When the 40 desert days drew to a close,
And Your empty, worn down body cried,
“Seek comfort!” “You deserve it!”
My Lord, what did You do? Lean in.

That agonizing night, knowing what dawn would bring,
When Your being, dripping with sweaty blood cried out,
“Avoid pain!” “You don’t deserve to suffer!”
My Lord, what did You do? Lean in.

On that terrible Friday we call good,
When Your humanity screamed,
“Give up!” “They don’t deserve it!”
Resolutely embracing the rough, splintered instrument of your death,
Allowing Yourself to be stretched,
My Lord, what did You do? Lean in.

Then, there’s little me, during these meager 40 days,
A time of purification, of small sacrifices, my humanity cries,
“Seek comfort!” “Avoid pain!”
My Lord, won’t you help me lean in?

When my gut cries, “Sweets!” “Wine!” “You deserve it!”
Let me crave the food of your Word and the bread of Eternal Life.

When daily tasks overwhelm,
And I crave the distraction of scrolling or validation of notifications,
Let me lean in to the moment,
To the child. To the laundry. To the cooking, cleaning, straightening.
To the paperwork and the deadlines.
To the time of silent prayer.
Whatever it is, my Lord, let me lean in.

Let my temper not be controlled by my caffeine intake.
Let my ability to love well not be controlled by the warm or stormy weather.
Let my love for you not wane when I don’t get what I want.

When my little crosses stretch me,
When tiny daily deaths tempt me to scream,
“I give up!”
Instead may I relentlessly pursue salvation,
My Lord, this Lent, won’t You give me the grace to lean in?

Can any liturgy compare to the Triduum liturgies?  Participating in Mass  and services on Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Vigil transports  us to a supernatural plane.  Experiencing the washing of the feet,  kissing the wood of the cross, and seeing the slow spread of  candlelight; it all leads us to reflect deeply on the mysteries of  Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection as if we were there.   Throughout the years, these moments have led me to imagine myself  somewhere in the scenes.  To ponder, where would I have been if I were  alive those 2,000+ years ago?  Would I have been in the crowd crying  “crucify him”?  Would I have been weeping along the way of his cross?   What would it have been like to be a bystander on those Jerusalem  streets?  What would it have been like to look into His eyes?

Can any liturgy compare to the Triduum liturgies?  Participating in Mass and services on Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Vigil transports us to a supernatural plane.  Experiencing the washing of the feet, kissing the wood of the cross, and seeing the slow spread of candlelight; it all leads us to reflect deeply on the mysteries of Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection as if we were there.  Throughout the years, these moments have led me to imagine myself somewhere in the scenes.  To ponder, where would I have been if I were alive those 2,000+ years ago?  Would I have been in the crowd crying “crucify him”?  Would I have been weeping along the way of his cross?  What would it have been like to be a bystander on those Jerusalem streets?  What would it have been like to look into His eyes?  

When my oldest children were babies, for the first time I was unable to attend Triduum liturgies.  A 7:30 start time doesn’t jive well with 7:30 bedtimes.  That Good Friday, after I put the kids to bed and began to wash the dishes, I found myself again reflecting, “where would I have been 2,000+ years ago?”  And that year, I knew for certain.  I would have been at home, listening to my children fall asleep as I completed my daily chores.  I may have wanted to be along the way of the cross.  My heart may have longed to look into Jesus’ eyes and tell Him with mine that I loved Him and I ached for Him.  I may have desired to wipe His sweaty, bloody face with my soft, clean veil.  But my call to care for my family would have kept me home.  So I would have completed my duties while offering my heart in prayer.  While longing to console Jesus physically, I would have only been able to offer distant prayers.

On the day of His resurrection, I again may have longed to travel to the tomb and anoint the body of Jesus with the other women.  But maybe my baby would have been teething and needed to nurse more than usual, making him too fussy for a burial ritual.  So perhaps I would have sent some spices with Mary Magdalene and asked her to bring prayers on behalf of family to the body of Jesus.  Even 2000+ years ago, I would have heard about the resurrection secondhand.  Would I have believed?  Would I have trusted even though I did not see?

Where are you this year during Jesus’ passion, death, and resurrection?  Where is your soul in relation to Jesus Christ?  Where do you fit into that story which is ever ancient and ever new?

This year, we all find ourselves “stuck” at home during Holy Week.  It’s normal and right to lament the loss of in-person Triduum and Easter liturgies; to long for gatherings at the parish with our communities and priests drawing us into the supernatural Paschal mysteries and to miss reception of Holy Communion.  This year, we truly suffer a loss.  But let us not despair!  There is a unique opportunity here for every Domestic Church around the world if only we have the eyes to see.  

Perhaps our aching souls will long to be with Jesus on the way of the cross more deeply than ever before.  Perhaps our Holy Saturday hearts will wait in more poignant anticipation for what miraculous things Jesus will do next.  While we can’t go out to meet Christ where we normally would, perhaps we will invite Him into our homes in way we’ve never done before.

This is our challenge and our call this Triduum.  What new life will burst forth if we take it seriously!  Here are some practical ways to invite Jesus into your home this year.  First, create a sacred space somewhere where your family can gather in prayer.  This can be as simple as a side table adorned with a crucifix and image of Mary.  Livestream the Triduum liturgies and pray along with them while gathered at this sacred space.  

On Holy Thursday, you can make a special meal and even bake unleavened bread to break and share.  Gather for prayer that evening and take turns washing one another’s feet.  I’m willing to bet there have been times during this quarantine that you have gotten on one another’s nerves.  Humbling yourselves and stooping to wash one another’s feet can be an important reminder of the choice to love – even when it’s difficult.

