Sing to the tune of The Glory of These Forty Days:
It is the time of solemn fast:
The mournful days of Lent are here,
The priests and people weep aloud,
The temple echoes with their tears.
But all defy the wrath of God
And all the grieving words deceive,
Unless repentant hearts are true
And contrite in our shame we grieve.
In vain our foreheads mark’d with ash,
In vain the bow’d and beaten breast,
Unless true sorrow for our sins
Our very soul marks with distress.
With hearts thus Broken by our sins,
Before our God, then let us fall,
Who, knowing all our wicked faults,
Demands no punishment at all.
O righteous Judge! O God Most High!
Withhold the forfeit we should pay,
And give both time for true reform
And grace to help us change our way.
Grant us a harvest from our fast,
O, high and blessed Trinity,
Which we may reap in heav’n with you,
O, one and perfect Unity.
Solemne nos jejunii, Paris Breviary, XVIII, tr. John-Julian, OJN, 1997. © 1998 Order of Julian of Norwich. All rights reserved.
Showing posts with label Lent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lent. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
On the Triduum: Part Two
My memory has already faded significantly as regards the details of these liturgies. My apologies.
Good Friday
Father came out in simply a black stole over his cassock and surplice. It was dramatic in its utter simplicity. The altar was, as you remember from Thursday, completely bare, though the servers set it very simply (just a cloth, and /maybe/ two candles). Before the Veneration of the Cross, he changed into a black cope, which was just stunning. I've never seen a black cope before, but the wide expanse of black fabric seemed so right for a day of great mourning. He changed into a purple chasuble before he retrieved the Blessed Sacrament, which should provide interesting food for thought because the chasuble is a vestment for Mass, and the Good Friday Liturgy is definitively not a Mass.
It's not that the vestments were the only thing I paid attention to. They just really caught my eye because the changes were noticeable and significant, and I couldn't catch every detail because of paying attention to the music I was half-sightsinging, so they're one of the things I recall best.
Anyway, the Veneration of the Cross took forever but was pretty sweet (also the fact that we finished our hymn in time to run downstairs and venerate the cross ourselves was a nice gift). Father made a triple genuflection before veneration, then the servers did the same (or so I've been told. Singing and all that.), then the servers came and held the cross over the Prie-Dieu, after which the congregants processed up individually, genuflected, and kissed (usually the feet) of the crucifix, on their knees.
There was just so much silence. At many moments there was no prescribed chant; we were to be simply silent despite the fact that all it left the congregation to do was watch the priest (and possibly to wonder what he would do next). There were just so many moments of watchful silence. Watch and pray, I suppose.
Easter Vigil
Remember what I said in the last post about mine being a small parish with almost a provincial feel? I have never before been in a church at which the entire congregation assembled outside in the dark (and cold) around the Easter fire. It was so cool! We were just standing there, crowded around the fire, waiting. Waiting. Finally, Father (in violet cope) came from around the side, preceded by the servers, and blessed the fire. I couldn't hear (nor, of course, could I see) what exactly he was saying, but it seemed pretty much like what I'm used to in the novus ordo. I had a distinct feeling as he was praying whatever mysterious words that it was as if time had begun anew that very night, and he was blessing and consecrating the coming year to the Lord.
The servers had trouble lighting the Paschal Candle from the Easter fire (like, it took probably three minutes, including a trip inside back to the sacristy for a new candle by which to bring the flame to the Paschal Candle!), which gave me a lot of time to reflect upon it. I considered that, even if it be rubrically perfect, our earthly liturgy will never be quite perfect. It's a taste of heaven, the best we can get down here, but it's okay for things like this to go wrong. It shows us that the Lord still comes, still does things as He wills, no matter how much we screw things up. What a change from our "We have to do everything we can to make this as flawless as possible!" mindset on Liturgy Committee! (Not that that was bad - I'm just at a different place, and in a different position.)
We all knelt for the Lumen Christi, which was cool. I did, however, miss the congregational candles of the novus ordo and the gradual lighting of the Fieldhouse - after the third Lumen Christi, the lights just kind of all came on, at which point I chuckled to myself.
Then Father proclaimed the Exsultet at the ambo, facing North. It sounded like the familiar tone that's lasted to the novus ordo, which I found comforting. The ability to read a prosaic translation of this beautiful poem and to meditate upon it while it was being sung felt like such a luxury! I mean, the Exsultet is such a beautiful prayer, and you don't want to miss a word of it - and I really feel like I didn't this year! My favorite moment during the chanting of the Exsultet (take a guess!) was when Father stepped back from the ambo and I realized he was wearing not a white chasuble but a white dalmatic - the Mass garment of the deacon! I just love the fact that different clergy have specific roles to play, and those roles are clearly filled in that way (instead of just "Oh, here you can do this now").
