Holy Week and Easter

Joyeuses Pâques!

Holy Week is that most beautiful week, filled with the most complex liturgies of the liturgical year. The first three days were normal enough, although the Masses in the morning tended to be longer, as the Gospel each day was an account of the Passion from one evangelist or another. On Wednesday evening, we prayed Tenebrae together, part of the Divine Office for Holy Week. The candles on the altar are progressively extinguished as the prayer goes on, ending in total darkness.

Veiled for Passion and Holy Weeks, as far as was reasonable

Canon Fragelli had left to spend three weeks in the U.S. on a sort of donation campaign. He wouldn't be back until Holy Saturday, which left Canon Sigros in charge of Holy Week. I discovered that, as I sit down and read cookbooks for fun, he must sit down and read the rubrics for each liturgy. He knew exactly how everything was to be done. 

Holy Thursday was gorgeous, but hot, much like Palm Sunday. I learned that a hot, sunny morning usually ends in a thunderstorm. But, for the morning, it was beautiful.

One of the flower arrangements for the altar of repose. 

The first item on out liturgical agenda was the Mandatum, or washing of the feet, which would be at the school that morning, followed by Stations of the Cross. We were back and forth between the mission and the school, carrying everything from the pitchers and basin to the keyboard (we don't know how to not have music). 

I will note here that I do not have pictures from any of our liturgical functions ever, Holy Week or otherwise. Having my phone out and taking pictures would, in the first place, distract me from prayer, which is the point of the liturgy, and, two, keep me from simply living the awesome beauty of the liturgies. I have no regrets on this point. 

The Mandatum consisted of Canon Sigros washing the feet of 13 boys-- not 12, he explained, but 13, for the 12 apostles and Our Lord. We sang the Ubi Caritas in Latin and French (three versions total), which is beautiful. 

After that, we had outdoor Stations of the Cross. Since the images are covered starting on Passion Sunday (the Sunday before Palm Sunday), it doesn't particularly matter if you use a crucifix. So, during Passion and Holy Week, we used this cross for Stations:

It is a very cool cross, with a rooster, a pair of dice, and the instruments of Our Lord's torture. I understood from the altar boys (candidates) who would carry it that it was decidedly not light. 

During Stations, a couple of boys were talking when they weren't supposed to. Canon Sigros gave them a death glare that I hope never to deserve. 

Holy Thursday is a festive day, the great feast of the Eucharist and the priesthood, until after the Gloria is sung at Mass in the evening. As such, we had aperitif and dinner around noon on the terrace, with wine. Canon talked to Victor, our choir director, about playing an "organ" (keyboard) fanfare after the intonation of the Gloria that evening. Then he said, "And after..!" and made a motion like he was picking up and smashing the keyboard (the organ and bells go silent from the Gloria of Holy Thursday to the Gloria of the Easter Vigil). "You will have all of Friday and Saturday to fix it!" We determined that that would be "liturgical innovation". 

It was during aperitif that afternoon that we noticed the pierog, a small sort of canoe that was tied up at the river, had broken free and was floating away. Gabriel took off down to the river, dove off the terrace on the river, and swam out to the boat (it was impressive). Dieu-Vivant ran inside to grab some cord to tow the boat back, but for some reason (which I can't recall) never got off the terrace on the river. When Gabriel got in the boat, he looked and saw that no one was coming to help him. I still remember seeing him floating down the river, his hands up as if to say, "What are you guys doing?!" He made it back within the hour. 

The Mass of the Lord's Supper is a beautiful liturgy. We had worked long and hard on a Panis Angelicus for the entrance (not the usual one; I don't recall the composer); the vestments were gorgeous; Victor's fanfare was beautiful, with the bells ringing. Then the keyboard was silent (he did not "liturgically smash" it). 

I was under the impression that Victor knew all the music after the Gloria was to be a capella. However, when we got to the Gospel dialogue ("Dominus vobiscm". "Et cum spiritu tuo".), he was going to play the chords to accompany the part the people would sing. Just as he was going to do it, the power went out. HA! Talk about liturgical innovation. 

At the offertory, we sang In Mont Oliveti by G.B. Martini. That took a lot of work, but wow, it paid off. That piece is beautiful. (The link isn't to a video of us singing it, but it's a beautiful rendition: https://youtu.be/NCwZNWJby4s)

Our altar of repose was in the little chapel, which meant that at the end of Mass, we would process with the Blessed Sacrament across the lawn up to the chapel. As the time approached for the procession, it started raining. 

