Gloria in Excelsis Deo: Passiontide and my Lenten Moment

The final two weeks of Lent are referred to as Passiontide, which begins tomorrow on Passion Sunday. The first of the two weeks being known as "Passion Week," and the second week being known as "Holy Week."
Passion Sunday memorializes the increasing antipathy against Christ from those who accused Him of sorcery and of being blasphemous and possessed by a devil. From today until Maundy Thursday, the Júdica me and the Glória patris at the Introit and Lavabo are omitted from Masses of the Season (not Sundays and Feasts).

During these last two weeks, the statues and sacred images (except for the Stations of the Cross) are veiled with purple cloth, and they remain covered until the priest solemnly intones the sung Gloria at the opening of the Mass of Easter Vigil. This is one of the most intense moments of the liturgical year where the sustained bells are rung for the first time since the Holy Thursday and signaling the point that Lent ends and Eastertide officially begins.

I bought two yards of purple cloth on deep discount for $6 per yard
to drape our religious artwork year after year.

It is even customary for Catholics to cover statues and icons, etc., in their homes for this same time period (the cloth shouldn't be translucent or decorated in any way). We should feel a small sense of loss due to the absence of holy images in our home during this time.

This veiling of the statues and icons stems from the Gospel reading of Passion Sunday (John 8:46-59), at the end of which the accusers take up stones to cast at Jesus, Who hides Himself away. The veiling also symbolizes the fact that Christ's Divinity was hidden at the time of His Passion and death, the very essence of Passiontide.

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On a less academic note, this is time when a mama should be doing a lot of pragmatic planning!

Easter is in a couple of weeks . . . you can find a plethora of ideas for Catholic Easter egg baskets at Shower of Roses! Now is the time to start ordering those special Catholic gift items or your gifts won't arrive in time.

This is when I am managing our calendar, particularly thinking about Holy Week and the Easter triduum. We want our Holy Week to be light duty and we want to clear the decks for the triduum. It is a wonderful thing if a Catholic who works for an employer can take Good Friday off of work. There are so many liturgical events to attend Maundy Thursday through Easter Sunday.

Plan your menus now: simple and penitential for the triduum, and gloriously delicious for Easter and the ensuing octave!

Also, this is a good time to think about how to spend Good Friday . . . I know quite a few families who choose to be silent during the three o'clock hour (when Jesus died) on Good Friday. I know people who minimize conversation for the entire somber day. I know of someone who keeps not just the mandatory fast on Good Friday, but chooses to eat only bread and water for the entire triduum. Every Catholic parish will have Stations of the Cross that day.

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Lastly, I will share what I think of as a 'Lenten moment' . . . these moments catch me unawares each year.

This morning I went on errands (by myself!), one of which was to buy the above-photographed purple cloth for Passiontide. I was driving along, listening to a sermon series on forgiveness in which the priest told the dramatic stories of several great sinners forgiven. My mind was wandering a bit as I planned ahead, enthusiastically wanting to write this blog post about veiling statues and artwork: what great ideas I would share with my readers, they'd be so pleased.

I wandered the fabric shop, found my selection, and took the bolt to the cutting table. The saleswoman helping me was, by all appearances of dress, mannerisms, and language, decidedly 'of the world' and not a particularly religious person.

When she asked me, "So, what are you going to do with this purple cloth?" I froze. I was just silent.

I was too embarrassed to tell her that I'm Catholic and what Catholics do is cover our statues with purple cloth.

After a noticeable pause, I answered with forced levity, "Oh, we're just going to do a little craft at home." Then without pausing to breathe, I purposefully distracted her from her line of questioning with: "Now, I think when you check the price, you'll see that it's on sale."

As she checked the price, the words hung in the air: "a little craft."

I had just denied Jesus.

Not one hour earlier, I'd listened to the re-telling of Peter, the first pope, denying Jesus three times out of cowardice in the face of being nearly flayed alive, of being crucified-to-death, or maybe just being stoned by the nearby angry mob. I had just listened to the touching story of Perpetua and Felicity, both who gave away their suckling babes so they could be martyred by wild animals rather than burn incense to false gods.

I don't know about you, but when I hear stories of martyrdom, I think how I'd make that same choice. I'd stand by Jesus. I'd turn away from worshiping the false gods. I would submit to my martyrdom!

And then Jesus reminds me that apparently I can't even stand up to the possible laughter or scorn of a stranger at the fabric store.

I can write all about my purple cloth on this blog . . . for my audience of like-minded women who are all one degree to the left or right of me, one happy, homogeneous group.

But answer a sincere question about my purple cloth to a stranger who might think I'm 'stupid'?

I was Peter. I acted as if I didn't know That Man, That Jesus.

There was a time only a few decades ago that everyone--religious or not--would have known that Catholics behave a decided way during Lent, with our ashes on the forehead, our fish on Fridays, nobody working on Good Friday, our purple fabric, and our many liturgical events that keep us basically at church for three days until glorious Easter.

But slowly, creepingly, people began to feel it was somehow wrong to be seen in public being Catholic, or even answering an honest question: why are you buying that purple fabric? What wouldn't even have needed explanation a mere few decades ago now was a golden opportunity to quietly evangelize by nothing more than answer the question with a friendly, single sentence and a smile.

I was too afraid . . . not of having my suckling baby ripped from me so wild animals could tear me limb from limb, not from an angry crowd that would scourge and crucify me too . . . but just of a stranger thinking less of me.

And that was my Lenten moment.

Being Christian isn't just something theoretical or something about lovely traditions in the home with our happy families. It affects all our choices right here in this modern world, in 2014, whether it is how we spend our money, what media we take in, what language we use, where we shop, what outfits we wear . . . or how we answer a simple question at the fabric store.

May Jesus please give me another chance to answer the question, "Aren't you one of His disciples?"