Reflections on the Triduum

As I mentioned previously, last night was my first Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord's Supper. Considering my devotion to the Eucharist, I was very excited to check it all out.

My friend Sarha (like Sarah, only messed up) and I were ushered to the front pew near the other people who had been selected to get their feet washed, so I had an up close view of the Mass. My chaplain concelebrated with the pastor of what will become our "university parish" and their two parochial vicars. It was also a bilingual Mass which, while a bit confusing at first, ended up being an interesting experience. While I was on the altar, I noticed the incredible mix of ages and races represented there. I don't think I have ever seen a more tangible incidence of the Church's universality. It was really inspiring. (Also inspiring was their choir loft--my home parish doesn't have one--and the fact that after Mass, both confessionals had long lines! That is something else we lack at home, unfortunately.)

The most profound moment of the Mass for me was the final procession of the Blessed Sacrament and the stripping of the altar. Slowly, one by one, the lights were shut off without ceremony. In silence, the priests and servers worked together to remove the flowers from the altar floor, and finally, the altar linens were folded and removed. Without another word, the ministers left, leaving us to adore Him at the altar of repose.

It may have been the incense that is only used at the most solemn of occasions in this area, but the entire ritual was reminiscent of a funeral. We laid Him to rest, and all that remained was the empty table and a grave by which we could keep vigil. He would rest there for three days. An eerie acknowledgment of this settled heavily on my mind, and I didn't want to stay long. I guess I can understand how the Apostles felt when, for whatever reason, they chose not to be present during His Passion. I left quickly.

Today, I was unable to participate in the Good Friday liturgy, but still made the most of the day outside, praying and soaking up both Scripture and sunshine. It was easy to reflect, but difficult to pray, I found--"Why am I doing this? He's gone," I remember thinking at one point.

What kept me going was the constant reminder that the empriness of this day is not forever. He will return to us in full, not only tomorrow as we welcome Easter but again at the end of time. Our suffering is only temporary. Time heals all wounds.

And this, the wound of our depravity, is the biggest of all.

Now, we pray and wait for Him. It's all we can do.