Humility - a good lesson for Good Friday

I can't remember the last time I didn't go to the Good Friday liturgy.  For the past several years I have felt that I couldn't truly celebrate Easter if I didn't go; no matter how fruitful or dry my Lent was, the liturgies on Holy Thursday and Good Friday would bring everything into focus in time to truly appreciate and celebrate Easter.


Not this year.  Or rather, in a very unique way this year.  


The three of us went to Mass on Holy Thursday, although Michael and I spent the majority of it pacing in the vestibule (evening Masses are absolutely not Michael's favorite thing).  But we were there, and Alex took Michael after communion so I could stay and sing Pange Lingua - one of my favorite hymns - as the Blessed Sacrament was taken to the altar of repose.  Afterwards I was filled with a feeling of desolation which I have never experienced in that context.  All I could think of was Jesus' lament over Jerusalem: "Behold, your house is forsaken and desolate" (Mt 23:38).  The church felt forsaken and desolate - which is rather the point - and I felt it more than ever before because this year I wasn't free to follow to the altar of repose and pray there: I had to go home and put my screaming son to bed (which was much easier than anticipated, thanks be to God!).


Yesterday I didn't even think twice about our plans to go the 7pm liturgy for Good Friday.  It's just what we do.  We arrived - mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted - early enough to find seats, but not early enough to have any choice concerning those seats.  As a result we were very near the front in the middle of a pew, rather than near the back on the end - our favorite location with a fussy baby.  Michael made it partway through the gospel before he got upset and refused to nurse and calm down.  So I left with him again.  After two trips to the bathroom for diapers and finding a chair in the hallway where I could nurse and not worry about him fighting it loudly, he seemed ready to go back in.  We got back to our seat just before the veneration of the Cross started, and he was happy for all of five minutes.  Then the same thing - wouldn't nurse, would't calm down, etc.  Alex took him this time, and  I followed shortly after, feeling it would be better to be together watching from the vestibule.  By this point Michael was pretty much inconsolable.  Finally we decided that we just needed to go home.  I felt terrible leaving the church before the liturgy was over - even before having the chance to receive communion.  But we weren't skipping an obligation, and this seemed like the only way to give Michael what he needed.  He calmed down once we were far enough away from the doors to the church that it was finally quiet, and he fell asleep on the drive home.  The constant stimulation of heat and noise was just too much for him.


Needless to say, we are not going to the three hour Easter Vigil Mass tonight!  This is mildly heartbreaking, as Easter Vigil is my absolute favorite liturgy of the whole year.  But Michael is worth it (of course) - and someday he will be old enough to learn to love it as much as I do :)


It is humbling for me to not be able to fully participate in the Triduum liturgies.  During my time at the Newman Center at UNL I was aware that I wouldn't always be as free to be so focused during Mass.  I knew that once I was married and had children that there would be distractions and Mass would be a different experience.  It didn't really occur to me that I might have a baby who refused to sleep in stimulating environments and required peace and quiet to nurse in the evenings.  I assumed it would just be a matter of my own strength (what a silly idea) - that if I were willing to put up with the distractions that would be all that mattered.  But as with just about everything concerning Michael, my own strength or will or determination has very little to do with it.  Yet another offering on the altar of Motherhood.  At least I am in good company in laying aside my own will to obey God's calling:


Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
something to be grasped.
Rather, he emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
coming in human likeness;
and found human in appearance,
he humbled himself,
becoming obedient to the point of death,
even death on a cross.
Because of this, God greatly exalted him
and bestowed on him the name
which is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bend,
of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that
Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
-- Phil 2:6-11 NAB (the 2nd reading for Palm Sunday and the Gospel antiphon for Good Friday)


I think this is one of the most beautiful passages in all of St. Paul's letters - and that's saying a lot.  I never understood verse 6 - "though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped" - until I learned the Greek word that the NAB and RSV translate as "grasped."  The 1970 translation of the NAB (used in the Liturgy of the Hours) gets closer with "did not regard equality with God something to be grasped at."  The Greek word is 'αρπαγμον (harpagmon), which is better translated "exploited for personal gain."  This makes so much more sense with what Paul is saying.  Of course Jesus "grasped" his equality with God - how could he be God and not understand being God?  But he did not exploit it.  He did not use it for anything except our salvation - in accord with the Father's will.    My time and my freedom are now in service to God via serving Michael.  They've always been (supposed to be) in service to God, but now it is just a little clearer that they are not my own!


We are looking forward to celebrating the Resurrection of Our Lord tomorrow - despite (or because of) the difficulties of the last few days!