Holy Week

We took a gazillion and one pictures of Holy Week. Partly to document the events for the parish website and partly to cement the images in my mind.

Looking back, though, I am having a difficult time wading through the pictures to find the definitive ones. The pictures that captured the exact feelings of the moments they were taken. On any given day, Orthodoxy is a buffet of stimulation for the senses. Sights, sounds and smells ooze from every moment. Maybe the pictures just don't capture that???

How can I shrink down the moment in the Paschal Vigil, where all the lights are put out. The oppressiveness of that darkness. The weight of the stone in front of my own tomb. Trapped by death, standing huddled in anticipation. Then there it is---the spark. The new fire. The light of Christ's Resurrection coming into the world and into the depths of my soul. No picture does that justice.

But I am glad for the moments I did record. The peace of the setting sun at Bridegroom Matins.

The tomb. By tradition, we cover the face and feet of Jesus. Some things are so awesome, they are impossible to fully behold. The fact that God became man and lay dead in a tomb...it's just too much to take in.

So, we don't see his face as we huddle around like the rest of the mourners in the icon. Kissing any bit of him we can reach.







Our priest kissing the feet of the crucified Christ on Holy Thursday, just moments after we literally nailed his lifesize icon to the cross. The ringing of the rock on the nails echoes in my ears. No picture captures the realization that Jesus died...and it's all my fault.

This icon actually hangs year round in our church. It sits over in the corner, and if Vespers is timed just right, the light shines on his face in a glowing sweetness. Too often though, it's just the last icon in the line to venerate before you're out the church and into the hall for that long-awaited cup of coffee after Liturgy. Too easily an afterthought. I liked seeing it moved into the center of the church and my consciousness. Now and until Ascension, the cross remains in its original corner, but there is no icon on it. My eye keeps drifting there. My brain knows there's something wrong...something missing. I smiled at the knowledge of the joyous reason that cross is empty and will never be needed again.


The candles around the tomb as we took our shift keeping vigil in the wee hours of the night on Saturday, continuously reading the Psalms in the darkness.

Hearing my son chant in his sweet, clear voice. Not a hint of a voice change yet. Shhhh! Don't tell him I said that. :)

After the Lamentations service on Friday, a group from our parish went "tomb hopping". We traveled around to six different local parishes. We smiled at our unity in the faith, thinking of all the Orthodox Christians around the world doing the exact same thing at the exact same moment. We prostrated in front of each tomb with the same reverence. He was still dead at each one. The night was still dark.
And finally, the joy of Pascha. When all the lights are turned on, the doors are opened, and the tomb is empty. Gone.

Hilary was obsessed with this dress. She's been waiting for weeks for Pascha. The main event was getting to wear the dress. The whole Resurrection thing was just a subplot.

Her three year old mind keeps struggling to grasp the week's events. She talks about how Jesus died. Him on the cross fascinates her. She keeps asking, "Why did he die?" Because He loves you, we respond over and over. Because He loves you. That seems to make her happy.

I guess the main reason the pictures don't seem to be enough is because my mind keeps being filled with images of Jerusalem. A garden. A mob. An earthquake. A tomb. So much more than what I see outside my window.

Holy Week makes me feel like I'm actually there. Won't let me focus on myself. Won't let me forget. Yes, I'm one the women weeping at the tomb, but I'm also denying him like Peter and shouting "Crucify him!" with the crowd. I hang my head in shame and repentence.

And now it's over. Back to "normal" life where we aren't attending three services a day and real honest to goodness meat fills our plates again. I'll miss the fast, though. I know I need it. I don't ever want to forget what happened and what I do everyday that made it necessary.

Christ is risen! Indeed He is risen!