Hoppy Easter To All And Sundry

Happy Easter, Hurray Spring, and so on.

It’s been a interesting weekend for a holiday. Easter for me was last night, because Holy Moly chooses to do all the Easter celebrating on the Saturday night Vigil service, and skips a Sunday morning service entirely. Every parish does things “the way it’s always been done;” our way takes the view that nobody wants to go to church late one night and early the next morning if they’ve got little kids (theoretically, at least, on the “if they’ve got little kids” score).

Here’s how it’s done, according to the powers that be. Actually, I have to set this up starting from Palm Sunday. Next year, we’ll have a priest of our own again, and may end up with a full slate of Holy Week services.

Palm Sunday — Triumphal entry into Jerusalem, followed by the dramatic staged reading by members of the congregation of the events of the Passion (the trial, scourging, and Crucifixion of Christ). It’s a weird mood, on Palm Sunday. It starts out all triumphant and happy, always with a procession around OUTSIDE the church (slogging through the weeds, that is) and singing as best we can. This year we opened up all the windows and could hear the organ all the way around, so we didn’t get dreadfully lagged and off-key by the end. Sadly, no trumpeter, but we could have one next year. The “dramatic” part of the reading depends on the participants, but it went off all right. The best part is often the line when the whole congregation joins in together: “Crucify him!” Done right, it’s scary. We don’t go in for any actual staging, but it could be done well in the right setting.

There’s a total mood change, from fiery red Passion to black Death on this day, too. In fact, when I was a Trinity Seattle parisioner, the choir (I was not a member) had tabards in liturgical colors that they wore over their robes (the colors are symbolic of the seasons). The one for Palm Sunday was used once a year – on the day – and was red on one side and black on the other. Just before the mood change, they’d whip them around and change the color. I think other liturgical banners may have been changed at that time, too. They may do things differently now that they have a different priest. Anyway, with piddly little Holy Moly, we confine ourselves to strewing palm leaves around, slogging around in the weeds, and taking a bit part in the Passion reading.

Thursday — Maundy Thursday service, followed by Vigil at the Altar of Repose.

That’s a mouthful. Basically, it’s the replaying of the footwashing by Jesus of the Apostles’ feet at the Last Supper. It’s a normal Eucharist (Communion) service, and it’s quiet and solemn. Actually washing a lot of feet is a major undertaking, requiring lots of large metal jugs of hot water to start with, and bowls, and towels, and chairs set up for the washees. In previous years, not many people went up for the actual washing, so it was a lot of prep for nothing. This year, our interim declared at the start of the service that he just wasn’t going to do it, sorry — and I can’t blame him. To make up for it, his homily was all about feet and the symbolism to do with footwashing, but mostly it was about how funny feet are. We sang some catchy dirge or other as a party piece.

The big deal with Maundy Thursday is really after the actual service is over. The altar is stripped of all its cloths and vestments. They do something called a “Modified Benediction of the Reserved Sacrament;” I’m not sure what the “modified” part is. The priest performs a costume change and dons a hooded cope just for this one action: carrying the veiled Sacrament (bread and wine in ceremonial vessels) across to a side altar that has been specially dressed just for the evening with a pure white backdrop (which covers a large image of Christ on the Cross) with banks of white lilies and hyacinths and daffodills and other spring flowers all around and in front of it, with every single candlestick brought out and polished up and on the altar. “Pange Lingua” is sung during the preparations, and then there’s a break while the Sacrament is disposed in a little locked compartment (called an aumbry – I bet it’s symbolic of the tomb) behind the altar. After a short pause, the final two verses of the hymn are chanted (we sing it acapella the whole way through), and the Vigil begins. By this time, the rest of the acolytes have gone all through the church and covered all the crosses and images with purple veils. The altar is left bare and forelorn. There is no Presence candle burning next to the main altar aumbry. It gets processed over to the side altar, too. Then all the lights are turned off except for the candles on the – I kid you not – Altar of Repose. It gets renamed for the night. And it’s dark and silent, and people not staying for the vigil leave without saying a word.

When I was at Trinity, they did the most frightening thing — they’d strip the ornate high altar (it was a big carved marble thing) and then climb up on a special stepladder to the big brass cross that was set above it, veil it in black, and hook a crown of thorns over the top of it. It always gave me the heebie jeebies when Father Parker would clamber up there.

That was another “local usage” difference: all the Maundy veils at Trinity were black. They’re purple at Holy Moly.

So then the Vigil starts — people are completely silent as soon as the altar stripping and Sacrament processing is over. They sit or kneel silently for their alotted time. Some people leave and then come back later. I took a stint for 930pm to 10pm, and then came home. I spent my time reading over a bunch of prayers in the back of the BCP and mentally turning them into musical chants. Others pray silently, or read small devotional books for the purpose.

