Holy Thursday tears

I feel bad that I'm not keeping up with posting lately, especially during the Triduum. (In my defense, I've been on vacation this week and spending most of my time on family and church.) But Ricki, who's an elder in her church, has a wonderful story about her church's service:

Last night was our Maundy Thursday service. The pastor gave a fairly moving sermon (I was fighting tears, I suppose that is what started it) about Jesus washing the Disciples' feet. About how God came down and took the form of a man, and one of the last things He did was wash His followers' feet - and the minister reminded us that it wasn't just dust on those feet; there'd be animal dung and other types of ordure. He spoke about the great contradiction of it all - that the One who could have had anything, even to turn away and say, "I will not do this thing" when He was called to die - would do such a mundane and humble action. (And - it struck me - the minister pointed out that the towel and basin were there in view - and no one else stepped up to the plate, apparently - it was Christ who volunteered to do it, even though any of the Disciples COULD have.)

And then, we had to get up and have the blessing over the communion. And I had my prayer all planned out, as I always do beforehand - comment on how we commemorate the founding of this sacrament, and that we also at this time remembered the cross and...

His arrest (oh damn)
His betrayal (I'm starting to cry, this is hitting me hard, oh crap)
His...death

And then I had to stop. I couldn't go on. It was like, what happened, what we were commemorating yesterday and today hit me all of a sudden, and I just lost my stuff.

This is exactly the right approach to the Triduum. All the drama, all the weight, all the power of the Christian Gospel comes to a head this weekend. The rest of the year, it's easy enough to do your hour or so on Sunday morning, fulfill your church callings, and appreciate intellectually what we believe. But when Holy Thursday rolls around, the reality sinks in of Christ saying His goodbyes, going willingly to torture and death, and rising triumphant. It's not a matter of intellectual knowledge or mere history (though it's those things, too). It's reenacted and re-experienced for these three days. When the Eucharist is carried from the church to a stylized mini-tomb, the reality sinks in that Jesus has left the building. For three days (or however it's measured), God is not with us, at least physically. And His triumphant return, although we know the first one was more powerful, should still strike a chord in the most blase believer. This is not just talk. This is the real thing, damn it. We should cry.