Holy Thursday

Last night was our "Good Friday". The service is "Matins for Holy Friday with 12 Gospel Readings." I haven't been Orthodox long enough to remember that this means it's the day of the crucifiction - we go through the arrest, trial and execution of Jesus at this service.

I'm a reader in our church, and it's my job to schedule the readers, and in conjunction with the sacristan (head server) make sure that the readers who also serve aren't supposed to be doing both at one service. For a small church like ours, with several people covering multiple roles, that's sometimes a trick and a half. Especially this Holy Week, when we have two men out with injuries, another couple off with illness, two others with professional commitements and deadlines that cannot be put off.

Add to this mix that I'm severely allergic to sudden, unexpected change, and react to it less than gracefully, and you have the setting for what could have been a disasterous service. Good thing God's in charge.

At 2 pm yesterday afternoon, the changes started. Things got added to the schedule, family changed plans on me with no notice, and informed me of changes to the church schedule for the night that they should have told me about the previous day, and things took much longer to accomplish than they should have. The changes didn't stop until well after the service was underway. By the time I walked into the church, at 7:50 pm (instead of 7:30, as I was supposed to, which didn't help my mood any, I'll tell ya!) I was ready to tear heads off and stuff them into the nearest coffee cup.

Becuase of the injuries and the required standing for the gospel readings, one of our servers was pulled off serving, and the reader I'd intended to take part of tonights service substituted for him. My main reader had a professional commitment, which I'd forgotten about. So, I ended up taking main readers role, and Mira, a new reader, had to take the secondary reader's role. Mira is a very talented reader, and can think on her feet, which is a really good talent - one I need in more abundance! By the time the service started, I was in rare form and just hoped (I didn't dare pray at this point, I was too stressed and angry) nothing else would happen, or I'd explode.

But, as always, the services calmed me and pulled me out of myself, to let me focus on what's really important - God and our service to him. Right until the point where the choir starts singing the following hymn:

Today He Who hung the earth upon the waters is hung on the tree.
The King of the angels is decked with a crown of thorns.
He Who wraps the heavens in clouds is wrapped in the purple of mockery.
He Who freed Adam in the Jordan in slapped on the face.
The Bridegroom of the Church is affixed to the cross with nails.
The Son of the virgin is pierced by a spear.
We worship Your passion, O Christ.
We worship Your passion, O Christ.
We worship Your passion, O Christ.
Show us also Your glorious resurrection.

Let us not keep the feast in hypocrisy
for our Passover, Christ God, has been slain for us.
But let us cleanse ourselves of every defilement
and with sincerity let us entreat Him:
Arise, O Lord, and save us, for You love mankind!

Your cross, O Lord,
is life and resurrection for Your people.
Trusting in it, we praise You, our crucified God.
Have mercy on us.

During the singing of this, Father and the Deacon bring out the icon of the cross from the altar and hang it on the cross that's set up in the main area of the church, while we prostate ourselves and pray along with the choir. Not surprisingly, there were muffled sniffles and quiet sobs all through the church - it's an intense moment, and one that is hard to be aloof from. I thought I was doing fairly well - until I had to stand up and read the following:

You were crucified for my sake, in order to pour forth forgiveness for me. Your side was pierced so that streams of life might flow for me. Your hands were transfixed by nails so that, convinced of the height of Your power by the depth of Your sufferings, I might cry out to You, O Christ, Giver of life: Glory to Your cross and to Your passion, O Savior!

That was really hard - all of a sudden, the passion and selfishness of my pre-service mood hit me - and it seemed as though those words were connected directly to my feelings and actions of the afternoon's stress. I realized that if we, as our church teaches, aren't commemorating this event but living it spiritually - if we are with the crowds in Jerusalem on this night, then I am one with those crowds, standing and yelling with them, "Crucify him, crucify him!" just as I was one with them the previous Sunday, laying palms and shouting "Hosanna to the Son of David!" I could barely get the words out through choking up.

If, as our hymns later say, we are Israel, then we are the ones who crucify Him - we aren't standing there, saying - no, you don't know what you're doing - that's not just any guy you have there - that's not exactly Brian, from the Life of Brian, you know! we're part of the mob, the crowd, the same way we are when we're part of a mob in the physical reality. I've known that, intellectually, before now - it's nothing that other Christian faiths don't teach, including my old Anglican church. But until last night, it never hit me in the same visceral way before - my mood, feelings and actions of just a few hours ago were directly responsible for what we experienced in the spiritual reality.

Really brought it home to me. I don't think I'll ever be able to think about God and me again in quite the same way.