Vacations were the only weekends that my family didn’t make a weekly trek to visit our grandparents in LaCrosse, Kansas. For us, “vacations” typically meant yard work or something like painting the house. Once, as an adult, I asked my Father why we went to LaCrosse every week. He said, “That way we were sure of being fed on Sunday.” You can decide for yourself how serious he was.
Both sets of grandparents lived in LaCrosse. In both homes, we were joined by other aunts and uncles, along with our numerous cousins. We always started Sunday at the Grandma Klein’s. There we ate, in a cycle of three weeks: roast beef and mashed potatoes and gravy, fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy, and meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy. Needless to say, green beans and orange Jello, with carrot shavings, were served every week, along with iced tea.
In the afternoon we made our way across town to the home of Grandpa and Grandma Herrman. Tea gave way to beer, either on the porch or in the living room, depending upon the time of year. Around five each Sunday evening Grandma Herrman would announce what she called “a cold supper.” That meant sandwiches, made with the bread, which she baked daily. It was quite filling and delicious, but it always seemed—to my young mind at least—to be presented with something of an apology. We were suppering cold.
That’s how I feel as I celebrate the Masses on the morning of Easter Sunday. Obviously churches are filled that day, yet I can’t escape the feeling that these folks have arrived too late to be truly fed. By Easter morning, we’re eating cold, to extend my metaphor.
To know the meaning of Easter in our Catholic tradition, you need to come to church on Holy Thursday. It’s such a beautiful Mass, in which we recall the night before Jesus died, when he gave us the sacraments of the Most Holy Eucharist and the priesthood. This is the one time of the year when we wash the feet of parishioners, all of whom have to be cajoled into volunteering. Yet, after all these years, it’s such a moving experience. Servers holding the basin of water and the towels, so solemnly and reverently.
Then there is the procession after Mass, around the church, with the Blessed Sacrament, as we sing the Tantum Ergo (Down in Adoration Falling). The Blessed Sacrament is moved to rest at a side altar, and people depart in silence, though some remain, or return, to pray silently for an hour or two.
Good Friday is the most ancient of all our services, in the sense of being the least altered. When something happens only once a year, it tends to change very little. It’s the only day of the year when the Catholic Church doesn’t celebrate Mass. Instead, we gather to solemnly to hear the Passion and to venerate the cross of Christ. The service is so unlike any other. I still get chills, entering the church in total silence, and prostrating myself in front of the altar. If you’ve never seen it, you cannot imagine what it is like to watch old and young come forward to venerate the cross, either by touching it or kissing it. What’s the point of celebrating Easter if you haven’t dived deeply into Holy Thursday and Good Friday?
The principal liturgy of the year, and certainly of Easter itself, takes place in the dark, the night before Easter. It didn’t really exist when those of us who are older were growing up, but, after the Second Vatican Council in the 60s, it was restored, rather much as it would have been celebrated in the 4th century. We gather in darkness and an Easter fire is lit. Typically, this is just inside the doors, as we don’t have many Kansas nights suitable for burning.
From the fire, the Easter Candle is lit. It makes its way up the aisle, its flame spreading to all of the candles held by the faithful who have gathered. Still in the candlelight, the priest sings the Exultet, the great proclamation of Easter joy.
In the ancient church this service lasted all night. The faithful were literally keeping vigil at the tomb, awaiting the resurrection of Christ. This is why there is a series of seven readings, with responses, all done in darkness. In my memory it seems to take forever, but once you settle down and listen, it’s like being read to before going to sleep. Time passes quickly.
Then the lights come up, and we hear the epistle and gospel of Easter. If there are people to be baptized—and this year there are—this is done after the homily. Others, who are already baptized, make a profession of Catholic faith and are then confirmed. Then we celebrate the Eucharist as usual. This year, some children will be making their First Communion at this Mass.
The only thing that we do on Easter Sunday, besides use a bit of incense, is to ask the entire congregation to renew their baptismal promises, something else that is done on Saturday night. Hopefully you can see why I call Easter Sunday morning, “lunching cold.” Yes, I’m glad for everyone who has come. I just feel sorry, knowing what rich fare they’ve missed!