Then he changed back into the violet cope and chanted the four prophecies. In a way, it was strange, because I've become accustomed to having so many more readings at the Vigil, but in another way it was enough, particularly since each Prophecy was significantly longer than a regular Lesson is, and there were four of them to the usual one Lesson. Perhaps I was just absorbed in praying those Scriptures, but it was enough. (You must understand, this was the part about which I feared I'd be terribly upset, but it was okay.) It's also just darn awesome that the second and fourth Prophecies flowed right into the tracts that followed them (i.e., "and they sang:""Cantemus Domino..."). :)
Then we sang half of the Litany of the Saints (stopping at "Omnes sanctes", the catch-all for the saints not mentioned), after which came the Renewal of Baptismal Promises. (Unfortunately, we had no catechumens, so the baptismal font was neither blessed nor exorcized, and the aforementioned renewal was all we got along those lines.) It's generally done in the vernacular, but the Institute is awesome and they still do it in Latin, which I enjoyed. I love the continuity with the creed.
(Interesting tangent: In the present English translation of the novus ordo, the Credo is rendered "We believe", but the Abrenuntiamus and Credimus of the Renewal of Baptismal Promises is rendered "I do." What's going on with our pronouns?)
After that, we finished the Litany, then went into the Kyrie and Gloria. (At some point around here, Father changed into a full set of white Mass vestments.) During the Gloria, the servers redressed the altar with candles and flowers, and unveiled the statues and images that'd been covered throughout the church. It was really beautiful to see that, particularly after they'd been hidden for two weeks! It's funny in comparison to Steubenville (and I remember the debates well), because there it seemed so showy, and perhaps part of that was stylistic in the manner of redressing the altar, and perhaps part of the major difference was that it was laypeople, not servers, who brought up the flowers and whatnot. But I think the biggest factors are: 1) The flowers at Steubenville principally decorated the area around the altar, whereas those in West Orange decorated the altar itself (the higher levels of the high altar and such, which isn't an option out there), and 2) The images being uncovered is such an integral part of that bit of the rite, and the Fieldhouse isn't a chapel, so there really aren't images to cover! (Yes, I remember unveiling the cross and all that. But even that is hardly the same.)
From there Mass proceeded pretty much as usual until after Communion, at which point we chanted an abbreviated form of Lauds - which was really cool especially in light of how the prophecies and the vigil nature of the early bits of the Liturgy were totally based on the Divine Office as well. It was just a very nice way to round things out.
Overall Response
I liked my first traditional Triduum very much, and cannot imagine a better place to have been following two years on Liturgy Committee in Steubenville. But on the whole, it really wasn't as different as one might expect. Admittedly, I'm coming at this with a much greater knowledge of the Triduum liturgies than the average Catholic, but even so I would make the analogy as follows:
'62 Triduum : '70 Triduum :: '62 Sunday Mass : '70 Sunday Mass
It was lovely, and I am glad they asked me to sing in the choir. Too, I was so blessed to have wonderful friends visit me and the parish, who seem to have loved things just about as much as I did. And we got to celebrate the season with a midnight diner run! Woot!
* * *
WesoĊego Alleluja, my friends (literally, blessed alleluia). Thank you for reading, and know that you were in my prayers during these beautiful aforementioned liturgies. Christ is arisen!
Good Friday
Father came out in simply a black stole over his cassock and surplice. It was dramatic in its utter simplicity. The altar was, as you remember from Thursday, completely bare, though the servers set it very simply (just a cloth, and /maybe/ two candles). Before the Veneration of the Cross, he changed into a black cope, which was just stunning. I've never seen a black cope before, but the wide expanse of black fabric seemed so right for a day of great mourning. He changed into a purple chasuble before he retrieved the Blessed Sacrament, which should provide interesting food for thought because the chasuble is a vestment for Mass, and the Good Friday Liturgy is definitively not a Mass.
It's not that the vestments were the only thing I paid attention to. They just really caught my eye because the changes were noticeable and significant, and I couldn't catch every detail because of paying attention to the music I was half-sightsinging, so they're one of the things I recall best.
Anyway, the Veneration of the Cross took forever but was pretty sweet (also the fact that we finished our hymn in time to run downstairs and venerate the cross ourselves was a nice gift). Father made a triple genuflection before veneration, then the servers did the same (or so I've been told. Singing and all that.), then the servers came and held the cross over the Prie-Dieu, after which the congregants processed up individually, genuflected, and kissed (usually the feet) of the crucifix, on their knees.
There was just so much silence. At many moments there was no prescribed chant; we were to be simply silent despite the fact that all it left the congregation to do was watch the priest (and possibly to wonder what he would do next). There were just so many moments of watchful silence. Watch and pray, I suppose.
Easter Vigil
Remember what I said in the last post about mine being a small parish with almost a provincial feel? I have never before been in a church at which the entire congregation assembled outside in the dark (and cold) around the Easter fire. It was so cool! We were just standing there, crowded around the fire, waiting. Waiting. Finally, Father (in violet cope) came from around the side, preceded by the servers, and blessed the fire. I couldn't hear (nor, of course, could I see) what exactly he was saying, but it seemed pretty much like what I'm used to in the novus ordo. I had a distinct feeling as he was praying whatever mysterious words that it was as if time had begun anew that very night, and he was blessing and consecrating the coming year to the Lord.
The servers had trouble lighting the Paschal Candle from the Easter fire (like, it took probably three minutes, including a trip inside back to the sacristy for a new candle by which to bring the flame to the Paschal Candle!), which gave me a lot of time to reflect upon it. I considered that, even if it be rubrically perfect, our earthly liturgy will never be quite perfect. It's a taste of heaven, the best we can get down here, but it's okay for things like this to go wrong. It shows us that the Lord still comes, still does things as He wills, no matter how much we screw things up. What a change from our "We have to do everything we can to make this as flawless as possible!" mindset on Liturgy Committee! (Not that that was bad - I'm just at a different place, and in a different position.)
