Florida Catholic | Returning To God: The Liturgies Of Holy Week

Returning to God: the liturgies of Holy Week

NED KESSLER | SPECIAL TO THE FLORIDA CATHOLIC

St. James Cathedral director of liturgy reflects upon the symbols that create the moods of Holy Week liturgies.

Published: 03.14.08

While preparing the agenda for a Holy Week liturgy last year, the familiar melody of “Pange Lingua” (sing my tongue) came to mind. It resonated with something deep inside of me, so I let it linger and savored it. Music is one example of the many ways God calls to us through the liturgy. He’s always calling to us, I believe, because he wants us to return to him. Another way God speaks to us is through our traditions. Our curiosities about those traditions urge us to seek answers.

Palm Sunday is called Domingo de Ramos in Spanish-speaking countries, and Ramos translates to branches, not palm. I learned that in El Ferrol, Spain, when olive branches were blessed and distributed in a crowded plaza on a sunny Palm Sunday morning before entering the church for Mass. One gray Palm Sunday in Prague, I received pussy-willow branches that had been blessed before Mass. Those experiences gave me a strong feeling of connection with the universal church.

We sing and ring bells, but within minutes, the Passion story plunges us into the stark reality of Jesus’ suffering and death.

Everything about the Holy Thursday Mass evokes feelings of warmth in me; even the name, “Mass of the Lord’s Supper,” sounds warm and inviting. The lighting feels soft, and people maintain a reverential silence before Mass. All who attend are there because they choose to be, not out of any sense of obligation.

During the Exodus reading, the Lord commands Moses and Aaron to tell the Israelites how to eat the Passover meal “with your loins girt, sandals on your feet, and your staff in hand, you shall eat like those who are in flight. It is the Passover of the Lord.” That reading reminds me that we share the Old Testament with those of the Jewish faith.

Soon we hear the Gospel story of Jesus’ washing his disciples’ feet and instructing them to do likewise, in a wonderful example of service and humility. When we recall the foot washing in ritual action, I often think of Pope John Paul II washing the feet of the poorest people, and the nobility of such acts.

Seeing the holy oils being carried up the aisle slowly and with dignity in their beautiful glass vessels, I recall the baptism of my youngest grandson. I could smell the sweet scent of sacred chrism on his forehead two days afterward when I kissed him goodbye. I knew that Our Lord would be with him all his days.

Holy Communion is especially meaningful to me on Holy Thursday because the sacrament was instituted at the Last Supper. The large bowls of hosts that are consecrated remind me of the abundance with which Jesus is present for all who turn to him.

After Communion, we sing “Pange Lingua” and join in solemn procession as the Eucharist is transferred to the tabernacle, then kneel in adoration as the choirs sing meditative songs and the altar is stripped without ceremony.

The Good Friday environment feels stark and barren. Unnecessary objects have been removed; organ music is held to an absolute minimum. The altar is bare; no candles are lit. The entrance is dramatic: The ministers prostrate themselves on the floor before ascending even one altar step. Then after just a brief prayer, we sit and listen to Isaiah’s “suffering servant” song, one of the most beautiful and touching readings of the liturgical year. It hurts to hear that “he was pierced for our offenses, crushed for our sins.” Isaiah describes a servant so much like our Savior it staggers me to realize those words were written more than 700 years before Christ was born. Can anyone doubt the words were inspired by God?

During the veneration of the cross, whether we sing or listen, I love the songs, such as “O Sacred Head,” “Jesus Remember Me,” and “Ubi Caritas.” I am edified by the various ways others have of expressing their love of Jesus while venerating. Sometimes extreme tenderness and love is revealed in the simplest action.

Holy Communion takes place immediately after the veneration, preceded by the Our Father. Even on a day with no Mass, the church doesn’t want us to go without the nourishment of the body and blood of our Savior. The ending is as simple as the entrance: After a prayer, the ministers leave in silence and we are left with our thoughts.

Holy Saturday is a day of expectation for me; everything I do that day is done with the celebration of the Easter Vigil in the back of my mind. It’s my favorite liturgy of the year. I love every element of it, starting with the blessing of the new fire, lighting the paschal candle and singing “Christ Our Light” as that flame passes from person to person.

Candles are extinguished and lights raised halfway for the Liturgy of the Word. Our tradition is for the choir to sing the Exodus reading, the story of Moses, who, with outstretched hand “split the sea in two,” allowing the Israelites to cross. I look forward to hearing that beautiful composition all year.

After the final reading, we sing the Gloria, light the altar candles, ring bells and turn the lights up full. We can let out our joy at Jesus’ triumph over death.

The rites of initiation begin after the homily. The elect follow the deacon to the font, as if in response to Isaiah’s words in the third reading, “All you who are thirsty, come to the water!” It’s a vivid demonstration of believers following Christ, represented symbolically by the paschal candle. The litany of the saints, which we sing at that time, always takes me back to my childhood days of singing it in Latin, to the same melody. That melody is a part of me; I love it.

Kessler is the director of liturgy for St. James Cathedral in Orlando.

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