We are entering into the Triduum, the most sacred days in the Christian calendar, and for me the most painful days of the year.
I come into these Easter celebrations with a lot of baggage. I have dwelt on this long and hard; words on this topic have previously appeared in these pages. I won’t pretend that any tremendous healing has taken place in the four years since. Certainly marriage and parenthood have imposed significant influence on my outlook and reactions to things. I have grown, and am still growing. But the road to healing, to wholeness, is exceedingly long.
For the first time in several years — perhaps for the first time ever — I have the opportunity to celebrate the Triduum alone. Of course, no liturgical worship can happen alone; it is by definition the activity of a worshiping community. But I know well how to be alone in a crowd, and the welcoming glow of community has seldom warmed me. I hope in this holy and sacred season that I can find the grace to turn a corner, to further my reintegration into the loving People of God.
This last is not a thing I take lightly. My past has been all about the Church, and now I am confident once again that my future is to be largely about the Church as well. But to do so I need to relearn how to be a Christian. Not in the sense of faith, of being a believer, but in terms of relationship, of feeling myself a part of a human community. I don’t know where to begin, other than to go and pray with other Christians, and to keep doing so. Therfore, with only my lonely heart, I go to celebrate the sacrificial love of my God, and to dare to open myself to grace, to love, and to hope.