My Quiet Day: A Simple Idea for Holy Week

Like many people, I’ve fallen into the habit of sound. To the natural sounds around me, I’ve added all kinds of extra sounds that fill my days. It’s amazing what a phone can do.

But yesterday I had a quiet day. It wasn’t silent, but it was quiet. There were all the sounds that are normal for me and my life—the dishwasher running, the boys playing, Eli at the piano. The wind blew, cars passed, a small plane practiced large circles overhead. People spoke, and I spoke back. But in between the sounds of my ordinary day, I didn’t fill the crevices with headline news, podcasts that would entertain but not change me, or anything else my phone can do. It was amazing how many times I could have—and started to—but didn’t.

Two things felt really good during my quiet day. It felt good to enjoy the natural sounds around me instead of the extras. Even though it wasn’t silent, it still quieted my spirit. It turns out that the birds of spring are so much more interesting—and a million times more soothing—than a news report. No doubt the world still turns; the news will be there tomorrow. It also felt really good to know that I can stop myself from listening to those extra sounds, if I want to. Sometimes we aren’t sure about that—about whether we can stop doing the things we feel compelled to do.

A quiet day was just what I needed, right on the brink of Holy Week. So many people have told me that this year Lent hasn’t felt like Lent—that it seems to have passed before they could even begin to dig in, or celebrate, or commemorate. But we have this one week left. We can still do something simple to prepare for these days of glory.

Why not try a quiet day one day this week? It doesn’t have to be silent. Just don’t fill the extra moments, those little openings that want to be empty. Let your soul rest. It will feel really good, and it might create some sacred space in your heart—or perhaps, more importantly, your mind. These days our minds need rest as much as our hearts—maybe more.

Let’s allow Holy Week to play out—quietly, beautifully. There is still time to dig into these days.

You are all in my prayers!
Amy

Crocuses announce the start of spring during a walk on my quiet day.

The Many Emotions of Easter

If you’re not feeling joyful this Easter, don’t worry.
The human emotions found in the Easter stories
are more diverse than we might realize.

The Gospel stories of the resurrection of Jesus—known as the Resurrection Narratives—are rich and diverse, describing various encounters with the risen Christ and offering us many wonderful images to ponder and pray with. One reason I love these stories is because they help us understand that Easter is not a one-dimensional, one-size-fits-all experience of joy and exuberance. Rather, encounters with the risen Christ result in all kinds of human emotions, from disbelief and amazement to fear and trembling! And let’s not forget about confusion, and even doubt.

The earliest of the four Gospels, the Gospel of Mark, has the shortest Resurrection Narrative and ends quite abruptly. In Mark’s account (16:1-8), three women approached the tomb of Jesus, intending to anoint his body. Upon discovering the empty tomb and being told by a young man that Jesus had been raised, they were “seized with trembling and bewilderment,” and “they were afraid.” They fled from the tomb! Certainly joy came to these women later. But it was not their first response.

In Luke’s Gospel, a group of disciples encountered a stranger on the road (24:13-35). Of course the stranger was the Risen Christ, but they did not recognize him at first. He walked with them and talked with them. When they ate together—when he broke the bread and gave it to them—they recognized him. But he immediately vanished! The moment of full presence—the moment of understanding what was happening and recognizing who they were with—was painfully fleeting.

And, of course, who could forget Thomas, whose story we read in John’s Gospel (20:24-29)? When he heard that Jesus was raised, Thomas declared that he would not believe unless certain conditions were met. He wanted to see for himself. He wanted to touch the risen Christ! Who doesn’t sympathize with our friend, Doubting Thomas? We’ve all felt the ground shift beneath our feet. Uncertainty is part of life.

And finally, a strange but realistic note is sounded in the Gospel of Matthew, when the disciples approached the Risen Christ on a mountain in Galilee (28:16-20). The text says that when they saw Jesus, “they worshiped, but they doubted.” Worship and doubt seem like opposites, and yet here they are, coexisting in the minds, hearts, and even the bodies of those who are closest to Jesus.

Whatever mixed emotions you may be feeling this Easter are natural and authentic. As the Gospel stories remind us, you are simply an honest participant in a long tradition of being human—of encountering the divine, the mystical, the hard-to-believe, and the profoundly beautiful—in the midst of “regular life.” But in the end, even in the midst of our worries, doubts, and fears, there is a deep-seated, quiet joy in our hearts that can never be taken away. The Lord is risen.

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This reflection first appeared in Little Rock Connections, the online newsletter of Little Rock Scripture Study. Published here with permission. © Liturgical Press 2020.

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Images from our Holy Week at home. Stations of the Cross on the fence (several of which blew away!), our Easter prayer table (with daffodils my mom planted when we moved into our home), and 40 Easter eggs (10 per kid!).

Holy Week at Home

I’ve read several thoughtful articles in the past few weeks about the importance of living eucharistically in a time when we cannot physically receive the Eucharist. We are called to be people of service and thanksgiving. We are—more than ever—called to be people of love.

In the same way, as we enter this holiest of weeks, most of us are without public liturgy and ritual, without sacraments, and without a robust, physical community of worship and fellowship. Yet there is still so much we can live and experience. There is so much liturgy, worship, and ritual we can still embrace.

