Holy Week at last

The Triduum has arrived. The forty days of Lent have sped by regrettably quickly.  I was really looking forward to Lent as a time to focus on spiritual growth, but it ended too quickly. I was too distracted. 

I gave up the usual things: sweets and alcohol.   It wasn’t until today, as we were filling plastic eggs for a neighborhood egg hunt on Sunday that I was seriously tempted by chocolate. A few little m&m’s wouldn’t matter would they? Just one marshmellow bunny to make sure they aren’t stale?  But they don’t look quite as delicious as usual.  My friend and neighbor has dampened my pleasure in pastel wrapped chocolates by reminding us about child labor and the importance of buying fair trade chocolates. I think these last three days will be the longest part of the sacrifice, as well they should.

Harder was declining beer and wine.  Several nights, especially after the recent break-in, I really craved a glass of wine after the kids went to bed. Their loud voices left my head ringing in a way that begged to be cured with a little tipple.  Watching Downton Abbey these last couple of weeks was been a great distraction from that temptation. Peeking into the foibles of the servants and aristocracy has caused me to prefer to drink tea, especially the calming, naturally sweet “Relaxing Tea” blend my sister-in-law sent me from the tea mixer at the Lancaster, PA, farmer’s market.

Actually, I think I’m suffering more from Downton Abbey withdrawal than from alcohol abstinence. Well done, PBS! Can’t wait for Season 3.

Sacrificing sweets and drinks may have been easier than usual because we took Sundays off.  I used to be more hardcore about Sundays, but I like the idea of Sunday being a “Little Easter” and want to reinforce that with my kids, especially the one preparing for First Communion.

On the other hand, I completely failed at fasting on Fridays. I didn’t commit strongly enough in the first place, so by midmorning when I was hungry for a snack, I barely hesitated after I had succumbed the first couple of weeks to hunger in the late afternoon. A lack of commitment is a failing I’ve struggled with before.  I talk and talk about what I think I’m going to do, until the deadline passes, or until I am distracted by another obligation.

Same thing with the Stations of the Cross. We started strong – went to the first four evenings of stations followed by a soup supper.  The group of attendees was small.  We didn’t sing the Stabat Mater.  Impromptu readers stumbled through the reflections.  But it was peaceful, if not deeply moving.  Then the last few weeks, things came up – like a spouses’ club party and a track meet – that seemed to take higher priority.  But the whole time I was at the party, I was sorry I wasn’t at Stations. 

I didn’t stick with my spiritual reading either.  I was doing well reading a little of  Kathleen Norris’ Amazing Grace and evening prayer and a little part of a Bible study book in the evenings, and  reflections from Benedictus in the mornings for the two weeks my husband was away. But he came home, and that quiet time seemed to disappear, although only by my own lack of commitment, not because of him.

Needless to say, acts of charity were few and far between. In fact I’m struggling to remember what it was I was going to do… we did host the daughter of a friend of a friend and her father for a couple days over the weekend.  We had to rearrange our schedule, but the sacrifice was minimal because they were such pleasant company.

So tonight I entered church unprepared for Holy Thursday. All my thoughts today were focused on cleaning house for the big party this weekend. An article I had read in the Thomas Aquinas College newsletter not too long ago came to mind as I sat down, about how good church architecture should inspire you to pray.  This is not one of those churches. From the outside it looks like a Hershey Kiss.  The inside is unremarkable, other than a large stone tree of life relief behind the altar, which actually I kind of like. Since the chapel is shared with the Protestants, it lacks icons or statuary. The stations of the cross are Roman numerals. So when I sat down behind a neighbor I forgot about praying as we whispered about the party until the processional began.

Happily, the Mass began to work on me.  The readings reminded me that I wasn’t sure if my 5 year old knows the reason for the liturgy, so I pointed out to her what was being said and listened anew to these old words myself. For the washing of the feet, families came up to the three different areas to wash each other’s feet. The kids giggled, but they will remember being involved. Various parishioners carried out the plants and linens as the altar was stripped.

But what really moved me was when the choir began to sing the litany of saints as the altar was stripped. The music at this church tends toward contemporary style.  The arrangement of this litany was new to me, but it was beautiful. The four singers harmonized perfectly.  And as I sat listening to the names of the saints called upon in song, I thought about my family members far away who share those names. I remembered the beautiful liturgies we have attended in other places with other friends.

It struck me that maybe this Lent wasn’t about struggling to fast from goodies and drinks or to read books by other people. Maybe God made it easy for me to resist sweets because He knew the sacrifice of time with our dear cousins and grandparents has been harder.  Being so far away from the people and places I have loved is my penitence.  Life in this tropical paradise has had a little part of desert. As I listened to their names, and prayed in song for their patron saints’ intercessions, I was filled with both sorrow and gratitude. I felt exiled but also in communion with that greater body of Christ.