Spring has been slow to arrive this year. We have had an extremely wet winter which has delayed my soil preparation on my vegetable plot; it has been dark and miserable for months, with precious little sunlight. And recently pretty cold, just to add insult to injury.
My mini peach tree, despite one waterlogged winter, one stormy winter and various stages of neglect, is flowering surprisingly well. It spent the winter in the mini greenhouse and I moved it into the small polytunnel for the summer, where it won’t get too hot. This cheered me enormously this week; spring approaches!
Just beyond it you can see the heads of early peas and beans; they’ve taken a whole month to emerge due to the cold spell. I notice a few carrots and beetroot have now germinated in here, so that’s progress.
Yesterday, Palm Sunday, I quickly walked up to my plot to do one small job and pick some rhubarb. I discovered that the chiffchaffs had arrived overnight, back from their winter holidays in the Mediterranean.
Migrating birds are amazing - one day they are completely absent, the next day they’re all back. In the summer we have a couple of million chiffchaffs in the UK and for me they are the leading edge of spring, though in the last week I have also heard the curlews singing. They don’t go so far for the winter - just to the coast, but it’s good to hear their burbling song once again.
If you’re not familiar with chiffchaffs, here’s a video I took yesterday. If you listen closely you will understand the origin of their name - the song is a simple two-note refrain repeated over and over. In this video you will also hear other birds, including a collared dove. Chiffchaffs tend to sit at the top of trees and can be hard to spot due to their olive green plumage, but at the end of the video you will see I spotted it and you get a flash of its bright belly as it flies off.
With an early Easter this year, the start of spring coincides with Holy Week (for Catholics/Anglicans at least, the Orthodox are much later this year). After my quick visit to my vegetables, I headed off to Mass.
Every year I reach this point in a state of disappointment with myself in terms of my Lenten observance. I start with lots of resolutions but gradually fall off. A wave of tiredness hit me around the middle of week 4, when I spent the whole day with a headache. I dialled back the fasting slightly as a result. I’m no good to anyone work-wise if my brain doesn’t function.
During Mass we heard the words Jesus said to the disciples in the Garden:
The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.
Matthew 26: 41
It struck me that perhaps the point of Lent is partly to realise how weak we are; our spirit may be willing to endure trials, but our body can’t even cope with a bit less food than usual for a short time. To feel humiliated by weakness and inconstancy may be a good thing as it reminds us of our uselessness without grace. The disciples ran away, Peter denied Jesus three times but after the Resurrection they were different people, infused with grace and strength, able to take their Faith to the ends of the world and endure martyrdom. I pray I will be the same after Easter!
However, as I reflect on the last few weeks, a more realistic picture of my experience emerges.
I have fasted more than I have ever managed before.
I have abstained from meat more than before.
I have developed a couple of new habits in prayer which I hope to maintain.
So while I’m disappointed with my failures, overall it’s probably three steps forward and 1 and a half or 2 back. Progress of a sort.
For those unfamiliar with it, Palm Sunday Mass is longer than normal, with the recitation of the account of the Passion of Jesus. At the church I attend, the Solemn Mass was in the pre-1962 rite, which is even longer. It took almost 3 hours but was completely absorbing, a lived experience which is hard to put into words, but I’ll try.
It began with the sprinkling of holy water (Asperges) as usual, then on to the blessing of the branches. As part of that, we read a passage from Exodus, where the children of Israel camped near 12 fountains of water and 70 palm trees. They complained to God that they would die in the desert (like me, who cannot fast successfully for 40 days) and he promised them Bread from heaven.
One of the Gregorian chants sung after this contains the words from Matthew above - the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak - so tying the weakness of the disciples’ faith in the Garden of Gethsemane to the weakness of the faith of the children of Israel in Exodus. I’d never connected these passages before but I also recalled that in the Transfiguration, the word used (in Greek) for the journey Jesus was to make to Jerusalem and onto death was also referred to as the Exodus. This is our Exodus; passing from Egypt to the Promised Land, but this time in spirit instead of physically.
Then we read the gospel of Matthew with the familiar story of the donkey, and then on to the blessing of the branches proper. This took ages, with multiple prayers and then we all went up to collect our palms. Shortly after we were out the door on our procession, singing as we went.
I was about half way back and by this point we realised that we were singing faster than the people at the front, as we couldn’t hear them. It was rather windy and cold so the sound disappeared.
Now I love Palm Sunday processions, I always find it moving and I reflected on what I would have been doing on that day 2000 years ago. I probably wouldn’t have been at the front of the crowd, throwing branches. Instead I would have hung at the back, watching and participating in spirit rather than by action. That’s more my scene.
When we got back to the church, the sisters had gone ahead and the doors to the church had been shut. The sisters stood inside, singing, while we stood outside. The chant sung is Gloria, Laus et honor and while I love all the Gregorian chants of Palm Sunday, this is my favourite. I was prepared with the full text and music to hand. The sisters sang the verses inside and we sang the chorus outside. This is symbolic: those inside represent the host of angels celebrating the arrival of the Redeemer in the celestial temple, while those outside represent the earthly church celebrating the arrival of Jesus in the earthly Jerusalem. When we finished singing, the priest acting as Master of Ceremonies knocked on the door with the base of the cross and we went back inside to begin the Mass.
Mass of course included the singing of the Passion but in the longest version possible; chapters 26 and 27 of Matthew’s Gospel, in full. At times I followed the text, at other times I just listened to the three priests singing it - for those who follow me you know I understand Latin so the Latin was not an issue.
I had picked a pair of shoes suitable for the occasion and as I stood there, rocking gently on my toes to keep my feet awake, I thought back to all of our forebears who experienced the same thing.
I have visited many medieval churches, and as we know, the church pew was not invented until the 15th century so people stood or knelt at Mass. Stone benches round the edge were provided for the infirm.
Stone bench at Ripon Cathedral; it would have been higher in medieval times - the floor level has been raised since.
Medieval people were tougher than us. Now we want heating, comfy seats, padded kneelers, etc. But back then things were rougher. At my church there is no central heating so you dress for the weather in the winter and watch your breath as you exhale. We now have heated seats, to keep the chill away, though when you are standing or kneeling they don’t help much!
For centuries, people heard exactly what I heard yesterday, and I felt time was suspended as the voices of the priests told the story at the centre of our Faith. Along with everyone else, I lived it. I considered the cowardice of Pilate, the malice of the priests and recognised them in myself. I cried with Peter when he wept after denying Jesus because I knew I would have done the same. I tried to imagine the magnitude of what Jesus experienced on the cross: “Deus, Deus meus, ut quid derelequisti me? - My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” And I failed miserably. It’s a mystery beyond my understanding.
The postcommunion prayer was:
Per huius, Domine, operationem mysterii: et vitia nostra purgentur, et iusta desideria compleantur.
By the operation of this Mystery, O Lord, may our vices be removed, and our just desires fulfilled.
Amen to that.
I wish you a peaceful and fruitful holy week.
Thank you for sharing this. Lent is supposed to be a time of failure. Then we realise our need for God. 🤔
Thank you for this - a blessed Holy Week to you