When I knelt today at mass, the mass of the Last Supper, I thought about all the people I’ve been graced to meet: the dusty children of El Salvador, the homeless of Detroit, the little crowd from Colorado, those I’ve met on World Youth Days and through my sibs and through the entire faith community. I prayed for them. My sister choke-pinched the back of my neck, like she does when she’s feeling affectionate. My leetle brother’s girlfriend yelled loud, like a little monster baby, and we laughed and embraced when we saw each other. The little kids who are growing up, the students home from college, the elderly walking slower. We’re all together for Holy Week. The air is thick with possibility for encountering the Holy Spirit, the priest said.
Usually we all attend different masses, scattered all weekend long. But, during Holy Week, one can only attend the specific options. On Thursday it’s a Last Supper Mass. Tomorrow there is only one service, too. And, we’ll all gather again then and again on Saturday and PARTY WITH ALL WE’VE GOT on Sunday.
Gosh, I love Holy Week.
These stories of deep love, the traditions we probably don’t fully understand, the people I feel I haven’t seen all winter, so I see them and smile and exclaim and hug.
I knelt in the little chapel behind the priests and they shut the tabernacle door, leaving us behind in a crowded chapel. They opened the doors and the spring air blew in and I was like, “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”
Because I love Holy Week. Life, life, new life. Let’s make it happen.