It is here at last…holy week.
What I love about Holy Week is that our culture has not co-opted it. I mean, when was the last time you saw a Holy Thursday restaurant special? A Good Friday sale? An Easter Vigil all night bargain buster?
Most likely, you never will. And that is good news.
Holy Week begins with plenty of red, palms waving, hosannas ringing, 2 Gospel readings, and then it moves into a very somber tone. We hear the Proclamation of the Passion and are sent out into the week in a spirit of listening.
That is what I have been doing since Sunday—listening:
Listening to the birdsongs.
Listening to the blowing winds and thundering, pelting rainstorms.
Listening for the Spirit of God, Yahweh’s “I AM”, as the day unfolds.
In these days, I have been busy but moving lightly.
There is a sense of anticipation that is growing like the fullness of the Spring moon.
It is a gentle anticipation, a quiet excitement.
Thursday evening it will break out in a tender, somber anticipation as the oils are brought forth and the Great Triduum commences.
One of the highpoints of the Thursday Liturgy is washing of feet. My husband and I have been washing feet for about six or seven years. Each time, I am awe struck at the love with which our folks rinse and towel the foot of another.
Bread is blessed, broken, shared and carried to a place of rest and vigil. We leave the building in reverent silence, pondering, praying and readying ourselves for the Goodness of Friday.
Let us meet again on that day…