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I was telling someone earlier how much I love Holy Week, not necessarily for its religious nature, but for its reflective nature. It both draws me in and draws me out.

Last Saturday afternoon I was having a late lunch at one of my favorite restaurants when in walks my choir director with his wife and our organist with her husband. I quietly observed them for a few minutes and then they spied me. First the organist comes over to tell me she left me a message on my phone but she "can ask me now". She was playing The Holy City for the offertory the next day and wondered if I would sing it with her. Of course, I said yes. I love singing The Holy City, a traditional Palm Sunday anthem. It seemed to go pretty well.
I received a note from a woman in our congregation whose oldest son had recently committed suicide by drowning in New York. She said, "As you sang the sun came through the east stained glass windows in a radiant glow. What a glorious feeling overcame my body." Now, I am not telling you this to brag, for it truly was not just the singing. It was the combination of all those elements, the words, the music, the atmosphere, the sun and the fact that she needed so much to be touched in a glorious way. I just find it so mysterious the way God uses things, or for those who do not believe in God, the mysterious way things happen, to help others. I mean, the organist and I literally threw that song together and only rehearsed it one time, quickly, before the service. Luckily we had performed it together in the past, but still.

And then, last night, the famous painting by Leonardo da Vinci, The Last Supper, was brought to life by thirteen men in our church. My breath was absolutely taken away when I walked into the darkened sanctuary and saw the scene before me. The men were all dressed in costume, frozen in the poses of the painting. One by one, the disciples stood to tell their part of the story while the others remained frozen. I'm sure it helped that they were able to 'break' after each speech to move around in their seats, turn their heads, stretch their arms a little before posing again. At the end, the man playing Jesus stood and broke the bread, giving it to his disciples, followed by the wine. While he was doing this, bread and wine were passed to us in the pews and we shared in communion with Jesus and the disciples. Everyone left in silence.

For the first time that I can remember, we are not having Good Friday services. Our new pastor is having something on Holy Saturday instead. I am looking forward to it.

On Easter, our choir will sing at both of the early services, three anthems. The church will be filled with lilies, tulips, and other spring bulbs that members of the congregation have bought in honor or memory of loved ones. They can take them home at the end of the services. I have a garden where all my past flowers are planted. I look forward to seeing them bloom each year. It will almost be Pentecost before I see them this year though.

Maybe what I'm really saying is:

Turn your dirt over before you plant,
You know, spring is coming,
Some tiny leaf is trying to find its way out of you,
And it will do it, soft dirt or not,
Whether you want it to or not,
Your green will show, perhaps popping out
In a place unexpected, you yourself, surprised,
Tend it with devotion, your gift, not for yourself
But for others, this talent of yours,
Be ready to get down on your knees.
To fondle the dirt, to soften it for the
Tender shoots of more of you.