God’s Friday Remembrances led to Paschal Joy!

Despite my current Paschal joy, today my thoughts went back to last Good Friday even stronger -- not that they completely left me ever since then. They had a sense of tragic foreboding which enveloped me that day. None of it made much sense to me until I looked upon the Holy Father's bier this week. And then it all came to me...

....That gloomy God's Day was different than others - and much like today. We had just finished the Synaxis (Presanctified Liturgy) and the Stations of the Cross at St. Lucy's ORC Cathedral in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, NYC. Afterwards, the bishops and two other priests rode with me across town to our sister parish of St. Anthony of Padua Traditional Catholic Church. I would have joined the RC procession at Noon across the Brooklyn Bridge to our “Ground Hero” (site of our former World Trade Center towers immolated on 9-11) in Manhattan, but our own devotional schedule precluded that. Besides, I had just participated in a solemn procession in Queens, and this parish had again planned one of their own.

We all kept our cassocks, albs, stoles, zucchettos and birettas on since the procession was almost underway. Enroute we encountered hordes of Old Testament revelers who glared and peered upon us as hostile invaders. So the clergy rolled up their windows. This driver just made like he was in the Pope mobile and greeted our elder brethren accordingly, by blessing them. One of the Italian bishops had a nervous fit and warned me not to do that. But I did it anyway.

In sharp juxtaposition, that 25 March 2005 was the 14th of Adar II, 5765 (NOT Chislev or Kislev, the third month of their civil year) in the Jewish calendar and what an evocative portrait of evolving neighborhoods and changing times that made... The Orthodox Hasidim and Sephardic Jewry who are now infusing these areas in overwhelming majority were also loudly celebrating their feast of Purim. Elements from all parts of their Diaspora are now found here. They were interspersed with eastern European Jews, Syrian Jews, Jews from Israel, and Holocaust survivors. Purim is one of the most joyous and fun holidays on the Jewish calendar which commemorates a time when the Jewish people living in Persia were saved from mass extermination. I think I know how they might have felt because our feelings were respectful, but mutual.

(All Jewish Holidays begin the evening before the date specified. This is because the Jewish day actually begins at sundown on the previous night. Perhaps that's why the patiently suffering orthodox bishop, +Karol Wojtyla of Krakow, appropriately reposed after sundown at the onset of the Feast of Divine Mercy.)

In retrospect, it almost reminded me of a Queens, NYC Good Friday a few short years ago. However, neither of us could relate this to our respective faith groups since ours are rooted in ancient antiquity: My local neighborhood now has the largest concentration of Sikh Indians and Guyanese in America… That year they arbitrarily decided to hold their Phagwah parade on Good Friday. I didn't know this "Holi" festival would hit us until their roucous merriment jolted our neighborhood (which suddenly changed practically over night about 15 years ago) out of our prayers and meditations between 12 Noon and 3 P.M. Our religious and cultural sensitivities were totally disregarded and disrespected. So I immediately went over to our local 102nd Precinct to check if they had a valid parade permit, which they did. This year they attempted to plan their pagan street celebrations for Holy Pascha ("Easter"), but we objected. And our NYPD refused a permit for them then since most of the force is Christian and with their families that Holy Day. Therefore, it will be held this Sunday instead. Happy Phagway to our new neighbors.

....When we finally arrived at the neighboring parish, hundreds of ORC parishioners were already assembled and those clergy -- with an ecumenical and interfaith caucus from the local Church councils -- were set to go. There were floral arrangements in abundance; representatives from various community groups, confraternities ("confradias") of lay people, torchbearers carried lit candles, mourners prayed their rosaries, solidarities intoned hymns, singing children carried flags and banners, parish groups were beginning their sorrowful prayers and lamentations while men were vying for the honor of carrying the "dead" hand-painted marble body of Jesus contained in an elegant bronze and glass sarphogus.

In the middle, a small band usually played marches, going ahead of the large coffin (as big as the Pope’s Cypress one today) followed by the priests. That day we had a sound truck playing dirges instead. However, those young, enthusiastic, Latino DJ’s forgot that they were not cruising the hood with their pulsating ghetto blasters. And those monster speakers were aimed directly at us. A half hour and 20 blocks later I had withstood more than I could endure and we were less than half way finished with our circuitous route. My head was throbbing from the high pitch volume and percussions. (While some ignorant clergy, seemingly oblivious to our purpose there, were straggling off and trying to have a conversation with each other over that raucous din.)