This Holy Week, we can still greet the Lord as he passes by. We can still wash the feet of the people in our lives. We can still adore the Cross in every place we find it. We can hold silence, and keep vigil, with the dead body of Christ. We can—we will—find joy, and hope, and new life.

Like you, I’ll be praying and pondering these mysteries during the week ahead, and looking for ways to live them. And like you, I’ll be finding ways to celebrate and worship in my home—alone at times, and with my family at times. I’m thinking about hanging small numbers on the back fence, where the roses are starting to bud and the clematis is just showing green, and walking the Stations with my sons. I’m thinking of the cross I will take down from the wall, and dust carefully, and display lovingly, so we may venerate it. I’m thinking of the fragile eggs that we will dye, and how some will crack in the hands of a child, and how each one will be beautiful, colorful, and new.

As we pray together and apart this Holy Week, there are many wonderful resources available to help us. I’d like to share one with you that I plan to use in my own home. John Kyler, one of my colleagues at Liturgical Press, has written a beautiful series of prayer services for Holy Week. They incorporate many of the rituals we love such as the washing of feet and the veneration of the Cross. These prayer services can be found by clicking here (see “Holy Week at Home”). Please feel free to share this free, printable resource with others who may like to use it as they pray through Holy Week either alone or with their families.

We may be surprised how meaningful these days can be in the quiet of our own hearts and homes.

Blessed Holy Week, friends.
Amy

Sadao Watanabe, Stencil print. Courtesy Sacred Art Pilgrim.

Assurance of my prayers....

Hello, friends!

First, an announcement. As I’m sure you would expect, the Lenten Evening of Music and Reflection that I notified you of in my last blog post has been canceled due to coronavirus precautions. Peter, the Saint Ann Choir, and I are disappointed not to be able to be with you, but we look forward to seeing you next Lent!

How are you all doing? It has been a strange time, hasn’t it?

Here at our house we are juggling working from home, school closings, cancellations of everything from soccer seasons to college visits, and a general inundation of information from schools, employers, organizations, and every retail outlet I have ever purchased anything from! We will settle into a new rhythm, but the adjustment is challenging.

I don’t want to add to all the “messaging” coming your way about the coronavirus and how it is affecting our lives. I have no profound words to offer, only prayers for and solidarity with you during this time. For this year, this is our Lenten journey. And even when we cannot or do not gather together, we are still one Body—the Body of Christ. And we’ll keep walking together, one foot in front of the other, toward the cross and resurrection of Jesus. I will meet you there!

May Jesus the Healer bless and comfort us. May his hand be on the sick and those who care for them. He’s got the whole world in his hands.

Love,
Amy

Rembrandt, Healing of Peter’s Mother-in-Law, Courtesy WikiArt

Easter Fragility

I have a Word document called “Blog Ideas 10” on my desktop. It is 74 pages long and 27,909 words deep. I’ve used this same document to write my blogs for so long that I don’t even remember another document, though there must have been a “Blog Ideas 1,” “Blog Ideas 2,” etc. Those, apparently, are ancient history.

In “Blog Ideas 10” is a very long string of blogs—some that have been published and some that never made the cut. There are quotes and ideas and concepts I’ll never develop. There’s even a story about looking for a dime on the floor of the library that I thought was very funny, but when I tested it out with my mom, she said, “I don’t get the point.” That one went where all mediocre blogs go to die: page 72.

Today on pages one and two of “Blog Ideas 10,” there are five blogs that I have started to write to you and have stopped. Some of them were Lent themes, but Lent has come and gone. One was for the Triduum, which has also come and gone. Here are their names:

·       I Will Hug It
·       I Will Spit You Out of My Mouth
·       God Is Lover Not Protector
·       A Note to My Fellow Smelly Sheep
·       It Is My Joy to Tell You to Hope

Perhaps it is more fun for you to imagine the contents of what those blogs would have been. Perhaps I’ll finish them. But it might be a while.

For now, swirling around me is so much bad news—and at Eastertime, a time of joy. A world struggling, friends struggling, a country and a church divided, strangers in comas, people moving away, death and dying, time flying. I’m not usually one to give in to melancholy, but lately, I admit, it’s tempting.

And so this melancholy has brought me to a place where all writers stand from time to time. The place is: “Everything has already been said.” The echo through the centuries: “There is nothing new under the sun.” The downtrodden (but wise) author of Ecclesiastes developed the theme: “What has been, that will be; what has been done, that will be done. Nothing is new under the sun! Even the thing of which we say, ‘See, this is new!’ has already existed in the ages that preceded us” (Ecc 1:9-10). The cycles of life and death have been established. Is there anything new to think or experience or say?

As my children sat at the Easter table dyeing eggs, my son Julian broke three of his ten eggs. “I keep dropping them,” he said. Easter eggs have been breaking for ages preceding us. Easter can be a fragile time.

Friends, family, and those of you who are strangers to me, I pray for you today. I don’t pray for your happiness or your protection. I don’t know how to pray for those things right now. But today I see in your heart the fragility of Easter, and I hold it as gently as I can, like an egg I dye with my children. As others have done for me in the ages that preceded us.

* * * * * * * * * * *

“Inspire in us to let go of whatever brings no life. Easter in us, Holy One.” — Jesse Manibusan

An egg dyed by the Franciscan Sisters of the Eucharist, Meriden, CT.