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| Diego Velazquez, Jesus Crucified Spanish, c.1632 Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado |
Good Friday, 2024
I'm going to do something a little different right now. I am stepping out of my art historian's role and making some comments as a Catholic Christian on the life of the Church as I have seen it over my lifetime. I have been in attendance at three Good Friday liturgies today so far. Two of them were virtual, via the internet, one at Saint Peter's Basilica in Rome and one at Saint Patrick's Cathedral in New York. One was in person at the local Dominican church, Saint Vincent Ferrer in New York, I have one more liturgy to go. It's something a little different, a Tenebrae service at my parish of Saint Jean Baptiste in New York where I will be one of the lectors.
I am currently 76 years old. That means that in my early childhood the liturgies of Holy Week took place before Vatican II, indeed before the first reforms of the liturgy, which occurred in 1956, when I was nine years old. In 1956 all the liturgies of the Paschal Triduum were rescheduled. Prior to that year they had taken place in the early morning, somewhat odd for events that originally took place in the evening or night, such as the Last Supper and the Resurrection. In 1956 those services were moved to times more closely resembling the timing of the events they commemorated.
I vividly remember my first Easter Vigil. I was blown away by the beauty and deep meaning of the ritual, which at that time did not include any baptisms or confirmations as so many do today. I have never lost my love for this most holy and ancient of liturgies, which opens for us every year a conduit to the deep Christian past.
But it was Holy Thursday and Good Friday that I was most reminded of today. In those early childhood years these liturgies took place in the mornings. There were, however, some traditional activities for the laity associated with those days. These were needed as a kind of substitute for the actual liturgies because many ordinary people could not get to those early services because of work and other duties.
On Holy Thursday there was the custom of spending the afternoon, into the evening, visiting the altars of repose set up for the Blessed Sacrament at seven nearby churches. My mother and I made the rounds of seven churches, beginning with our parish of Holy Name of Jesus on Manhattan's Upper West Side and continuing down the West Side, then across town and up the Upper East Side, returning home via the 96th Street crosstown bus. I was always most impressed by the beautiful altar of repose that used to be in place at what is now my parish of Saint Jean Baptiste. The chapel in which the Eucharist was reserved was so densely packed with flowers that I used to wonder how anyone could move to retrieve it for Holy Communion. As an adult I found out. The tabernacle of that altar has a back door, so the ciboria containing the consecrated Hosts can be accessed from behind the altar.
I note that this custom of visiting churches has been revived recently, although it now takes place following the evening liturgies of Holy Thursday. It seems to be quite popular among the young.
On Holy Saturday, a large tub of what was referred to as "Easter water" was left in the courtyard of the church/school complex at Holy Name and people came to fill up bottles from it. The connection of this water with baptism wasn't clear, so far as I remember. This is probably because the blessing of the water that takes place during the Easter Vigil had lost its immediate connection to baptism, a connection that has been restored in recent decades. And, no church I know of leaves a tub of water out for casual collection nowadays.
On Good Friday, following the morning liturgy, my parish church placed a crucifix on a crimson cushion on the steps at the center of the altar rail, where a short brass gate stood. All day people would stop in to devoutly kneel and kiss the feet of Jesus. I well remember my parents bringing me to church to kiss those feet. I wasn't sure why, but I knew in general that Jesus had been God made flesh and that he had died for us. I also knew it was a very solemn and important moment.
I was especially reminded of those Good Friday afternoons today. The seat I was in at Saint Vincent's gave me a great vantage point for observing my fellow Christians (not everyone there was Catholic) as they came forward to venerate the crucifix. Unlike some others, this parish holds the crucifix quite low, making it necessary to bow low or to kneel to kiss it. As I cannot kneel, I bowed and kissed one of Jesus' hands. Most people who were able to to kneel did so and even some people who had great difficulty doing it, did, for which I commend them. For me this was an automatic reminder of those early years, when the crucifix sat on a pillow on the low step. But, unlike then, the veneration of this cross involved several hundred people, all at once, not in ones and twos.
It was beautiful to watch people approach. And this was particularly true in the case of the many small children that were there with their parents. Mom and Dad brought them along and encouraged the little ones to venerate the cross just like my own parents once did. Some of the kids seemed oblivious, but most, especially those over 4 or 5, were quite serious and purposeful. As you can see, I captured one sister and brother on video. There were numerous others, including a very cute trio of boys who were separated by perhaps one year each. All the children looked beautiful too, as the little angels they sometimes are. It was also beautiful to see the parents helping and encouraging them to participate with their kisses.
It was a wonderful reminder of a long ago past for me and a very hopeful sign for the present and future of the Church.
© M. Duffy, 2024
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