After the Holy Thursday liturgy I usually remain in the pew until the doors are being locked and someone chases me out. So it was on my first Holy Thursday in 1996 (before my reception into the Church at the Easter Vigil) that I experienced something I had not expected and that I have never forgotten. What follows is a re-telling of the events of that night in the form of a post originally written in 2019 and edited in 2020. I’m posting it here again for this Holy Thursday 2021.
Most of us probably won’t (can’t) attend Holy Week liturgies this year. My heart goes out to all the catechumens and candidates who would be experiencing their first Holy Thursday liturgy tonight. My first one back twenty-four years ago, all the way back in 1996, made an indelible impression on me and tears still well up in my eyes as I look back on it. Wrote about it last year. The following is a re-post of that one, with some slight edits. (The weekly series on the soul will return next week.)
Twenty-three years ago I experienced my first Holy Thursday liturgy. I remember parts of it, other parts are beginning to fade. I decided to record what I still remember and post it here tonight on this Holy Thursday. Technically, it’s Good Friday now but only by five minutes.
After the Holy Thursday liturgy a few people stayed in the pews to watch with Him. Fr. — had stripped the altar, had set up the tabernacle, palm fronds around it in the dimly lit, darkened nave. Hushed voices became softer and softer until they fell silent as the last stragglers left, leaving just three of us there. In the tabernacle the Lord was preparing to face the ordeal of ordeals. In the pews were His three disciples, fighting to stay awake, nodding off, not understanding what was taking place then, having no idea what would be taking place in a matter of hours.
I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to take in everything, everything I saw or heard or felt. I wanted to hold onto it, to remember. I heard snores behind me. I grew more determined to stay awake and watch.
At nearly midnight, the priest entered the sanctuary with two altar servers, one on either side of him, holding long-handled candle lighters which, in the dimlit darkness, looked exactly like spears. They’ve come to arrest Him! I watched, unable to stop them. I looked around to see if anyone else saw what I did, but they were sound asleep. I was alone, beholding the unfolding scene.
The altar servers stood holding their spear-candlelighters while the priest stepped forward and bent down to open the tabernacle door and lifted the Lord from His place of repose. Then he walked slowly away, the two trailing behind with their spears. They left through the sacristy door. The tabernacle door was left open, exposing the emptiness within. All was silent—except for the snores behind me. I wanted to turn and shake them awake. They arrested Him! They took Him away! Did you not see? Why didn’t you help me? Why didn’t we stop them, why didn’t we help Him?
Ah, get behind me, Satan! “Christ was obedient unto death.” And so must we all be.
I’ve been Catholic now since April 1996 and all I can say is thanks be to God and praise to You, Lord Jesus Christ! Lord, have mercy on us. Make our hearts like unto Thine. Amen!
Image credits: The Agony in the Garden, Luca Giordano; The Taking of Christ, Caravaggio, c. 1602. Wikimedia Commons, public domain.
Tonight the Triduum began. I almost didn’t go to Holy Thursday Mass. But at the last minute I jumped up, got dressed and drove on over to join my fellow parishioners as we celebrated the Institution of the Eucharist. The Lord blessed me tonight. I’m so glad I decided to go. Or, rather, that He started whispering in my ear that I’d wish I’d gone if I stayed at home.
I stayed for adoration afterward. The altar is stripped tonight and the Blessed Sacrament is moved from the main altar to the “altar of repose”. The tabernacle door is left open, exposing the emptiness within. On this night Judas has betrayed his Savior and the guards have come with clubs and swords and spears, rope and chains to bind and drag good, gentle Jesus away. Mass ends, His Passion begins. Continue reading “An hour in the garden as the Passion begins”→
Catholic Heart and Mind 