Shadows

Photo credit: My friend Frodo, and this church

It's Good Friday, so I'll be departing a bit from my normal posts to give you some of my thoughts apropos of Holy Week. :) 

(Before I start, I should note that I owe a couple of the concepts I've woven in here to our pastor, Fr. DD. But all the musings are my own.)

I always wonder what it's like for people who are not Christian or Catholic during Holy Week. What do they do? How do they feel? Is it just a normal week for them? Do they know that "this night is different from all other nights"? 

Because for me, Holy Week is overwhelming in its significance and importance. In my mind, the week is somber, darker than usual.
And yet, shot through with light.
The light streaming through the stained glass windows during Tenebrae, and the light of the candles in the candelabra, that slowly diminishes as the candles are snuffed one by one.
The sun on Good Friday, which is inevitably a day of glorious weather.
The light falling through the windows on our pastor as he sings the part of Jesus during the Gospel on Good Friday, which shines on him just up until he sings "It is finished", and then moves to another part of the altar.
The light from hundreds of candles in the church during the Easter Vigil.
The light which shines in the darkness, that the darkness cannot overcome. 

And so the light does shine amid the shadows, but the fact remains that the shadows are there.

In the Jewish tradition of memory, when they remember an event, like the Passover, they enter into it. They are there, with it. As the youngest child asks, in the Passover celebration, "Why is this night different from all other nights?" The night is different. It's not just another night. They are reliving the Passover. And Catholicism has kept this idea of memory. When we celebrate the Eucharist, "in remembrance of", it's not that we are simply "remembering" the Last Supper...we are entering into it. It is here. We are there. In a very real way.

During Holy Week, we enter into the events of that week, in the life of Christ.

And it shows during the liturgy. On Holy Thursday, we enter into the Last Supper. We see this in the Eucharistic Prayer: "On the day before he was to suffer... that is, today". This day. This night. On this day, we enter into this.

We enter into the events of Good Friday. That is, today. And it is on Good Friday that this remembrance is most beautiful and most terrible. Most terrible because on this day, humanity committed, we committed, the most horrible crime imaginable. We put God to death. And yet most beautiful because through this death, through this sacrifice of love, we are redeemed. We are renewed, and God shows His beautiful and glorious ability to bring good out of evil. 

And so, during the sorrow of Good Friday, during this most terrible day of the liturgical year, during the day that we enter into the hours of darkness that covered the earth, we still know that in a very short time, we will be entering into something new.

A new night. A darkness...and yet...

Amid that, a candle. And the Exultet. Let them exult, for...

"This is the night, when once [God] led our forebears, Israel's children, from slavery into Egypt."

"This is the night that even now, throughout the world, sets Christian believers apart from worldly vices."

"This is the night, when Christ broke the prison-bars of death and rose victorious from the underworld."

And it is only after entering into the darkness of Good Friday that we can truly say...

"This is the night of which it is written: the night shall be as bright as day, dazzling is the night for me, and full of gladness."