Triduum - 2

The foot-washing ceremony that evening was very special but did not prompt any immediate call to write or expand on the experience. That was to come later. More impactful was the presentation that night dealing with the aspect of night and day viewed differently now and during the time of Christ when the day was seen as starting in the evening, not with sunrise. I walked about a bit beneath the redwoods and firs, winding through the Stations where the bronze tablets were blank faces in their recessed niches. I whistled, of course, as is my want, and was quite alone. I returned to my room at midnight and armed with a pamphlet from the presentation, wrote this to end Day One.

DARK

We come together with the fading light at our backs, and notice not if it carries hint of storm or playful clouds upon which the full moon can dance. Our thoughts turn inward, as it should be as Passover approaches, and with it, a claim on life and spirit. The prophet spoke, “We hope for life to walk by, but there is only darkness, and we grope about like blind people. We stumble at noon, as if it were night, as if we were in the dark world of the dead.” Ah, were it but so! Why do we fear this? Why are we taught the night is to be feared, when it is in the shadows we can find peace? Why do we revel in a burst of morning light that can blind our eyes to the realities of strife and pain and loneliness all around? Why do we shun the darkness that heralds a new day, for in our heritage it is birth, not death that is aroused in the dark? This I now know, by both glint of moonlight on fountain waters and day borne tears, it is our confusion over life and death that is the cause of confusion.
It is humanity’s claim on control that causes us to tread lightly in the approaching dark and drop our voices to whispers. It is divinity’s freedom, that we call mystery, that makes us dance in first morning rays; but it is only because our vain fears are easily masked in market chatter and children’s cries. By right we must seek balance between the gift of humanity and curse of divine claim, but this is not served by worldly delusions of sighted view. Let us embrace the shadows in which we can grow close in community or drift to solitary contemplation, both a form of prayer. Remind me to disdain the pleasures of the day, those that detract from true fellowship and sharing love. Which is death and which is life? Does the spinning Janus coin have sides light and dark, or is it only an illusion forced by our will’s attempt to defy a call to birth and death the same?
I have pondered on the artful words of poets and philosophers, and prophets and kings, and clerics and saints. In the main it is said that salvation will be achieved through death and loss of life as we go to another place. In that place light and dark are equated with good and evil, an extension perhaps of our own delusion. Yet the prophet also says, “I will lead my blind people by roads they have not traveled. I will turn their darkness into light.” We are then in darkness now and it is to be embraced, not feared. If death has spiritual meaning then humanity is death and divinity is life. It is right that we embrace darkness on our human side and light for our spirit. It is the proud song that can say in the day, “I am the Son of God” that proves our divine gift of humanity. It is the voice that calls, “Come, I am the son of man,” and echoes in the night that proves our divine gift.
Our day as simple man must start joyfully in the darkness and proceed to meet the challenge of the day. In a churning cycle of embraced birth and death it matters not which comes first, no more than introspection on the order of humanity and spirit. Say instead, “I am one, such as we do call our Lord, and that We together do call forth I.” I lay down my head on this first day of Triduum and pray, “Perchance to dream -- therein to refresh and prepare, and sustain through tomorrow’s bright glare. Next twilight is so far, yet so near -- a life and death away.”