Living-Deliberately.com

It wasn’t, technically, of course. A year ago we were chrismated on Lazarus Saturday and had our first Pascha here in Florida, as it was also the same week as Easter, while we visited family. It was freezing cold, we had no idea what was going on, didn’t know how to pack a basket, we got there late and left early, fought the whole way home, and I vowed last year that every year after I would do everything I could to make sure I celebrated Pascha with the same people I’d gone through Lent with. It matters. I hope I never have to travel during Holy Week again but wherever I am, suffer and celebrate with the same souls.

And so, this year, I did. Ironically, I am now a regular part of that same church in Florida, and have come to love the faces that a year ago, were strangers to me. This year, I was able to ask someone how they did their Pascal service, how to pack a basket, what to expect. We knew to come early and the kids played on the lawn, giggling with new friends young and old. We brought pillows and sleepy little heads rested while we stood in the quiet, mourning of the Holy Saturday half of the service. The church was packed…there were people standing outside but this year, it was not us. A friend shared his prayer book with me. Another friend helped make sure my children weren’t squashed in the press of people and candles. I found myself crying…the grief of the tomb, the light gone, the darkness, and then the growing light from the altar…spreading from candle to candle, and then as we processed around the church and we all shouted, “He is RISEN!” in so many languages, and felt the true restoration of hope and light and peace. It was not metaphorical for me…the transformation is absolutely literal in my life this year.

And then, oh my, the PARTY! The baskets (mine held meat pies, Cardomom braids, brie and apples, wine, chocolate, and lillies) were all generously blessed and we shared and laughed and hugged….(for there is a tremendous amount of hugging that goes on in an Orthodox church, most especially on Pascha!). New friendships continued to be made and I cried again at being on the inside this year, amongst so much joy. We stayed in town (no driving hours away in the wee hours of the morning) with friends, who with much hospitality showed me again how even as a gypsie traveler this year, God always provides for us. Breakfast and swimming and more hugging (and more “He is Risen!” greetings!) and then to a pan-Orthodox picnic.

More glorious feasting food, grills, happy faces of every ethnicity, children running, egg hunts and tosses, soccer games, music, laughing, hugging, hugging, hugging, dappled sunshine from large and ancient shady oaks…utter joy, all of it.

I got a notion of why this is called “Bright Week”…the glow, the joy, the restoration just carries. There is no doubt more of a theological connotation to it than that I’m sure but it feels as if It could not possibly be contained in one service or one day or one week. The overflow is just too massive for that. This knowing that He “trampled down death by death”, that He was victorious, that there is light in the world, is like the shining glow on the face when there is news of a new baby or one is in love…happiness that spills over, optimism that can not be contained. The mechanics of complicated life still demand time and attention but it’s as if I’m kind of floating over them…part of me is still in that service, watching the spread of light grow and feeling the swell of anticipation. I’m so glad that the liturgical calendar allows time for this beautiful season, that it lasts longer than a day, that the effects of such transformative hope on the human soul is given time to be processed and acknowledged.

“He is Risen!”

P.S…this is an effervescent depiction of the joy that crosses language, enthic, and global lines…watch and enjoy.

Trackback This Post | Subscribe to the comments through RSS Feed