Saturday, April 3, 2010

The Easter Vigil

Penn Family Memorial at North Lawn Cemetery, Utica, Ohio

The morose truth that we learn to forget is that death is our common experience.  This forgetting is a kind of saving grace in our day to day life. But death is at the core of our being.  It is exposed at extreme intervals and faced when someone we love is taken from us.  The grief is not only overwhelming but contains a kind of personal expectation.

I remember my father's funeral.  The family was gathered in the little room adjacent to the casket and just out of sight from the other mourners.  It was quiet as we waited for the service to begin.  One of my aunts turned to her sister and whispered "I wonder who will be next."  The words, though quiet, echoed in my heart.  What an ominous thought!  She was referring to herself, her sisters and brother...my dear aunts and uncle.  Two had passed before my Dad.  Five remained.  Someone would be next.  One day they would all be gone.  And of course, it came to pass. The emptiness that follows death seems unbearable.  We have been left alone and abandoned.  The time that follows the ceremonies and burial are dark.  We are numbed and seem to be just going through the motions.  There is little consolation.

These are the experiences of Holy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil.  The church enters into death.  We stop our rush to the future and sit in collective sorrow.  We can the imagine the grief, fear and hopelessness of Jesus' family, friends and followers.  We can do this because we too have experienced the death of a loved one.  No one is spared.

It is, however, at the darkest hour on Holy Saturday that the unexpected happens and continues to happen.