We all knelt for the Lumen Christi, which was cool. I did, however, miss the congregational candles of the novus ordo and the gradual lighting of the Fieldhouse - after the third Lumen Christi, the lights just kind of all came on, at which point I chuckled to myself.
Then Father proclaimed the Exsultet at the ambo, facing North. It sounded like the familiar tone that's lasted to the novus ordo, which I found comforting. The ability to read a prosaic translation of this beautiful poem and to meditate upon it while it was being sung felt like such a luxury! I mean, the Exsultet is such a beautiful prayer, and you don't want to miss a word of it - and I really feel like I didn't this year! My favorite moment during the chanting of the Exsultet (take a guess!) was when Father stepped back from the ambo and I realized he was wearing not a white chasuble but a white dalmatic - the Mass garment of the deacon! I just love the fact that different clergy have specific roles to play, and those roles are clearly filled in that way (instead of just "Oh, here you can do this now").
Then he changed back into the violet cope and chanted the four prophecies. In a way, it was strange, because I've become accustomed to having so many more readings at the Vigil, but in another way it was enough, particularly since each Prophecy was significantly longer than a regular Lesson is, and there were four of them to the usual one Lesson. Perhaps I was just absorbed in praying those Scriptures, but it was enough. (You must understand, this was the part about which I feared I'd be terribly upset, but it was okay.) It's also just darn awesome that the second and fourth Prophecies flowed right into the tracts that followed them (i.e., "and they sang:"
Then we sang half of the Litany of the Saints (stopping at "Omnes sanctes", the catch-all for the saints not mentioned), after which came the Renewal of Baptismal Promises. (Unfortunately, we had no catechumens, so the baptismal font was neither blessed nor exorcized, and the aforementioned renewal was all we got along those lines.) It's generally done in the vernacular, but the Institute is awesome and they still do it in Latin, which I enjoyed. I love the continuity with the creed.
(Interesting tangent: In the present English translation of the novus ordo, the Credo is rendered "We believe", but the Abrenuntiamus and Credimus of the Renewal of Baptismal Promises is rendered "I do." What's going on with our pronouns?)
After that, we finished the Litany, then went into the Kyrie and Gloria. (At some point around here, Father changed into a full set of white Mass vestments.) During the Gloria, the servers redressed the altar with candles and flowers, and unveiled the statues and images that'd been covered throughout the church. It was really beautiful to see that, particularly after they'd been hidden for two weeks! It's funny in comparison to Steubenville (and I remember the debates well), because there it seemed so showy, and perhaps part of that was stylistic in the manner of redressing the altar, and perhaps part of the major difference was that it was laypeople, not servers, who brought up the flowers and whatnot. But I think the biggest factors are: 1) The flowers at Steubenville principally decorated the area around the altar, whereas those in West Orange decorated the altar itself (the higher levels of the high altar and such, which isn't an option out there), and 2) The images being uncovered is such an integral part of that bit of the rite, and the Fieldhouse isn't a chapel, so there really aren't images to cover! (Yes, I remember unveiling the cross and all that. But even that is hardly the same.)
From there Mass proceeded pretty much as usual until after Communion, at which point we chanted an abbreviated form of Lauds - which was really cool especially in light of how the prophecies and the vigil nature of the early bits of the Liturgy were totally based on the Divine Office as well. It was just a very nice way to round things out.
Overall Response
I liked my first traditional Triduum very much, and cannot imagine a better place to have been following two years on Liturgy Committee in Steubenville. But on the whole, it really wasn't as different as one might expect. Admittedly, I'm coming at this with a much greater knowledge of the Triduum liturgies than the average Catholic, but even so I would make the analogy as follows:
'62 Triduum : '70 Triduum :: '62 Sunday Mass : '70 Sunday Mass
It was lovely, and I am glad they asked me to sing in the choir. Too, I was so blessed to have wonderful friends visit me and the parish, who seem to have loved things just about as much as I did. And we got to celebrate the season with a midnight diner run! Woot!
* * *
WesoĊego Alleluja, my friends (literally, blessed alleluia). Thank you for reading, and know that you were in my prayers during these beautiful aforementioned liturgies. Christ is arisen!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
On the Triduum: Part One
Background
(Translation: If you're pressed for time / lazy you can probably skip this part and miss little. I just want to write it.)
I have attended Triduum liturgies at four places in my life:
1) St. Joseph Parish, Carteret, NJ - My home parish (i.e., I grew up there). Have attended Triduum there for about as long as I can remember through freshman year of college, inclusive. Sang in the choir for three Triduums (including freshman year of college).
2) Christ the King Parish, Ann Arbor, MI - Home parish of many of my good friends from college. The Catholic parish that grew out of the incredible ecumenical charismatic community in A2. Just one Triduum.
3) Franciscan University of Steubenville, Steubenville, OH - Liturgy Committee. For two Triduums I was part of the crew that ran everything behind the scenes. We learned those liturgies inside and out; I exaggerate not when I say we were quizzed on details such as "What happens immediately following the baptism of the catechumen at the Easter Vigil?"
