Christ Has Died

Celebrating Holy Eucharist on Maundy Thursday (which I had the blessing of doing twice this year, in the morning at St. John's School and in the evening with our church congregation) has exceptional poignancy. While every mass is a somewhat mysterious evocation of the Last Supper, according to the powerful symbolism of the church calendar, Holy Eucharist on the Thursday in Holy Week has additional profundity as an anticipation of the light going out of the world on Good Friday. Mass isn't said again until Easter celebrations begin Saturday evening. To say one yesterday for the L'Aquila earthquake's 205 victims, priests needed a dispensation from the Pope.

At St. John's, we consecrated enough bread and wine Thursday night to serve those who came for Good Friday services last night. Afterward, the Altar Guild destroyed what was left. We'll have Holy Eucharist tonight at the Easter Vigil, after 12 young people and adults have been baptized. But between now and then, there's not a single blessed wafer to be had in our church. I have a few in the car, in the kit I use for home and hospital visitations, but that's it.

We know tonight's going to come. The sun will set, the light will be carried into the church, we will proclaim the Resurrection, and Easter morning will dawn. Of course, we know. But according to the church, for a few hours, Christ has died and been put away, wrapped in linen in a borrowed tomb after being harassed and killed by an impromptu coalition of ambitious, misled, frightened, and venal people. Whether you count him as blessed savior or wise teacher, he was the best there was, and because of the flaws and crimes of people like us, he has gone. It does help us count our blessings (and examine our lives) a little more diligently.

By A Perversion Of Justice He Was Taken Away

Christ Carrying the Cross, Hieronymus Bosch, c.1450-1516

Holy Wednesday With Zack And Mark

On Tuesday afternoon, two young men, Mark Motley, 18, and Zach Rafferty, 17, died when the car Mark was driving hit a tree along a twisting road in south Orange County. Both had attended St. John's School. Zach graduated from the middle school in 2006, while Mark finished his pre-secondary education elsewhere. In his yearbook photo, Zach has spiky hair, a big Windsor knot in his tie (dad must've helped), and a winning smile. While a number of students remembered Zach (though none of the younger ones watching as flags were raised against a threatening sky), almost all the teachers and administrators did.

The news of his and his friend's death reached our campus on the morning of what Christians call Holy Wednesday. We usually use this time, in the middle of Holy Week, to teach the children about the meaning and power of Jesus's willing sacrifice for all creation. When tragedy intrudes at such moments in the church calendar, pastors and teachers must tread carefully. There's a collect, or prayer, for Holy Wednesday that includes a noble sentiment that may make perfect theological sense but would make none whatsoever, at least right now, to the family and friends of Zack and Mark. "Grant us grace," the prayer reads, "to take joyfully the sufferings of the present time, in full assurance of the glory that shall be revealed." Talking about today's present suffering, it will be a long time before the immensity of these children's loss will even be comprehensible. Take it joyfully? Only to the extent that people may take comfort from remembering the joy these two kids took from life.

Stories abounded today of Zach's irrepressible sense of humor. We heard them from his teachers and his high school friends, most of them St. John's alumni and alumnae on spring break who returned to our campus, the place they'd first known him, to seek some comfort in their grieving, to begin to try to understand the unknowable.

What a blessing that they came here today. One of the reasons young people are such miracles is that they're not afraid to admit when they're hurt, to gather together and cling to each other, to let tears stream down their faces without even trying to wipe them away. We sat with them, praying, counseling, but mainly letting them talk and cry.

Several Friends of Zack had never been on our campus but came along because it was important to his St. John's friends. Most of the teenagers had already visited the crash site. Some had gone to the victims' homes and expressed condolences. That was surely God's work. When the initial shock has passed, when the funerals are over, those who loved Zach and Mark the most may find that they want to keep talking about their heartbreak even though the world wants them to move on, to get over it.

These young pastors, the baptized priests of God who came home to our school today to mourn, promised us that they would keep checking in with the families in the weeks and months ahead, when the first excruciating wound has healed, leaving an ache that may become more manageable but will never go away. How could it, when two such lights have gone out of the world, and in Holy Week, of all times?

O God, whose beloved Son took children into his arms and blessed them: Give us grace to entrust Zack and Mark to your never-failing care and love, and bring us all to your heavenly kingdom; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

January 1: The Feast Of The Holy Name

Eternal Father, you gave to your incarnate Son the holy name of Jesus to be the sign of our salvation: Plant in every heart, we pray, the love of him who is the Savior of the world, our Lord Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen. BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER