A Meditation for the Triduum

Three days. Three holy days.

On the first day, we get to eat you. We get to sacrifice you and eat you. “Do this in memory of me.” And so we do, right down to the letter. But is that what you meant; is it what you said? A piece of bread and a sip of wine, is that really where you are? “Do this in memory of me. Live your life in my memory. Don’t forget what I taught you. Remember me, please.” This is what I hear in your voice and I won’t forget you brother. Oh I will eat the bread and drink the wine, but not in honor of an ancient sacrifice. I will eat and drink so that you do not remain trapped in objects of our hands but become one with my flesh, the flesh you created, the flesh you enliven with your love. My hands are yours, my lips are yours, my heart is yours, I am yours.

The next day, we get to stare at your dead body. Why is it that all we remember about you is death and resurrection, miracles and commands? Where is your laughter? Where is your anger? Where is the way your eyes sparkled when you talked? What about the times you were sick or drunk or silly or stupid or spectacular? What about when you were alive? You weren’t just some sacrificial lamb. You were one of us. That is how I will remember you brother, the passion, the life, the man. You are one of us.

Then the last day; oh joy, you rose from the dead. Yippee, we all get to live happily ever after in the magic kingdom. So let’s put on our best outfit and look pretty and sing, and then forget about it all after ham and chocolate bunnies. After all, you rose, so we’re saved … right? But maybe you rose not to give us heaven, but to give us back our earth. Life is lived here and now, not in some cloud-world we go to after we die. Perhaps you rose to show us the primacy of love, that nothing, not even death itself, can stop it. And maybe you meant to show us the kingdom we long for is right in front of our faces. You rose … I will rise with you my brother.

Three days. Three holy days.

July 5, 2008