4) St. Anthony of Padua Oratory, West Orange, NJ - My present parish. Run by the Institute of Christ the King, Sovereign Priest. Traditional Latin Mass only. This year was my first Triduum there (and yes, I was in the choir loft).
On My Parish
St. Anthony's, though canonically an Oratory (thank you Archbishop Myers!), is just a small parish chapel. In recent years (i.e., during college) I became used to large, specialized places of worship - the campus chapel in Steubenville, the Pittsburgh Latin Mass Community, Christ the King in Ann Arbor. I knew that I'd kind of outgrown my home parish (a topic for another time), but after being accustomed to such large-scale Ecclesial moments, in which it's easy to pull out all the stops for special occasions and be selective enough to do things perfectly, it was a bit of a switch to find my home at a place where there are about five choir members, and the altar servers are pretty much the same every week (give or take one or two), and not everything is as perfect as it could possibly be. I guess it's analogous to moving to a small town after loving living in a big city: it's not exactly where I imagined myself being, but I am home here, and I've grown to love it. Besides, this is more typical than the big city anyway. I can be a normal person for a change.
Holy Thursday
We finished choir rehearsal early, and as I was sitting in a back pew reading about the day's liturgy in Pius Parsch's Year of Grace, I noticed a cassocked leg walk past me. Wondering whether it was one of our two priests or a server, I glanced up - and was shocked to discover Msgr. Schmitz, Vicar General of the Institute and Provincial for the US! You must understand, this man is one of my favorite priests ever, and it was a shock and a delight to discover him there. Because that meant two things: 1) A Schmitz homily and 2) Solemn Mass.
I'm unaccustomed to Solemn Mass, as we only have two priests (I've probably only been to half a dozen Solemn Masses), which is a shame because Solemn Mass is the way the Liturgy is supposed to be, the proverbial yardstick by which one measures the Liturgy. High Mass and Low Mass are what you do when Solemn Mass isn't a reasonable option. Anyway: what this means is that I got to experience Holy Thursday in all its glory. I don't recall much that stood out to me as particular or different any more so than any Sunday Mass (save that the Mandatum, or Washing of the Feet, is optional), until the very end.
After the procession with the Blessed Sacrament to the altar of repose, the clergy (priest, deacon, and subdeacon) processed to the sacristy (in silence. The Triduum has a lot of silence.) and returned a moment later in different vestments (the Triduum has a lot of costume changes, too): where they had been fully vested in white, now they were vested in violet - stoles for the priest and deacon, and maniple for the subdeacon. The three of them (assisted a bit by the servers, but they mostly only moved flowers) stripped the altar.
When I say they stripped the altar, I mean that it had looked like a pretty normal feast day altar, but by the time they were done with it, gone were the flowers, the altar cloths, the candles - even the tabernacle veil! There was just the stark wood of the altar, with the unveiled open tabernacle. Such a difference! And so powerful, to watch the priests do this before our very eyes. There was a prescribed hymn for the schola to chant (Ps 21/22, I believe), and when the clergy were done, they sang the closing antiphon again and processed out in silence (and then there was adoration of the Blessed Sacrament at the altar of repose 'till midnight). It was really a stunning end to things.
* * *
Unfortunately, it's time for bed, so I won't get to fill you in on the rest just yet. I look forward to writing the rest of my observations, and to some dialogue. To my knowledge, none of my readers have experienced a traditional Triduum, but most of you have been to traditional Masses. I hope my observations are helpful / interesting to you.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Addendum: On the Crucifixion
As I was praying in front of the Blessed Sacrament in the Altar of Repose tonight, I meditated upon the sorrowful mysteries. The concept of unrequited love came to mind, and I considered (in what small degree I can) how terrible it must have been for Our Lord to endure all that suffering for people who He knew would eternally reject Him! This, then, put into perspective something which had confused me for some time: the idea that we can offer consolation to Christ on the cross. But it does seem to make sense now. After all, difficult as it is to give something up for my own merit, it becomes possible and even joyful to give up the same thing for another person whom I love very much. What once was a terrible chore becomes a labor of love.
What a gift: to offer myself in love to my Savior such that His bitter Passion contains elements of joy! With renewed fervor I return to my pursuit of holiness. It is, after all, the most intense season of the Liturgical Year.
What a gift: to offer myself in love to my Savior such that His bitter Passion contains elements of joy! With renewed fervor I return to my pursuit of holiness. It is, after all, the most intense season of the Liturgical Year.
On the Crucifixion
I used to love to meditate on Christ's Passion (including, of course, His crucifixion). As I've grown older, however, I've realized that part of that excitement about reflection was because I knew my peers didn't get it. I knew they had little idea how much actual pain Our Lord suffered on our behalf. There was almost a shock value to the gory details.
I do wish I'd been able to attend a Seven Last Words service during my time at Franciscan (I was always either away for the weekend or in Easter Vigil Practice). It seems that would be a profitable thing on which to meditate.
I simply feel my complete inadequacy in meditating upon Our Lord's suffering and death, let alone leading others in meditation. I leave it to tomorrow's Liturgy to draw us in. You will all be in my prayers this weekend.
