Another Holy Week is behind us, and there are so many things to write about… so many high points that were moving, inspiring, exciting…. but in fact one of the moments that stays with me most potently occurred on Palm Sunday, the day which begins Holy Week. It was a morning of great energy and joy, with the waving of palms and the singing of exuberant songs (most notably an anthem Kate Barrow found which featured the senior choir, youth choir, and bell choir. All we were lacking was ten hula dancers and a laser light show.) But for me, the most remarkable and memorable moment of the morning came as I came down from the back balcony during the singing of the Hymn of the Day at first service- and heard some sort of odd sound which sounded almost like moaning. I couldn’t tell what the sound was until I got to the bottom of the stairs, and found Carl, a man with Down’s Syndrome who is one of Holy Communion’s ushers. Carl was sitting in the narthex (the lobby) of the church, wearing the headphones which are provided for people who are hard-of-hearing, and doing his best to sing along to the Hymn of the Day. There was something so touching about that sight – and I stood there for quite a while, just watching and listening to the contrast of Carl’s “singing” to that of the Senior Choir, whose beautiful and assured singing was wafting down the stairway. And when I finally slipped into the sanctuary, I stole a glance through the glass in the back door and couldn’t resist the urge to snap a picture of Carl. And if I could, I would share this photo with every single person who I see standing during congregational hymns, not singing a note, not making the slightest attempt to sing. I don’t know what they’re afraid of, but I wish they would take a hint from our own Carl, who does not hesitate to raise his voice in song.
Speaking of voices…. This year we returned to a tradition from which we had stepped away several years ago with our Tre Ore Good Friday service. As the Latin name implies, this is a three-hour service in which each of the seven last words of Jesus are read aloud, preached about, sung about- and reflected upon in silence. Most people come and go as their schedule allows, but a few hearty souls are there for the entire three hours. Another part of the tradition, at least at many churches, is for seven candles to be lit at the start of the three hours and then extinguished one by one as each of the last words is shared. Except that we had a HECK of a time getting those seven candles lit in the first place- none of the gas-fueled lighters used by the acolytes would work…. and even the small hand-held lighter, there as a backup, would not work! So we had one solitary candle lit – one of the pedestal torch candles beside the lectern – but all of the other candles, including the seven candles right up front, sat there forlornly unlit. And of course, a service like Tre Ore needs to be as dignified as possible, so it’s not a situation in which cracking a joke to relieve the tension is an option. With the clocking have ticked well past 12 noon, when we were supposed to start, Pastor Bill took matters into his own hands, both figuratively and literally. He went to the one lit candle and pull it right off of its base (no small matter) and proceeded to use it to light all of the other candles. And he managed to do it in such a way that he looked like he had always planned to light them that way.
And from there, the three hours proceeded with seven different preachers- all from Holy Communion. I started things off with a sermon on “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do” – and in turn, Kate Barrow, Pastor Walter, Joleen Carlsen, John Schwengel, and Sally Brown each followed suit- each of them preaching beautifully and eloquently and making each sermon a uniquely personal expression of faith. Pastor Bill finished things up with the seventh and final word and I think most of us who were part of it were so honored to be part of it and pleased that this tradition was back.
There was also the Tenebrae service that night (the Service of Shadows) – which really lived up to its name when the flashlight used by the lectors at the end of the service began to fail, which made it all but impossible for them to see what they were doing. (I guess this was meant to be the year of darkness.)
Saturday night was the Easter Vigil service, which is in some ways the most ancient of any of the services we do. A full Easter Vigil would actually last all night long – and some vigils last two or three hours – but I’m glad that ours lasts about an hour. For me, one of the most moving moments came when – as we always do – we start the service outside, gathered around what amounts to a bonfire from which the Paschal Candle (which I carry) is lit. It was a windy night, so as I carried the Candle to the front steps of the church and into the sanctuary, the great challenge was to shield that flame from the winds so it wouldn’t be blown out. . . so as I’m walking, Dave Krueger and Pastor Bill are both standing around me, arms above their heads, hands shielding the flickering flame. Something about that sight made me think of Early Man, and how a flickering flame of fire might spell the difference between life and death. I love moments like that which render our iPhones entirely irrelevant. (I’m pretty sure there’s no App for that.)
And as for Easter Sunday, all I can say is Wow. The senior choir was decked out in its beautiful new choir robes (I actually got a little verklempt at the second service as I said a couple words to the congregation about them) and sang so beautifully for three long services. The Sunday School and Youth Choirs also lent their voices to the proceedings, which was great- and one thing we did during the second service, which was really fun, was that the kids were all given little “Alleluia” signs- which they were invited to wave in the air every time they heard the word Alleluia either spoken or sung. It got them listening to the rest of the service a little more carefully, and I think all of us there came to a deeper appreciation for what it meant to be able to sing and say “Alleluia” after forty long days with that celebratory word locked away for the season of Lent. And I actually tears rolling down my cheeks as we finished singing “Resurrection” for the 24th Easter in a row – with Kathy as soloist. It ends with a big, wall-shaking Alleluia, and to see those signs waving in the air, as though they were singing with us, was one of my all-time favorite Easter moments.