At Holy Moly, this generally starts at around 9pm and goes to midnight. Other parishes try to have someone at the church all night long, in shifts. At Trinity, going there in the middle of the night wasn’t feasible, and they had people sign up to pray in shifts at home. They couldn’t have little old church ladies toddling around that part of First Hill at 3 am – it’s not that good an area in the daytime.

With us – we could do it, because a lot of people live close by. But we just don’t have the numbers.

Good FridayThis year we had Stations of the Cross (a traditional veneration, I’ve only been to one so I can’t say whether It’s Always Been Done This Way)at noon, which I had to miss. There was a Good Friday Liturgy at 7pm, which I also had to miss – it was at our sister parish, St. Hairy Raincoat.

The Great Vigil of Easter For us, this is the big one. 2 to 2 1/2 solid hours of readings and hymns, plus a baptism, lots of incense and processions, veils being taken down, singing, chanting, candles being lit in carefully timed intervals, and the whole nine yards. We had a good “house” this year – about 150, I’d say. Not bad at all.

We begin in darkness. Everybody’s got a little hand-candle (I don’t know what they’re called) that includes a little plastic guard to keep the wax from getting on your hands. The altar party (which is fluffed out by a large number of teens that only show up to church once a year, for this one event) fiddles around to the side and does a little liturgical pyromania; they kindle fire, bless it, wave the new Paschal candle around in it, stick incense or nailheads in the wax, and finally light it (it’s kind of hard to see exactly what they do). At Holy Moly, the New Fire is kindled in an old steel wok that has been additionally covered in aluminum foil, and set on a table that’s been made “fireproof” by also being covered by aluminum foil. I wonder why they haven’t bought a metal table and a small hibachi, but That’s The Way It’s Always Been Done. At Trinity, they had a huge old stone font (for baptisms) at the back of the church, and they had a little hibachi that fitted down in it on a rack. Thus they symbolically kindled fire from water. Then later some member of the acolytes would have to remove the cooled hibachi to a safe location, get the rack out of there, and clean the font up so they could do a baptism an hour or so into the service. Otherwise, they might get holy-water basted, chrism-marinated roasted kid, but I digress.

From what I could tell, Tim the acolytes wrangler uses some kind of smokeless charcoal with an accelerant of some kind – there was a residue in the bottom of the wok.

The altar party processes with the lit altar candle, right behind the veiled processional cross. 3 times the priest chants “The light of Christ” in rising tones, and every time, the acolytes turn off to the side to light peoples’ hand-candles from the big Paschal one. Last year, when Marion was still with us, she carried a big wooden cross that was veiled with purple chiffon, and every time she’d stop to chant, she’d unveil one part of the cross, until it was completely revealed. Father Lundberg didn’t do this, so don’t know if Marion’s unveiling thing was traditional at Holy Moly or not.

Anyway, the hand-candles get lit pretty quickly. Everyone but little kids gets one. The church gradually gets lighter. It’s nice having the little candles, because you can read the bulletin finally, see where you are in the service, and try to figure out how long until the end.

There’s a special hymn that is , the Exultet It goes on for a good long while – about the length of a normal book chapter. Katy, a choir buddy, and Tim, the acolytes wrangler, always sing it together. Then there’s readings from the Bible – basically, entire chapters of Genesis, Ezekiel, and Exodus get read into the congregational record. The dramatic tension begins to build. How many hours can we keep this up? How many times do we have to bend the knee and arise? The readings bring us up to the moment of truth. There’s a chant called the Litany of Saints that (for the first time this year) we did the right way – the saints’ names are called out slightly faster and faster each time, with different chanted responses from the congregation. The dramatic tension builds.

Finally, the payoff moment – the priest intones “Alleluia. Christ is risen,” and everyone responds “The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.”

Except that we blew it… it was right there in the service bulletin, and our interim priest didn’t say it, and I thought another choir buddy was going to stroke out at that moment (Tim’s wife Susan – she likes things done right and by the book). Fortunately, Tim saved the day (or night) and said it, and everyone responded. All the remaining candles were lit and lights were turned on. Susan grumbled to herself unhappily.

However, in fairness to Father, according to the BCP, this part actually comes later in the service, but it was moved in the program. Not his fault. Heh.

Anyway, that’s our cue to ring lots of little handbells – nothing fancy, just whatever you bring from home, since we don’t have “real” church bells. And we sing some more. Then there was a baptism – very good, since for once the baby actually attends most Sundays with its mother and brother. Thus, it won’t be a “onesie.” Although I’m no fan of babies, this one, I’ll grudgingly admit, is cute and well-behaved, compared to some others I could name. But more about such things later.