May reflecting on His Passion lead us to a greater appreciation for how easy our lives are, and a decrease in our own complaining (among other, more important things).
I do wish I'd been able to attend a Seven Last Words service during my time at Franciscan (I was always either away for the weekend or in Easter Vigil Practice). It seems that would be a profitable thing on which to meditate.
I simply feel my complete inadequacy in meditating upon Our Lord's suffering and death, let alone leading others in meditation. I leave it to tomorrow's Liturgy to draw us in. You will all be in my prayers this weekend.
May reflecting on His Passion lead us to a greater appreciation for how easy our lives are, and a decrease in our own complaining (among other, more important things).
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
On the Carrying of the Cross
Once, it was pointed out to me that the Stations of the Cross can be sort of fit into this mystery. I've been praying it that way ever since. (The first station has kind of already happened by this point, though, and it works out best if you just gloss over that as far as counting them on the Hail Mary beads goes.)
Jesus Takes Up His Cross
Jesus Falls the First Time
He's only just picked up the cross and already He's fallen? Little wonder our New Year's resolutions and whatnot last mere days before we slip. The important thing, of course, is that He gets right back up.
Jesus Meets His Mother
The most striking commentary I've ever heard on this mystery is from a homily of my old pastor, Fr P. I can't recall how he phrased it so as not to sound cumbersome at the outset (as my own words here are bound to do), but he asked what words Jesus would have read in her eyes in that one moment? Fr P then declared that they must have been words of encouragement, a sort of "You can do it!", with perhaps a hint of "I'm so proud of you!" (ok that last part I think I've added on over the years). When he first said that, I thought it was cool but VERY hard to wrap my mind around! But as time has gone on, I've come to see how one can put aside one's own feelings in support of another, knowing that the greater good was truly being served. I'm not doing justice to the idea here, but I really do think it's the most perfect presentation of this moment of connection between the New Adam and the New Eve on the path to Calvary that I've ever heard.
Simon Helps Jesus Carry His Cross
Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus
I've always identified with Veronica. Anybody know where we keep her veil? 'Cuz undoubtedly it's perfectly preserved somewhere in Christendom. I love being Catholic!
Jesus Falls the Second Time
I have long found this to be one of the more painful stations. After three stops of other people providing aid or comfort to our Blessed Lord, He falls again - so soon after Veronica had wiped His Face! If only this station was switched in order with the one before it; then at least her kindness to Him would have lasted longer. But alas!
Jesus Meets the Women of Jerusalem
Can you imagine being one of those women? Upset for the injustice to this poor innocent man (or maybe they actually believed in Him; who knows?), and expressing to Him their sympathy, and instead He tells them to shove it? Not really, but that must be what they felt like at the time. 'Don't cry for me, but for yourselves and your children.' Seriously? Why should I weep for my perfectly happy, healthy child when you're over here being beaten slowly to death? Scary words!
Jesus Falls the Third Time
I once read reference to someone "sinning like a Christian" - that is to say, he'd fall into sin, but he'd get right back up again and keep trying, no matter how many times he sinned. That's where we should be.
Jesus is Stripped of His Clothes
The pain of clotted wounds being ripped open! The humiliation of being stripped naked for all to see! *sighs* I'm so glad He did this so I wouldn't have to.
Jesus is Nailed to the Cross
When I was a child, this was always the station that sent shivers down my spine. Of all the painful things Jesus went through, having nails pounded through your hands and feet always took the cake for me. My hands almost hurt just thinking about it!
Any stations that occur after this point belong more properly to the fifth sorrowful mystery, so I'll address them next week. I hope.
Jesus Takes Up His Cross
Jesus Falls the First Time
He's only just picked up the cross and already He's fallen? Little wonder our New Year's resolutions and whatnot last mere days before we slip. The important thing, of course, is that He gets right back up.
Jesus Meets His Mother
The most striking commentary I've ever heard on this mystery is from a homily of my old pastor, Fr P. I can't recall how he phrased it so as not to sound cumbersome at the outset (as my own words here are bound to do), but he asked what words Jesus would have read in her eyes in that one moment? Fr P then declared that they must have been words of encouragement, a sort of "You can do it!", with perhaps a hint of "I'm so proud of you!" (ok that last part I think I've added on over the years). When he first said that, I thought it was cool but VERY hard to wrap my mind around! But as time has gone on, I've come to see how one can put aside one's own feelings in support of another, knowing that the greater good was truly being served. I'm not doing justice to the idea here, but I really do think it's the most perfect presentation of this moment of connection between the New Adam and the New Eve on the path to Calvary that I've ever heard.
Simon Helps Jesus Carry His Cross
Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus
I've always identified with Veronica. Anybody know where we keep her veil? 'Cuz undoubtedly it's perfectly preserved somewhere in Christendom. I love being Catholic!
Jesus Falls the Second Time
I have long found this to be one of the more painful stations. After three stops of other people providing aid or comfort to our Blessed Lord, He falls again - so soon after Veronica had wiped His Face! If only this station was switched in order with the one before it; then at least her kindness to Him would have lasted longer. But alas!
Jesus Meets the Women of Jerusalem
Can you imagine being one of those women? Upset for the injustice to this poor innocent man (or maybe they actually believed in Him; who knows?), and expressing to Him their sympathy, and instead He tells them to shove it? Not really, but that must be what they felt like at the time. 'Don't cry for me, but for yourselves and your children.' Seriously? Why should I weep for my perfectly happy, healthy child when you're over here being beaten slowly to death? Scary words!