Canon Sigros knelt at the altar while we started singing the Pange Lingua, glancing out the window and waiting for the rain to let up. He finally gave up: he and the Blessed Sacrament would be protected by a canopy carried by four men. The rest of us would have to live with it. 

I had to have my missal open to see the words of the Pange Lingua, as we sang it during the procession and I don't have all the verses memorized. The evidence of that escapade exists in my missal to this day:

Canon Sigros had set up the altar of repose, and it was gloriously decorated with candles, flowers, and the Institute and Vatican flags. Adoration would be from 6 p.m. to midnight. We had a light dinner together, then started our turns in the chapel (Noëline held down the fort for us during dinner). True to myself, I took 11:30 to midnight. 

Being in adoration, approaching midnight on Holy Thursday, and hearing a rooster crow down the road is an experience like no other. 

Good Friday (Holy Friday, Vendredi Saint, to the French) was quiet. We were going to have Tenebrae again that morning, (all the offices are called Tenebrae, but not all of them are done in the dark anymore), but Canon Sigros had been up past midnight the night before, so he was not to be blamed for not being able to get up on time. I helped the Bambinette clean up under the mango tree (a big tree under which the ground had been cleared and where there were several picnic tables; it was a sort of community gathering area) and helped get the small lunch (collation) ready. We had choir practice that afternoon, then Stations of the Cross outside at 3 p.m., followed by the Mass of the Presanctified (there is no consecration on Good Friday, and the liturgy is not a Mass; however, a host consecrated at Mass the day before is used, thus the term "presanctified". In the pre-55 liturgy, Holy Communion is not distributed to the people). We had supper together that evening, while Canon Sigros showed us pictures from Holy Week when he was in the seminary. 

The Mass of the Presanctified has very little music for the choir to sing. I commented on that, saying something like, "There's hardly any singing today." Canon Sigros responded, "For you! I have to sing almost everything!" 

When we say the bells are silent from Holy Thursday until the Easter Vigil, we meant it at the mission. Even the bell to call us to meals wasn't rung, and no one was going to ring it accidentally. 

Don't even think about it...

During lunch on Holy Saturday, Canon Fragelli returned. Everyone was so happy to see him! He was exhausted, but was still the one to say the Vigil that evening. 

That afternoon, we had another choir practice (unlike Good Friday, the Vigil has lots of music for the choir). Our "signature" pieces for that evening were Palestrina's Sicut Cervus and a polyphonic Regina Coeli. 

The chapel set up for the vigil.

The Vigil started at 9 p.m. It was pitch dark, as it's supposed to be. The service was incredible. One of the most fascinating parts (aside from hearing Canon Fragelli sing the Exultet; his voice was amazing) was the blessing of the baptismal water. At one point, the celebrant puts his hand in the water and throws a little in all four directions, representing all the ends of the earth. 

I slipped out during the reading of the prophecy (there are nine, I think, but we only had one) to get my flashlight so that we would be able to see the music for singing the tract. And the thing refused to work. It still doesn't today. 

When we sang the Sicut Cervus, I'm not sure what happened. I noted in my journal that I missed one of the soprano entrances, and I also remember that we had a bass solo in there that isn't in the music. But, as I noted, we ended on the right notes. 

Then came the Gloria. It was close to 10:30, but that did not deter one of our altar boys from going out and ringing our big, free-standing Angelus bell. It was glorious. 

After Mass was done, it was time to party with popcorn and champagne. 

Note the mosquito bite on my hand. I had them all over my arms. 

Some of the little girls asked me why I didn't fall asleep during Mass. I told them I wasn't tired; they told me I had been yawning. Whatever. 

Canon Fragelli sent us to bed around 11:45. We still had Mass the next day to do. 

Easter morning Mass seems so relaxed after having done the Vigil. The only thing different from most Sundays is the sequence. Aside from Mass, I think the rest of the day was pretty quiet, until dinner.

Our lovely Paschal Candle

Sunset on Easter Sunday

I had no idea this was happening, but for dinner we had a party with the Bambinette and some other faithful. There's no party like a mission party, and there's no mission party without music. We had a barbeque, sang and danced. 

The terrace decked out in its Sunday best

"Go-big-or-go-home" barbeque

Victor at the keyboard

It also happened to be the 8th birthday of Guylene, one of the Bambinette. Canon Fragelli had a present for her: a teddy bear tea set!

I sat and talked with one of the ladies from the mission, Maman Major, in what I recorded in my journal as "halfway decent French". Her husband, Papa Major (what else would his name be??), was very pleased with how much I could understand.

And so the most intense, most complicated, most beautiful week of the year had come and gone again, in a way I had never lived it before. I had passed nearly half my time at the mission already, with a joy that only grew.