Holy Thursday

This whole week has felt a little "off," so to speak. Walking home the last few nights has unsettling; something seems to be noticeably absent in the air.

Today has been a very, very windy day. And the air, for all its life and turbulence, feels very dead.

Tonight is the service of the 12 Gospels, a commemoration of the Crucifixition. It's an overwhelmingly powerful mass. The priest process around the church--which is almost completely dark--while they chant and funeral bells toll. They carry a large cross, upon which is an image of Christ (imagine a standard crucifix, except Christ is depicted in only two dimensions). I recall, as a child, looking at the depiction of the Lord's face as the procession slowly moved by and being very, very frightened. I didn't quite know why at the time.

Imagine how dead the air must have felt at the hour when Christ gave up His Spirit? Imagine how great the sorrow of Heaven must have been (if Christ could cry for Lazarus, then I'm sure Heaven could weep for Jesus). Imagine how great the joy of Hades must have been?

Poor saps. If only they knew Who was beginning His final, victorious journey.

The air has been dead this week. Christ the King has been betrayed and scourged this week. He is soon to fall asleep in the Lord.

But that is only the beginning...