Rising Again

“Just think of it as one service that spreads out over three days,” Rob said to me, trying to be helpful.  I was asking him to explain the different services of Holy Week for the umpteenth time.  Certain things don’t change:  He is always just as amazed by my fogginess about the whole crucial story as I am by his ability to guide people through so much worship year after year.  When I ask him why he says “three days” rather than the entire week (he does services from Sunday to Sunday) he gives a surprising answer: “It’s really Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and then Holy Saturday.”  I ask, feeling in the know,  “What about Easter morning – the climax of the whole shebang?”  His response, said with the utmost confidence: “Easter is really just the afterbirth, the placenta.”

Now there’s a new way to consider an ancient holy day.   

I usually hear only a little about the Tuesday, Wednesday (lots of candles so it must be lovely), and Thursday (feet washing so it must be wet) services, but I know that Good Friday is a marathon day for the clergy.  Once again this year, the community-wide ecumenical service — which lasts for those crucial three hours from noon to three — is to be at the Episcopal church.  This is indeed a mixed blessing.  While it is partly an honor that the other clergy prefer his church, Rob has learned that being “at home” also results in more work for him as priest, host and facilities manager all rolled together.

One Holy Saturday some years ago, we experienced a strange mix of faiths.  Our son had been invited to a classmate’s Bat Mitzvah and, while we briefly considered asking him to decline, Rob somewhat reluctantly agreed that he could go, forsaking the big midnight service for a dance party with all his friends.  I felt a little envious:  I wouldn’t mind dancing on a Saturday night once in a while; it doesn’t tend to be part of the routine.  Of course, with those thirteen year olds there would have been plenty of self-consciousness on the dance floor.  For some, moving freely to the music or even being the center of attention would have come easily; others no doubt preferred to be on the sidelines, or maybe not even there at all.  How well most of us can remember that time, when fitting in, acting just the right way, was everything.  I remember hoping just that my son would emerge feeling comfortable in his own skin.

Imagining the scene at the party, while driving home at midnight after pick-up, I thought about Rob in the midst of his very different scene at church.  What were the emotions going on there… Contentment?  Awe?  Ecstasy?  Would the idea  — no, the reality — of the Resurrection uplift spirits in a way that no throbbing beat could?

My thoughts returned to the teenagers on that Easter morning (somehow I think “placenta” will never be the term of choice) when I listened to Rob’s sermon.  The church was, as usual, packed with more than the usual suspects: the pews dotted with yellow hats and filled to overflowing.  Once again, the regular crowd happily made room for all the I-go-once-or-twice-a-year people.  Rob’s preached all about gaining the freedom to be who we really are.  How did he know that this exact topic was already on my mind?  One of the morning’s texts was specifically about the scene between Jesus and Mary Magdalene when she recognizes him and allows him to shed his “grave clothes”  — a startling image on a day when dressing up is expected.  Because of this recognition, Jesus can emerge from the cave and begin a whole new life, a resurrected life.

With this text, Rob was able is to revel – as much as he ever revels – in his favorite message:  We all need the freedom to express our true natures.  If I’ve learned anything about him during these twenty-one years of marriage, it’s that this one idea is absolutely central to his faith.  He draws life from it constantly, as if it were a kind of well that he keeps returning to for sustenance.  He believes that much of his work boils down to helping people set themselves free, in one way or another.   Not surprisingly, one of the main things he looks for in his spouse is support in being exactly and completely himself.  He’ll let me know if he feels cramped somehow, pressured to act in a certain way.  For some reason, he doesn’t see much danger of my succumbing to any imposed constricted-ness.

I thought of all of this – the teenager sat the party and Rob and I in our marriage – during the sermon.  I also had a feeling that other listeners were sensing the power of his words, too.  Then I wondered whether I myself might be wearing any grave clothes that needed shedding.  The image is compelling:  often we don’t even realize when we’re taking the side of death over life, or the side of doing something to please others instead of something to please ourselves.

And now Easter is almost here again.  Now that our son has safely traversed the shoals of adolescence, I’m wondering whether any sermon in the next few days might shed some light on current phenomena, say that of a just-little-yesterday daughter now preparing for senior prom, graduation, and leaving home?