On Good Friday, put your phone away.  Enter into the silence of the day on which humanity killed God.  It should feel different and uncomfortable compared to an average day.  Consider praying the Stations of the Cross as a family.  Afterward, take turns kissing the wood of a cross and thanking Jesus for his sacrifice of love.  

Continue a great silence into Holy Saturday and prepare for an at-home Easter vigil.  When darkness begins to fall, give each family member a candle (maybe even dig out the baptismal candles!) and spread the light of Christ to everyone while listening to the words of the Exultet.  (There is a great version on Youtube here.)  You can even paint a Paschal Candle using a regular pillar candle and acrylic paint.  This candle can be lit when you gather for prayer at your sacred space throughout the Easter season.

Easter Sunday will be the most difficult to re-create at home.  We plan to dress in our Easter best, even though we won’t be leaving the house and eating a special meal together.  But I wonder what can compare to an altar bursting with lilies or a trumpet accompanying a church ringing with full-throated Alleluia’s!?  I’m not sure what can.  So, let’s let Jesus surprise us.  As He did on that first Easter Sunday, perhaps He will exceed all our expectations.

The Resurrection is what it’s all about.  The Resurrection is  the linchpin, the cornerstone, the climax.  As Pope Saint John Paul II  said on November 30, 1986 (just four days after I was born!) “We are an  Easter people, and Alleluia is our song!”  We are an Easter people.   This means we are a people whose very identity is shaped by the fact  that our God was killed and then rose from the dead.  This reality is  meant to fashion who we are, right to our very core.

A strange phenomenon happened to me recently.  When praying the rosary, I became disappointed if the day called for meditation on the Glorious Mysteries.  The stories of Jesus’ early life (Joyful Mysteries,) those of his ministry (Luminous Mysteries,) and those of his passion and death (Sorrowful Mysteries,) felt relatable while the Glorious Mysteries seemed to apply less to my day-to-day existence.

But I was getting it all wrong.  The Resurrection is what it’s all about.  The Resurrection is the linchpin, the cornerstone, the climax.  As Pope Saint John Paul II said on November 30, 1986 (just four days after I was born!)

“We are an Easter people, and Alleluia is our song!”

We are an Easter people.  This means we are a people whose very identity is shaped by the fact that our God was killed and then rose from the dead.  This reality is meant to fashion who we are, right to our very core.  

We aren’t a people who live with the heavy aura of Good Friday.  In Christ, we have thrown off the yoke of death and approach life with the eternal perspective that we will someday follow Him from death to bodily resurrection.  Because of this, “Alleluia” should fly from our lips even more readily than “Offer it up.”

It’s important to learn from Good Friday that love requires sacrifice and death to self.  This is what Jesus demonstrated when He offered His life on the cross for us.  But it didn’t stop there for Him and it mustn’t stop there for us.  We aren’t meant to just sit in the “little deaths” of Christian living.  Fixating on these little deaths will lead to complaining, bitterness, and despondency.  

We are meant to rise into newness of life.  A life that transforms sacrificial love from a burden to a joy.  St. Mother Teresa articulated this well when she said, “I have found the ultimate paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.”  There is a difference between doing my Christian duty while continually “offering up” complaints about it and doing my Christian duty with lighthearted joy.  The grace of the Resurrection is what gives us that joy.  It’s what allows us to move through death and into life.

In light of all this, we shouldn’t view Good Friday and Easter Sunday as two separate events.  Instead, they are woven together into one reality.  We don’t have Easter Sunday without Good Friday, and that Friday wouldn’t have been very good if it didn’t lead to Easter Sunday.  His death, burial, and resurrection are all part of the same action.  By this action, Jesus didn’t just die for us, He conquered death for us.

Sin, suffering, pain, betrayal, pride…He puts it all to death on the cross so that new life can rise.  It’s not enough to overcome our sins or accept our sufferings.  After we’ve done these things, united to God’s grace, we rise above them. 

Here are a few concrete examples of what putting sin to death and rising to new life can look like.  A man who struggles with lust can kill his lust by never again looking at a woman.  But he can rise from his lust when he begins to look upon women with authentic love.  A gossiping woman can kill her tongue by keeping silent.  But she will rise from this sin when she speaks kindly about others.  A husband and wife may kill anger against one another by keeping the peace at all costs; simply becoming co-workers in their household.  But this couple will rise to new life when they choose to love one another intimately and pursue one another passionately in good times and bad.  

This grace of new life applies also to our suffering.  With the current pandemic of Covid-19, it’s not enough to live in fear and wait it out.  We are called to look for new life.  The world will look different when this is over and an Easter People can look for new life when it does.

We might emerge with an ability to live simply as never before – finishing leftovers and using up food on our shelves before running to grocery store every other day.  Perhaps there will be a rebirth of parents who trust themselves enough to spend more time with their children and be their primary educators even after they return to school.  Perhaps great books will be read and great books will be written.  This year’s “death” of Triduum at the parish might lead to new life of family traditions.  These traditions could cultivate prayer at home as integral part of family life.  “Death” of Mass in person might lead to a renewed appreciation for the Eucharist.  May we never again take for granted the reality that God physically dwells within us at every Holy Communion.

This Easter season, may the reality of Christ’s Resurrection not only shape the way that we view our final destiny in the Resurrection of the Dead, but also shape the way we allow new life to grow from all of our little deaths to sin and suffering.  May Alleluia truly be the song on our lips and in our hearts not just on Easter Sunday, but every day of our lives!

lit-seasons

lean in

this triduum, where will you be?

don't just die. rise.