter morning all the “thorns” in the jar are gone, replaced by jellybeans. Flowers are found growing all around the crown. The symbols of the passion have transformed from painful implements to sweet and beautiful reminders of what Jesus has won for us by His sacrifice.
You may have annual traditions that are a perfect fit for your family. If you don’t, there are many great ideas to choose from. Whatever you do, Jesus urges us to place ourselves back into the story during Holy Week. Our enjoyment of Easter will never again be the same if we take in what precedes it with great wonder and intention.