Jesus Falls the Third Time
I once read reference to someone "sinning like a Christian" - that is to say, he'd fall into sin, but he'd get right back up again and keep trying, no matter how many times he sinned. That's where we should be.
Jesus is Stripped of His Clothes
The pain of clotted wounds being ripped open! The humiliation of being stripped naked for all to see! *sighs* I'm so glad He did this so I wouldn't have to.
Jesus is Nailed to the Cross
When I was a child, this was always the station that sent shivers down my spine. Of all the painful things Jesus went through, having nails pounded through your hands and feet always took the cake for me. My hands almost hurt just thinking about it!
Any stations that occur after this point belong more properly to the fifth sorrowful mystery, so I'll address them next week. I hope.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
On the Crowning with Thorns
This mystery is less about physical suffering (though that is most definitely a factor) than it is about what I think of as perfect humility.
Humility has two aspects. The first aspect is more basic: Seeing yourself as God sees you. (Easier said than done, sure, but still very positive.) The second aspect requires much more supernatural grace: Remaining in virtue when others do not treat you as your God-given dignity deserves. Everything about the Crowning with Thorns smacks of this perfect humility. He was God, for goodness' sake! And here he was being treated like a common miscreant! On top of that, they were mocking His Kingship - a kingship of which He was very aware especially during His passion.
Lord, remind me not to get upset and snap back when others fail to give me the respect I deserve. Teach me how to just take it like You did. Teach me how to let myself be walked all over - and more importantly, when it would be beneficial to do so.
And help me to embrace the crown of thorns You've set aside for me throughout my life.
Humility has two aspects. The first aspect is more basic: Seeing yourself as God sees you. (Easier said than done, sure, but still very positive.) The second aspect requires much more supernatural grace: Remaining in virtue when others do not treat you as your God-given dignity deserves. Everything about the Crowning with Thorns smacks of this perfect humility. He was God, for goodness' sake! And here he was being treated like a common miscreant! On top of that, they were mocking His Kingship - a kingship of which He was very aware especially during His passion.
Lord, remind me not to get upset and snap back when others fail to give me the respect I deserve. Teach me how to just take it like You did. Teach me how to let myself be walked all over - and more importantly, when it would be beneficial to do so.
And help me to embrace the crown of thorns You've set aside for me throughout my life.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
On the Scourging at the Pillar
As a child and adolescent, I was acutely aware that my peers had an impoverished understanding of the Lord's passion, and (not being yet in touch with my spiritual nature) focused on the physical torture highlighted in these mysteries. Thus I would feel remiss were I not to at least mention the incredible torment Our Lord suffered so meekly as His sacred Body was whipped and torn by bone, glass, rocks, and other sharp, painful edges.
I think often of the scene from The Passion in which Mary and the other woman take white cloths and sop up Christ's Precious Blood, spilt so thoughtlessly there for all men. Well, thoughtless for some, anyway.
I sometimes get angry at Protestant depictions of our Lord's passion, because they usually have Him scream out in pain at some point. But his continued silence is one of my favorite things about the great suffering He bore for us: look at all that He endured for our sake, and He didn't cry out once. How, then, do I complain about the smallest thorns in my side?
Acceptance of suffering, when it's not the type of suffering we'd choose for ourselves. What a hard task! I look to You, O Lord, for hope.
I think often of the scene from The Passion in which Mary and the other woman take white cloths and sop up Christ's Precious Blood, spilt so thoughtlessly there for all men. Well, thoughtless for some, anyway.
I sometimes get angry at Protestant depictions of our Lord's passion, because they usually have Him scream out in pain at some point. But his continued silence is one of my favorite things about the great suffering He bore for us: look at all that He endured for our sake, and He didn't cry out once. How, then, do I complain about the smallest thorns in my side?
Acceptance of suffering, when it's not the type of suffering we'd choose for ourselves. What a hard task! I look to You, O Lord, for hope.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
On Lent and Fasting
I'm so confused right now. Every time I think I've concluded something helpful and practical about Lent, a new realization occurs and throws me back into a tailspin. Perhaps it's just hormones; the Lord knows mine are going crazy right about now. But regardless, some reflection is certainly in order.
When Septuagesima rolled around, I became excited for Lent, and looked forward to offering my penances for specific people or causes, though I was yet lacking good ideas for what to give up. My thoughts tended toward self-discipline over self-denial, because I find self-denial easier than self-discipline (if only achieving balance were easy).
Despite two and a half weeks of Pre-Lent, Fat Tuesday still caught me off guard. (I mean, I was wearing the appropriate colors and all, but the knowledge that my mortifications would begin the next day left me still wondering what exactly they might be.) Then J posted this note explaining how and why he's effectively fasting from the internet from Lent, which caused me to rethink my whole set of ideas. There's something extremely attractive about anything that's intensely hardcore like that, and such a fast tugged at my heart-strings, but I also felt that this was not really something to which I am called this Lent. At lunch that day, one supervisor asked the whole table what we were giving up for Lent (knowing full well that I'm the only practicing Catholic - it's just how she rolls), and my prepared answer was "sweets and comfortable work shoes" (I never reveal all my Lenten mortifications, as it gets in the way of the "secret gift to my lover" aspect that I love so dearly).
