Mexican icon of the Resurrection
Whatever else is true about Holy Week, the exhaustion and liturgical burnout, the lack of attendance at Maundy Thursday and the insanity of leaving church at midnight only to return at 8 or 9 the next morning...all of that taken as given, the moment in the Great Vigil when the lights come on and the cry goes out - "Alleluia! Christ is risen!" - is worth all of it.
Trinity College was blessed with a baptism last night. An undergrad (though a returning one, back in school for a second major) who came to Trinity an atheist/agnostic was welcomed into the church. No matter who's being baptized, I always get emotional. Little baby, child, adult...it's a beautiful moment when the community is asked, "Will you who witness these vows do all in your power to support this person in his life in Christ?", and the reply comes in a resounding voice, the church echoing with, "We will."
It was especially meaningful last night, because the man in question has been a part of our community for pretty much the whole year. He hands out books and bulletins for the Wednesday Evensong, comes to Div gatherings and has become friends with a lot of us. When the "We will" happened, I knew that well over half of the congregation knew him and loved him and were so happy to be present for the culmination of one journey, and the beginning of another.
At the party afterward, the new member of the Body read a poem by T.S. Elliot. It involves characters from the nativity story, but is very appropriate for Easter and baptism nonetheless. I can do no better than to offer it again here.
The Journey of the Magi - T.S. Elliot
'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For the journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins,
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death,
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
Amen, brother in faith.
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