Technically you could say this is not my first holy week. I was raised in a Christian family, I was an extra in passion plays two years in a row as a child. I certainly knew the “reason” for the “season.” At least, logically, I knew. The whole story of Jesus on the cross and then the resurrection and…okay can we get to the Easter baskets, already? Easter Sunday was a day out of context with MAYBE a church service in the morning and then a nice dinner later on with the usual family fight at some point during the day. Looking back, I don’t remember feeling too emotionally involved in the holiday.
For this reason, it feels like this is really my first Easter. I’m sure this has something to do with the fact that I’m joining the Catholic church tomorrow, but it goes beyond that.
The week started last Sunday with the celebration of Palm Sunday. I had just gotten back from my RCIA retreat where I had experienced my first Catholic-style reconciliation and had done a lot of thinking and praying… As the verses were being read during mass, I started to really feel like I could put myself inside the liturgy. I closed my eyes and felt this warmth surrounding me in a way I had never felt before. It was a peace and an all-consuming love. I began to weep, not out of sadness, but an overwhelming sense of relief. Like the second mass I attended, where the old testament reading was the story of the prodigal son, then I had this unshakable feeling of returning home. This time I felt like I was there experiencing the words that were being read, like I was in that time period. It’s very hard to fully explain it….but it was a powerful feeling.
Last night was similar, as we recalled the Last Supper. The image of Christ washing the feet of his disciples is so meaningful. What was even more moving for me, however, is the way the mass ended….or didn’t end, rather. In fact, the mass doesn’t really conclude until Saturday evening at the Easter Vigil. After readings and prayers and communion, we are left with a sort of “to be continued…” with the tabernacle open and empty and the candle, generally signifying the presence of Christ, extinguished. I stayed there for some time, just taking everything in. It was strange how quite everything seemed…like there really was some noticeable absence…yet also an expectation. It felt, so tangibly, like the end of something…like I should be mourning…but that everything would be okay.
Today, I went and did the Stations of the Cross, and again sat in the church and just processed for a little while.
It truly is difficult for me to describe exactly what’s been going on inside of me. Things just feel so different. I certainly appreciated Easter in the past in that “Oh, it’s a good thing Jesus died for our sins…okay, moving on.” but now I’m completely overtaken by the emotion and the experience of it in a way that is not forced or lip service or anything like that. Maybe it’s just that for the first I’m fully open to faith.
Trust me, it’s not easy. It’s hard for me to believe that I am actually going to church every Sunday now. It would certainly be easier to go back to “oh haha, yeah big old man in the sky watching what you do, yeah right.” My friends would probably think I’m less crazy, too. All I know is that…I’m home.
Thanks be to God.
Christos Anesti.
P.S. I also just finished by first full week on the job. Things are FANTASTIC!