Ash Wednesday arrived, and with it came the discomfort of the fast imposed on me by the Church, with no wiggle room. This discomfort was particularly striking in light of previous years when I felt the official imposed fast to be too lenient, and felt almost guilty eating the food that was provided for me by those with whom I was staying. But I discovered I did have a fairly well-rounded program of fasts, prayers, and alms that I had pulled together, and I was pleased.
This afternoon, I discovered this post on L's blog (I know, I'm a few days behind. So sue me.) and her discussion of freely chosen detachment caused me to realize - there's not a single thing I'm giving up this year that isn't good for me in some way. No sweets = fewer calories (i.e., easy diet). Limiting my time on Google Reader at work = renewal of my work ethic. The shoes are a bit tougher, as they're both awesome and harmful - I do love how they look (and the attention is usually a plus, too), but they're actually bad for my body (whoops). So I reembarked upon my quest to find another penance, and considered I would probably blog as soon as I got upstairs from doing my laundry (if I'm getting a self-improvement kick out of Lent, I might as well stick with it, eh?).
As I was doing said laundry, I reflected upon the fact that I do want to offer my Lenten sacrifices for a particular intention (or maybe 3 or 4), but have been unsure where to begin. Well, the Institute gave me a starting point by organizing a spiritual boquet for the Holy Father, which I found in my bulletin this past Sunday - so I could offer Lent for the pope. That's wonderful, and I will, but it has felt like my fervor for fasting, largely composed of having other pressing intentions for which to pray, as L also expressed, has diminished as my prayer intentions remain largely the same. I was then reminded of a conversation last night in which a peer whom I hold in great esteem asked my prayers, and detailed a struggle he's been having - not the most intimate of conversations, but he certainly gave me more detail than he needed to, and I was humbled by his trust. Yes, I could offer up my Lenten penances for him. Too, perhaps adding a new face to my familiar list of prayer intentions would rejuvenate me a bit.
I was not three paragraphs into this post when I heard Mom's very angry voice yelling for me - I'd forgotten the change of lifestyle that comes with having no kitchen, and had started laundry with dishes still in the sink the washer drains into. Oops. I already felt negligent that I haven't done dishes all week (largely because I simply haven't been home - my formerly slim social life has exploded lately).
So I have resolved: Yes, my prayers, alms, and self-denial will continue as planned, and I will offer them for several specific people's intentions. But I think my focus needs to be on my family and the household's needs (something I always conveniently forget, living at home. I can already clearly see many of the crosses of being a mom).
You know how I often say that I used to try to be weird/unconventional, until I realized I didn't have to try? My primary penance this Lent needs to be doing chores around the house. Who would have ever guessed?
When Septuagesima rolled around, I became excited for Lent, and looked forward to offering my penances for specific people or causes, though I was yet lacking good ideas for what to give up. My thoughts tended toward self-discipline over self-denial, because I find self-denial easier than self-discipline (if only achieving balance were easy).
Despite two and a half weeks of Pre-Lent, Fat Tuesday still caught me off guard. (I mean, I was wearing the appropriate colors and all, but the knowledge that my mortifications would begin the next day left me still wondering what exactly they might be.) Then J posted this note explaining how and why he's effectively fasting from the internet from Lent, which caused me to rethink my whole set of ideas. There's something extremely attractive about anything that's intensely hardcore like that, and such a fast tugged at my heart-strings, but I also felt that this was not really something to which I am called this Lent. At lunch that day, one supervisor asked the whole table what we were giving up for Lent (knowing full well that I'm the only practicing Catholic - it's just how she rolls), and my prepared answer was "sweets and comfortable work shoes" (I never reveal all my Lenten mortifications, as it gets in the way of the "secret gift to my lover" aspect that I love so dearly).
Ash Wednesday arrived, and with it came the discomfort of the fast imposed on me by the Church, with no wiggle room. This discomfort was particularly striking in light of previous years when I felt the official imposed fast to be too lenient, and felt almost guilty eating the food that was provided for me by those with whom I was staying. But I discovered I did have a fairly well-rounded program of fasts, prayers, and alms that I had pulled together, and I was pleased.
This afternoon, I discovered this post on L's blog (I know, I'm a few days behind. So sue me.) and her discussion of freely chosen detachment caused me to realize - there's not a single thing I'm giving up this year that isn't good for me in some way. No sweets = fewer calories (i.e., easy diet). Limiting my time on Google Reader at work = renewal of my work ethic. The shoes are a bit tougher, as they're both awesome and harmful - I do love how they look (and the attention is usually a plus, too), but they're actually bad for my body (whoops). So I reembarked upon my quest to find another penance, and considered I would probably blog as soon as I got upstairs from doing my laundry (if I'm getting a self-improvement kick out of Lent, I might as well stick with it, eh?).
