Holy Week, Holy minutes

For more years than I can remember, I spent Holy Week immersed in the rituals of the services that help Christians walk the long days between the foreshadowing celebration of Palm Sunday and the ebullient joy of Easter. By the time Good Friday services are over, normally in the evening, it seems like some clergy and layfolks often feel as spiritually empty as the altars stripped at the Maundy Thursday service the night before. Holy Saturday, as it is called in the Anglican tradition, is a time for re-grouping and reflection-for the women and men who must preach the next day, it is like being handed an extra day to cram for the Sunday exam-seeing how many Easter-Christmas congregants may be either converted (for those who dream big) or at least find the preacher's words compelling enough to show up again. Because I have not been part of this round of services for a few years, Holy Saturday has become a blur of egg hunts, meetings with friends, and the occasional Vigil service, for many the highlight of the Christian year. This year Holy Week has felt particularly disjointed, meaning snatched on the fly in a chat with a friend, a sad talk with my dad, a few worship songs spilling out into a house in which cinnamon baked apples competed for oven space with the yeasty caraway rolls. And tonight, finally, a moment lying on the bed with my arms around my daughter as we listened to "Here I am to Worship."-here I am to worship, here I am to bow down, here I am to say that you're my God."
Singing softly to each other, we were eventually joined by Colin, wet from the shower, who slung his arm across my stomach so he could tease his sister. "Don't touch me," she screamed. And then "Colin come down and watch TV with me." In a moment they were down the stairs, the holy moment only a memory.

And the grace of another one, later that night-after we kick the cat out of Colin's room (for some reason Precious has become ritualistic about coming in when he's about ready to sleep) he tells me that given the choice between an oasis with palm trees and nachos (his total fave food), and me...he would choose me. And you, mom? asks my son. Would you choose boxes of chocolates falling from the sky or me? You, of course, I tell him-wishing that all choices were quite this clear.

A Holy Saturday song

Hungry (Falling on My knees) Hungry, I come to you for I know you satisfy/ I am empty, but I know Your love does not run dry/ And so I wait for You so I wait for You/ I'm falling on my knees Offering all of me Jesus, You're all this heart is living for /Broken, I run to You for Your arms are open wide/ I am weary, but I know Your touch restores my life/ And so I wait for You so I wait for You