Good Friday: Words I could not understand came streaming out the windows as we walked towards the front door of the church. Entering hesitantly, we made our way inside to a bench on the back wall, every pew already full. I sat with my two friends squeezed close together, and we began to hum along to the tune and language none of us knew. A cantor - who could have easily starred as Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof, such was the power and tone of his voice - led the congregation in flawlessly ornamented Arabic through traditional Good Friday lamentation hymns. Soon, we were singing, too, and filing into the aisle with everyone else to process the shroud of the deceased Christ out in the streets. With lit candles, amidst honking traffic, our mourning songs continued to rise. When we returned to the church, we kissed the wounds of the body of Christ, laid him in the tomb, and left the church, our songs put to an end.
Holy Saturday: I made sure to arrive early to mass this time, anticipating yet another crowd. Back again, Spanish to English, English to Spanish, but I could understand one word no matter what language we were speaking. One word was shouted by all, priest and laity alike: Alleluia!
Easter Sunday: At last, a mass I could fully understand. Traditional English hymns of praise sung out for all to hear: Jesus Christ is Risen Today! The swell of the choir filled the rafters. Yet, English was not the only language present in the church that day; but also, the language of the body. Hugs were exchanged, arms of young ones were taken by those in need, hearty handshakes and shoulder clasps rang out that here is community; here is home.
During Holy Week, Catholics are supposed to slow down and look at the greatest mysteries of the faith with intense focus. A day for the institution of the Eucharist; a day for the crucifixion; a day for the opening of the gates of hell and paradise; a day for resurrection (well, 50 days for that, but who is counting?). It is a time to renew baptismal vows, to remind ourselves and affirm that this is the faith; this is what I believe. This Holy Week, my first Holy Week in Philadelphia, as I bounced from building to building, and rite to rite, I also was reminded and affirmed that this is my church. Though I be the only blonde in sight; though I be the only Polish-Irish-German among them; though I be limited to one language; though I be a stranger to them; this is my people.
Sure, I didn't sing "Were You There" on Good Friday, but I learned Qamat Maryam and have been listening to it ever since. I didn't sing "The Servant Song" on Holy Thursday, but for the first time in Philadelphia I saw altar servers and five priests celebrating the mass, young and old coming together to make our worship possible. "The mystery of Christ is so unfathomably rich that it cannot be exhausted by its expression in any single liturgical tradition" says the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Christ works through and transforms all cultures, all languages, all peoples, all places. I have never felt so close to the past, to the time of Jesus' life on earth, as I felt singing in a middle eastern tongue at the Maronite church on Good Friday. I have never felt so close to the present, to the plight of the Church today, as I felt looking around at my Pueblan immigrant brothers and sisters on Holy Thursday. I have never felt so close to the future, to eternal paradise in Jesus' arms, as I felt listening to the St. Rita's choir sing the Gloria for the first time since February. Four days, three languages, two rites, one Catholic Church.
The Universal Church. That's what Catholic means. It's easy to forget that when one goes to the same church every Sunday for the same mass in the same language with the same people. It's easy to forget that when for one's entire life, the only rite of Catholic church in town was Roman. Yes it's easy to forget, but - especially when living in a city - it's also easy to remember. It's easy to change congregations for a day. It's easy to see the sacraments realized in the symbols of another culture. It's easy to attune ourselves to the Church, the Body of Christ, that is - each other. It's easy to, as St. Augustine said, "be what you see, receive what you are." So, I see you, my brothers and sisters in Christ, and I receive you. In your different cultural practices, I receive you. In your joys and sorrows, fears and strengths, trials and triumphs, I receive you. In the light of the Risen Christ, I receive you. We are an Easter people, and our song is Alleluia!
Beautiful, Mary! "we finally rested in our common language: silence." I love that. I have been profoundly grateful to be Catholic these past two weeks! Universal, indeed.
ReplyDeleteThank you! Ahh, me too, me too. Glad we can share in this :)
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