As I was doing said laundry, I reflected upon the fact that I do want to offer my Lenten sacrifices for a particular intention (or maybe 3 or 4), but have been unsure where to begin. Well, the Institute gave me a starting point by organizing a spiritual boquet for the Holy Father, which I found in my bulletin this past Sunday - so I could offer Lent for the pope. That's wonderful, and I will, but it has felt like my fervor for fasting, largely composed of having other pressing intentions for which to pray, as L also expressed, has diminished as my prayer intentions remain largely the same. I was then reminded of a conversation last night in which a peer whom I hold in great esteem asked my prayers, and detailed a struggle he's been having - not the most intimate of conversations, but he certainly gave me more detail than he needed to, and I was humbled by his trust. Yes, I could offer up my Lenten penances for him. Too, perhaps adding a new face to my familiar list of prayer intentions would rejuvenate me a bit.
I was not three paragraphs into this post when I heard Mom's very angry voice yelling for me - I'd forgotten the change of lifestyle that comes with having no kitchen, and had started laundry with dishes still in the sink the washer drains into. Oops. I already felt negligent that I haven't done dishes all week (largely because I simply haven't been home - my formerly slim social life has exploded lately).
So I have resolved: Yes, my prayers, alms, and self-denial will continue as planned, and I will offer them for several specific people's intentions. But I think my focus needs to be on my family and the household's needs (something I always conveniently forget, living at home. I can already clearly see many of the crosses of being a mom).
You know how I often say that I used to try to be weird/unconventional, until I realized I didn't have to try? My primary penance this Lent needs to be doing chores around the house. Who would have ever guessed?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
On Stating the Obvious
Sometimes self-denial is not its own immediate reward.
That is to say: Sometimes, when you're having a crappy day (even if for no readily apparent reason), and you have just enough time to do that thing you don't want to do but really should do and have been putting off for weeks already, and you get over yourself and do that thing - sometimes finally doing that thing does not make you feel any better.
But I guess that's part of the point of mortifying the flesh, eh?
That is to say: Sometimes, when you're having a crappy day (even if for no readily apparent reason), and you have just enough time to do that thing you don't want to do but really should do and have been putting off for weeks already, and you get over yourself and do that thing - sometimes finally doing that thing does not make you feel any better.
But I guess that's part of the point of mortifying the flesh, eh?
Saturday, October 11, 2008
On Food and Fasting
I've begun to realize recently how integral food really is to our lives. Duh, you think. Ok ok, but besides the whole we-need-nutrition-to-survive bit, food really is an essential part of things. When it's time to celebrate, what do we do? We eat. When we want to feel better (be it because of a death, a breakup, or just hormones), what do we do? We eat. When we're struggling to stay awake during a difficult day at work, what do we do? We eat (and sometimes drink a hot beverage). When welcoming someone new to our home, to our organization, to our church, what do we do? We feed them. When we want to fast, or give something up (e.g., for Lent), where are our minds first drawn? To thoughts of eating less. I think you get the point.
None of this is bad. Eating is an essential part of both our life and our culture. But we can't let it become the focal point of our lives (that is, after all, where Gluttony gets its steam, eh?).
Has anyone else had the feeling lately that their "fasting" is more like dieting - or even budgeting? For instance: I can't skip a meal because my body would shut down halfway through the work day, but I'll refrain from eating that midafternoon bag of M&M's from the vending machine, and I'll offer that up for so-and-so... and besides, that's so many fewer calories migrating to my gut, and an extra couple bucks saved to boot! Seriously? Do I really allow myself to be duped so easily by my own clumsy sophistry?
I thought about this briefly this past Lent (well, the days before Lent, to be precise). I wanted to give up something really hard, something that was unmistakably me sacrificing something good for sake of a greater Good (and we're not talking about sacrificing chocolate for a trimmer figure here). It took me nearly a week of constant brainstorming and prayer, but I finally found it: for an extrovert like myself, restricting my social interaction (by specific rules I'd previously decided upon) was one of the most difficult - and eventually most rewarding - things I've ever done.
After all this time, it's like I'm back where I started in February - inadvertently focused on food so much so that I have to work hard to remove the horse blinders and see all the other, more beneficial options that are out there.
I look forward to exploring more creative penances. Any suggestions?
None of this is bad. Eating is an essential part of both our life and our culture. But we can't let it become the focal point of our lives (that is, after all, where Gluttony gets its steam, eh?).
Has anyone else had the feeling lately that their "fasting" is more like dieting - or even budgeting? For instance: I can't skip a meal because my body would shut down halfway through the work day, but I'll refrain from eating that midafternoon bag of M&M's from the vending machine, and I'll offer that up for so-and-so... and besides, that's so many fewer calories migrating to my gut, and an extra couple bucks saved to boot! Seriously? Do I really allow myself to be duped so easily by my own clumsy sophistry?
I thought about this briefly this past Lent (well, the days before Lent, to be precise). I wanted to give up something really hard, something that was unmistakably me sacrificing something good for sake of a greater Good (and we're not talking about sacrificing chocolate for a trimmer figure here). It took me nearly a week of constant brainstorming and prayer, but I finally found it: for an extrovert like myself, restricting my social interaction (by specific rules I'd previously decided upon) was one of the most difficult - and eventually most rewarding - things I've ever done.
After all this time, it's like I'm back where I started in February - inadvertently focused on food so much so that I have to work hard to remove the horse blinders and see all the other, more beneficial options that are out there.
I look forward to exploring more creative penances. Any suggestions?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
