Triduum

The year before last, our Triduum was spent mostly at the convent, with the boys serving. Last year, we were in Mexico. This year, I decided that we’d dip into some of the diversity of Catholic life here in Birmingham. It’s a challenge because of the restrictions on the timing of Triduum liturgies. Everything tends to happen at the same time. But we did what we could.

Thursday was at the Cathedral of St. Paul – beautiful as usual. No photos, but you can see some at the Cathedral’s social media pages – Facebook and Instagram – as well as through the Instagram page of photographer Hashtag Catholic.  There’s also video at those pages as well as my Instagram.

Thursday night after Mass? Fight my sloth, gird my loins, and do my duty by mixing up dough for Hot Cross Buns. Friday morning: arise early, confident that I’d taken the dough out of the fridge even earlier, but upon achieving full awareness, realizing that I’d only dreamed that walk to the kitchen, and yes, the dough was still sitting in the refrigerator. I jerry-rigged a rapid proofing system with boiling water and towels, and it sort of worked. The rolls weren’t beautiful, but they tasted fine. Could have used more dried fruit instead of just raisins. Oh, this was the recipe.  

 

For Good Friday liturgies, we first headed to a local parish for a live Stations of the Cross offered by the Hispanic community. We’d been to one several years ago at another parish in town, but never this one – and it’s closer to our home. This is the parish where we often attend Our Lady of Guadalupe celebrations.

 

It was cold and rainy, which we kept telling ourselves was appropriate. It’s fitting during a Stations of the Cross to be uncomfortable and more tempted with every chilly rain shower and burst of wind to just take the easy way out and leave this discomfort behind, right?

Everyone seemed to be taking their roles very seriously, from Jesus to Pilate to the centurions wielding their scourges to the little angels, who, I’m assuming, were there as a symbol of God’s constant presence amidst suffering. No matter how much we might wonder, how far away goodness seems – it’s hovering, somewhere.

 

And yes, of course, it was in Spanish, but we know the Stations, and we know when to kneel and one of us (not me) even knows how to pray Padre Nuestro. Players and observers, we were diffuse and scattered up and down the parking lot, some gathered around closely, watching intensely, others hanging at the edge of the crowd barely paying attention, some responding when it was time, others simply listening – or not. It was just as it is, all the time with us as we struggle to follow him, here, there and barely here.

 

Friday evening, we drove about five miles east of this spot, across the UAB campus, to St. Elias Maronite Catholic Church. The Lebanese community has deep, deep roots here, going back practically to the beginnings of the city in the late 19th century. Lebanese and Italians were the core of the earliest Catholics here, followed quickly by the Irish, of course. But the Mediterranean influence was and is strong (there’s also a Greek Catholic Church here, as well as Greek Orthodox, of course) – not least in the area’s food culture.

We have been to St. Elias before, and my kids are not unfamiliar with the liturgies and traditions because in one of the Catholic schools they’ve attended, there’s a Maronite liturgy at least once – maybe twice – a year, many of their friends have roots in that community or are parishioners. They know all about the original order of the Sacraments of Initiation, not from books or edicts, but from their classmates who celebrated them all as infants.

But we’ve never been during the Triduum (because we usually have commitments elsewhere) – and so I am so glad we did. If you’ve never been – well, it’s too late for this year, but do consider it, if it’s an option, next year. The liturgies of the Eastern Catholic churches are rich and pretty much continuous through the Triduum. Here’s the St. Elias schedule. 

The liturgy we attended was the Liturgy of the Burial of Our Lord.  The Liturgy of the PreSanctified had been celebrated in the morning.

I got a few photos, but not many. We were squeezed way in the back, and I couldn’t much photographing without being obtrusive and distracting…which is all for the best.

The central symbol of this liturgy is a bier, draped in black, covered in flowers and holding on top, in this case, a crucifix. I don’t know if there is variety in how this is done in terms of the kind of corpus that is used.

First off – the church was packed. To the brim. It’s not a huge church, but it’s not tiny either. There were easily 300 people there, perhaps more. So let that sink in – a Maronite Catholic Church in Alabama overflowing for a Good Friday liturgy.