Anyway, that gets us to the Peace. Break time! Actually, time to exchange the Peace, or shake hands, or hug or whatever. A good time was had by all.

The rest of the service went like a normal one, except that all of the service music was printed out in the bulletins, instead of hidden away in obscure corners of the hymnal. Some things we do every week and have memorized, but for the sake of all the visitors and “C. and E” people in attendance, we printed it all out.

Finally, we got to the end, and I stepped outside into the cold clear air and twirled around moderately enough in my choir penguin duds, happy to take a deep breath and not cough (I had dosed myself with all the guns in my anti-asthma/bronchitis/allergies arsenal, knowing there’d be clouds of incense again tonight).

That brings me to the rant portion of this overly long post — there’s this one family or extended family that’s on my “view with alarm” list. It consists of one grandmother, 3 or 4 adult daughters, assorted men that are either husbands or boyfriends (not sure), and a whole passel of younguns of various ages. For some reason, none of the adults can speak in a normal conversational tone of voice.

This is a family that goes to eleven. All the time.

ALL THE TIME!!! WITH LOUD CACKLES OF GLEE!! OR SQUABBLING! OR BOTH!!1

Right – they’re irritating and loud. They’re also always late (collectively as an extended family, and some of the family units run later than others). Most of the kids are badly behaved and there may well be a lot of ADD and other factors in play. All of the kids run everywhere they go, screaming at the top of their lungs. One little boy, Jason, is particularly bad this way. It’s gotten so that since the parents and aunties ignore all the noise and confusion, the rest of us members have taken the role of telling the kids off for screaming, talking in church, running, barging in front of people, and going where they’re not supposed to go. And frankly, we’re getting more than a little fed up.

Not to mention the fact that the Loud Family is always first! in! line! for any buffet that’s being served, with all their progeny and teens-progeny girlfriends/boyfriends in tow. One of the girlfriends wore a ravishing pink outfit that was basically a lycra tracksuit 3 sizes too small, with protruding belly (thankfully, no bellyring hovered at the level of the big bowl of potato salad she lingered over). But from her outfit and hair and general demeanor, I’d have thought she came straight from work down on Rush Street.

I may have to edit this post later – at least one trusty friend at Holy Moly reads this blog, and I sincerely doubt that anyone else from there will stumble upon it, but you never know.

Anyway, the Louds all crowded around taking pictures of their 3 smallest little girls, all tarted up in shiny miniature prom gowns — and blocking the path between the kitchen and the buffet table. There was much screaming and tot-herding, and the kids paid not a jot or tittle of attention to any directions to sit up or look nice or smile. The one little girl (who’s supposed to have Problems, one of which is probably the ADD) got her name hollered, screamed, and bellowed dozens of times in the space of an hour – she just tunes it all out, somehow.

Honestly.

Later on, some leftover Christmas champagne got opened up by the kitchen crew — wine and whining in the kitchen is another one of those Things That Have Always Been Done That Way at Holy Moly, and the woman that acts as crew chief had her own bottle, and drank straight from it to prove it. She was the one that would be doing all the cleanup and packing food away in containers when everyone left at around 11 or midnight. I’m sure a lot of people stuck it out with her to help… but none of the Louds, I’d wager. They brought some sort of taco salad thing to share, but it was all gone by the time I got into the buffet line – it looked like a cloud of locusts had gone through, but there was more food brought out from “backup – we may need it” status.

Meanwhile, the Louds got even louder, because one of the extra open bottles that was meant for general consumption by adults (and left on the counter with disposable glasses nearby) was taken bodily to their table, and all the adults passed it around with much hilarity and even louder shouts of glee. So another bottle had to be opened and set out on the counter for all of the other adults in the other families to share between them. Nice, eh?

And the kids screamed and ran around and were ignored by their family.

At this point, I’d had it. The family with the baptism came down (they’d spent a long time upstairs taking pictures) and found some, but not a lot of food left. Fortunately, the prayer before the buffet had ended “…and let us be mindful of the needs of others…” as the Louds waited to pounce on the barbecue chicken wings (nobody else got any). So there was a fair amound of food left, but not as much as there might have been. The baptismal folks (a large party in their own right, but their kids were well behaved) got enough to eat — just no BBQ.

All in all, it was a good time, but when I left, my ears were ringing from the din.

And this morning, I could sleep in rather than getting up again and going to church, so it worked out all right. But I’m getting pretty tired of the Louds.