Maundy Thursday II

The following is a letter I sent to a person from a different liturgical tradition, in which I try to explain why I was at church on a Thursday.

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You seemed surprised that I was going to church last night.  I feel obliged to explain why, because in the church year, the Thursday night before Easter is a very difficult and emotional night for me.

In a lot of denominations (Roman Catholics, Episcopalians, Lutherans, Methodists, Eastern Orthodox, etc.), we go through the year by what is known as the liturgical calendar, which divides the year into seasons based on when things happened in the Gospel stories.  We commemorate Christmas and Easter; but we also commemorate Pentecost, Epiphany (Christ’s manifesting of himself with the visit of the Magi, Christ’s Baptism, and the miracle of water into Wine at Cana), his Transfiguration, Ascension, and other events.

What this has meant for me is that I live my life in two different times:  The normal Gregorian calendar, but also a calendar made sacred by entering into the God’s story of the salvation of the world.  In some ways, the sacred calendar is also timeless.  I have found that if you allow yourself to fully enter into the cycle, then when you commemorate the events in the Christian story, you are actually there.   

The week before Easter is known as Holy Week.  The week starts with Palm Sunday, in which we remember Christ’s triumphant entering of Jerusalem before his death.  Starting on Thursday night and going until Easter, we tell the story of Christ’s last supper, betrayal, interrogation, torture, death, and resurrection, according to the day it happened.  This is coming at the end of Lent, a period of the year in which we are more intentional about thinking about who we are as individuals, and who we are as human beings.

I know you don’t worship according to the same type of liturgy/ritual that we do, but I’m going to try to explain why the night is very difficult for me.  It will be helpful to remember that when I worship, I’ve entered the story.  In our rituals, every action (should) have a symbolic meaning that points to God or to the Gospel story in some way.  Here is a link to the Maundy Thursday service that we used in Arizona, which was a little different than last night’s. But I’m going to tell you about last night.

According to John 13:1-17, what we commemorate on Maundy Thursday is the night in which Jesus washed the disciples’ feet.  It is also the night in which he instituted the Holy Communion.  We do the same; we wash each other’s feet and we celebrate Communion.  All of this is pleasant, but it isn’t the end of the night.

After Communion, which represents the Last Supper, everything left over is either consumed or gathered.  Two choir members begin to chant the entirety of Psalm 22 (My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?).  Since the parish in which I will work is Anglo-Catholic, we believe that Christ is really present in the bread and wine.  That bread and wine is then taken into a smaller chapel, where an all-night vigil will be held.  This represents Jesus in the Garden at Gethsemane.  Where the sons of Zebedee failed to stay awake, we attempt to watch and pray with Christ.  While this happens every candle in the sanctuary is extinguished.

After the bread and wine are placed in the chapel.  The priests return.  They strip the outward vestments that they wear, the ones that set themselves apart as priest.  Then the altars are stripped of all candles and linens, leaving the sanctuary bare.  This represents two things:  Christ’s own forced nudity on the cross (he was stripped of his garments), and his absence because of the three days in the tomb.  With the candles gone, the absence of light is symbolic of the absence of the light of the world and the hour in which the earth was dark.

The chanted psalm ends.  Next, the Betrayal and arrest of Jesus is read aloud.  The last words were from Mark were “Then all the disciples deserted him and fled.”   Immediately, the overhead lights go out, and the ministers and choir scatter and walk away as the disciples did.  The congregation leaves in silence, or goes to keep vigil with Christ in the chapel throughout the night (the only light in the building). 

So begins the darkest part of the Christian year, and human history.  The days in which we all killed God.  We won't see the light again until Saturday night/Sunday Morning, when Christ is risen.