The liturgy is composed of chanted hymns (some alternating between Aramaic and English), Scripture readings, including two Gospels, an excellent homily on the subject of truth preached by a young priest, and then prayers over the bier and a procession. The procession of the bier went around the interior of the church, and then outside, with us following, carrying nifty little electric candles. There were valiant, but spotty efforts to continue the chanting outside, but again – wow, it was cold, and soon the focus in the line came to be a quiet rumble of …why are they stopping…keep going! Let’s get back inside! 

If you’ve driven through Birmingham on I-65, you’ve seen this church. It’s right next to the interstate, at the UAB exit. You’ll note that it’s very western looking. I don’t know the origins of this particular church building, but I do know that Maronite are the most similar to the Latin rite of all the Eastern churches. There are, for example, very few, if any icons in this church – the imagery is very western-looking.

Well, we soon discovered why the return to the church took so long – the bier was held aloft at the entrance, and as you came in, you reached up to touch the cross on the fabric, and then continued in, walking underneath and then to your seat.

 

After the procession, we then processed again up to the front of the church to venerate the corpus, much as a Good Friday Veneration of the Cross in the Latin rite. After that, the priests and deacons took the corpus and “buried” it in large “stone” tomb that was erected in the sanctuary, and then sealed, mournful Middle Eastern chanting accompanying.

It was impressive and moving. The Syrian Catholics were doing it at 3, so I’d had to choose between it and the Hispanic Stations. I’m glad we made the choice we did, but next year, if we are here for Holy Week, we’ll probably try to be a part of this liturgy at that parish.

We returned home and watched The Passion of the Christ, which they’d never seen – and I’m glad I held it until now. I’d only seen once, upon its release (I remember in a theater in Cincinnati, I’m pretty sure, with my daughter.) and had forgotten how the intense violence just goes on and on. My sense of the movie remains the same as it was – that the film was an act of penance by Gibson. The violence is hard to take on a visceral level, but the most excruciating and authentic pain in the film, in my mind, is embodied in, of course the Blessed Virgin’s eyes as she follows her Son’s way of love, in love.

Saturday morning, our parish sponsored a Polish blessing of the food, which I missed, but which you can see photos of here.

We returned to the Cathedral in the evening for the Vigil, which was beautiful and moving – a packed church witnessed several catechumens being baptized and many candidates profess their faith and be confirmed.

 

A beautiful, solemn liturgy, with three of the Old Testament readings proclaimed. The Gloria was from Mozart’s Missa Brevis. Particularly notable was the post-Communion, a piece from the Mexican Baroque composer Francisco Lopez Capillas. More about him here – and really, if you are looking for something different to listen to in terms of sacred music – check out the Latin American Baroque. Its energy and richness just might captivate you.

You can read the Order of Worship for the Easter Vigil here. 

Here’s Fr. Jerabek’s homily. An excerpt:

 

I would like to offer three concrete suggestions to our catechumens and candidates – and they’re good reminders for us all –, as we do go forward on the way. The first thing is: Get involved! Register in a parish – whether here or wherever you choose to attend. Don’t put it off. Be counted and share your gifts. Get to know other parishioners and break bread with them. Ask the Lord to show you how he desires you to be of service – and be willing to be surprised.

(And here, Father added assurances to the introverts – like himself, he said! – listening – about what this does and doesn’t mean – and assurances that yes, their gifts are needed too!)

The second suggestion: Make a plan now about your sacramental life! Mass on Sundays and Holy Days of Obligation. Monthly confession – or more often, if needed. And for those from non-Catholic families, remember what I said in class about instructing your family on calling a priest if you’re ever in need of the Anointing of the Sick. The “buzz” of this night will wear off – and then your practice of the faith will depend upon the framework you have established.

A final thing: Remember that Jesus has chosen you to be his disciples! A disciple is a student: he or she continues to learn. A disciple bears fruit: he or she leads others to the Master. RCIA classes end, but your learning must continue. Our faith is a gift into which we can always go deeper. And be sure to pray that as you do that, you will be an instrument of Christ’s love, leading others to his risen life as well. He will certainly work through you – if you let him.