A new way to celebrate Holy Week

Holy Week. A week of remembering, of solemn ceremonies, and of reflection and silence.

Only, not for me. Not this year.

Having lived the heavily ceremonied days of Holy Week in the monastery, I find it hard to think of these sacred days spent without being in church as one reflects and engages in the lessons and silence of services.

But I could not. My profession as a therapist on the road meant I was traveling both Holy Thursday and Good Friday. All day.

On Holy Thursday I thought: Well, if a client cancels, I'll take that hour to stop by a local church and spend the time in quiet prayer.

No one canceled.

So as I drove from home to home, and as I sat with client after client, I thought of the service at my church. I thought especially of the custom they have of the washing of the feet. It is done in silence, with the organ playing something appropriate, with everyone encouraged to come up and have their feet washed. I was moved the first time I went there because in the monastery, we all got our feet washed by the prioress. I had never seen it done in the local church. I was thrilled to be able to participate.

As I sat there with clients with this memory in the back of my mind, I yearned to be in a different place, in the church, getting my feet washed, smelling the incense, hearing the bells, seeing the candles.

And then I thought, but I am "washing feet" by listening to one client after another, offering the towel of empathy and compassion. That thought sustained me as I drove from house to house, missing the "ceremonies" of that day and instead living it out in real life.

On Good Friday, I had to schedule in two more clients, giving me ten total. It would be a long day.

I had been nourished on Thursday by being mindful, so I maintained the attitude of service,  and let my work with clients be my Stations of the Cross, my remembrance of the Passion, and my silent reflection.

I sat with a mom who had lost her son. She was struggling. As I sat next to her, her tears flowing, I was reminded of Mother Mary standing at the foot of the cross as she gave Jesus back to the Father. I was reminded of how we all have our piece of the Passion.

I am going to the Holy Vigil service. I will be in a church, enjoying the sight of the new fire, listening to the singing of the chant, smelling the incense and enjoying the services wholly. I will be enjoying age old traditions and ceremonies as I join in the celebration of the Easter mystery.

But I know now, I can celebrate these things, even if I am not in the church. I can celebrate it by my own awareness. I can celebrate it as I remember.

Remembering with tears....

The altar of the monastery where I once lived

I knelt down on the cold hard floor, leaning up against the back of the pew. Just the act of kneeling brought back memories, memories of the many holy weeks I spent in the monastery. In the silence that filled the church, with the organ quietly playing the meditation hymn, the past seemed very present. I thought about that past. I remembered what it felt like. And the tears came. I did nothing to stop them.

It was how I remembered.

You would have to know how Holy Week is kept in a monastery, and the impact it has upon the heart and soul to understand my emotion. Monastic custom required more silence than usual, a stricter fast, and many more prayers. These were not just acts....they were very consciously tied in with the passion account, the acts of remembering the story of Jesus and his suffering and death.

What I remember most was the silence. We did not speak at all those last days of Holy Week. The bells, too, were silenced, as was the organ. Only the bare chant remained, one of minor cords and sorrowful tones. All was simple. All was very plain.  It made the gospel come alive to the heart and soul.

I once thought I could never leave the monastery because, whatever else that happened, Holy Week ceremonies and customs were too precious to ever give up.

But I did give them up.

And so I wept on Sunday. I did not weep because I was sad. I wept because of the beauty of what I remembered.

Finding more in scripture

By Sr. Mary Grace Thul, OP

Scripture can offer us many things: wonderful quotes, moving stories, and powerful examples of how to live. But there is one more thing scripture offers us: a person hidden within.

Jesus is amazing in his failure to fit the image people had for him. He did not come off as the typical carpenter's son. Nor did he act like the savior of the world. No wonder people were confused. Jesus as a person was totally unscripted, without a formula, and with no predictability.



That is because Jesus was a man on a mission. But what was that mission? It is recorded that he walked countless miles, endured privations, cold nights, and endless crowds in an effort to get his message across.

And yet, that was not Jesus ultimate goal. His goal, if you read scripture carefully, was people. It is recorded that every time Jesus was as being interrupted by those who wanted concrete help, he stopped to offer compassion. Whether it was a leper begging for a cure, a women seeking help who had been outcast in her society, or a child dying, Jesus stopped whatever he was doing to attend to the real physical need of those around him.

Not only did Jesus stop, he did not always wait to be asked. He let his humanity bring his compassion to another by touch, by power going out from the hem of his garment, by curing the withered arm while his detractors watched to accuse him.



This is the Jesus I want to discover. This is the part of scripture that gives me power. For it teaches me to also bring compassion to another through a touch, a thought, a hug.


And what better way can I spend Holy Week?

Message of Holy Week

Holy Week. It is upon us. It offers each one of us a gift, the gift of remembering that just because things don't turn out right, just because our lives do not follow a straight path, doesn't mean we have lost. In fact, if Holy Week is anything, it is a vivid example of bad being turned to good, of suffering being made fruitful and redemptive, and love being powerful enough to overcome evil.

More and more I see life as "passing through the veil." It seems that before we can step into a deeper understanding of life, especially of the spiritual aspect of life, we must walk through some valley of mist, some shrouded event when we cannot see clearly or experience the present of God. Many times, these are times when we are crying out to God for assistance, and God seems silent. Our own agony in the Garden, our own abandonment by God.

I like to think that during such times of darkness and abandonment, we are walking through a veil. Because, if we hold fast, if we continue to believe without seeing or experiencing God, we do step beyond, we do reach a different level of understanding.

As we walk together this Holy Week, let us each remember those times in our own lives when we were alone, when God seemed far off, and help did not assist. Let us remember, so that when it happens again, we may be encouraged, and know that Holy Week is an event, not a destiny.

Life is not a tragedy

Life is not a tragedy, writes L Giussani. Tragedy is what makes everything amount to nothing. Yes, life is a drama. It is dramatic because it is the relationship between our I and the You of God, our I that must follow the steps which God indicates. (343)

If only we could remember that when we have thoughts of defeat, worthlessness, and loss; when we feel that what I am going through, my disappointments, my discouragement, my failures makes life amount to nothing.

No better reflection could prepare us for Holy Week. Who, more than anyone, could have thought this way? Jesus. Three years of training his disciples, and they run when he needs them most. Three years of drawing unimaginable crowds, and they turn on him in his time of need. All the preparation, all the prophecies about Jesus and his destiny come to naught. And Jesus prays, "Father, remove this cup from me!" 

But God did not. And Jesus had to experience defeat, betrayal, isolation, public humiliation and death.

And we celebrate this week with great ceremony. Why? Because life is not a tragedy. For Jesus, all the trials of this week did not make him forget the relationship between our I and the You of God. It is Jesus going through the suffering of Holy Week that teaches us the value to be found in such things.

Tragedy is what makes everything amount to nothing. Let me not think in those terms. Let me rather believe I have something more, that defeat is only defeat if I forget the I and the You of God.