I kept looking behind me at the dozen men (of all sizes, ages and conditions) struggling with their heavy burden and took almost as much pity on them as I did the corpus of our Lord. Then I noticed that only the assigned NYPD cops were following the cortege. "Where are the other mourners?" I wondered. “Jesus shouldn’t be last in line, poor planning…” It just didn't seem right. So, against all protocols, I gladly stepped out of line with my brother priests and fell in with them instead. I could care less what anyone thought. Besides, it gave me a better opportunity to meditate and pray, besides having better mannered company.

As we marched in somber unison, I observed tenement dwellers hanging out of their windows and fire escapes, pedestrians stopped dead in their tracks to watch the drama of these funerary rites… bystanders were crying, drivers signing themselves with The Cross, onlookers rushing the forward marching clergy for their blessing, etc. It was a condensed version of today’s atmosphere in Rome.

Then my eyes became riveted on the face of Jesus within that heavy glass coffin. That's all it took. My mind went back to every sorrowful station I had ever visited and my emotions took over. I envisioned the Pieta. I recalled the picture of the 13th Station of the Cross (“Jesus is Taken Down from The Cross”) which usually tops this blog site outside the Easter Season. I recalled all the horrific post 9-11 traumas at Ground Zero, the griefs I had shared with all my family, friends, clients and parishioners, etc. I stumbled in many potholes along the way (being legs and sight compromised as it is) unable to avert my gaze from the Corpse.

A deep sense of foreboding premonition consumed me. Was I being given a message to prepare myself for more sorrow? Was I being counseled to pray for the strength to handle it? Was I being told that soon I would follow in these same foot steps again?

The Lenten passion of Terri Schiavo had been in my constant prayers, may she rest in peace. And Holy Pascha (“Easter”) would soon soon mark the 21st Anniversary of Transitus of my late soul mate, Vincent Anthony Savastano. Would my current partner of 20 years and best friend of 25 be soon following him into this same new life after his two recent massive coronaries, etc? Would I soon be following his casket this very same way? May God forbid, I prayed. “But not mine, but Thine Will be done.” Suddenly I didn’t want to be there anymore. However, I did persevere as I knew I must, as others better and weaker than I did and were also doing.

…I recalled Vince’s six months long bout with AIDS; his ironic Lenten coma of 40 days on a respirator which his family and doctors unsuccessfully tried to disconnect; my being barred from his bedside (also unsuccessfully thanks to sympathetic Catholic hospital staff who sneaked me in) although we were NEVER apart those ten years together, the legal battles and chancery arguments I waged, etc. Vince’s estranged and suddenly “concerned” family – which despised and disrespected this “crippled homo” (cerebral palsy which he surmounted) -- tried to separate us but to no avail. At least they quit mocking his grand mal epileptic seizures. And just like Teri, they cremated him against our express Catholic wishes only three hours after he reposed. It’s NOT true that “time heals all wounds.” Grief does not always become easier. Rather, it becomes different. There also is our consolation. So I was then also thinking, “Happy 21st Birthday in heaven, Vince.”

Little did I realize that this was INDEED the spiritual revelation being given to me. Little did I realize that I was actually gazing upon the suffering face of the Vicar of Christ. Though Good Friday does not have a Church octave, his passion and death would be imminent on the “Octave” of Good Friday, just eight days later. That coincided with Divine Mercy Sunday, the same feast he instituted. Not until I saw the forspent body of Peter being taken to his stately wake and grave -- then I realized...

Then I also realized why the face of Jesus was not covered in His coffin or His Body shrouded adequately enough. It bothered me that our Orthodox bishops are buried with a veil over their features, but not our Lord. (I'm glad to learn that this long suffering Pope was accorded that simple and fitting dignity.) Yet his body was not anointed that final time with Chrism as other orthodox bishops always are. Might it be because our Lord was also NOT anointed (deferred until that Sunday only because of his Sabbath death & burial) when He was buried? Is this why he specified that his corpse was to go directly into the earth? Was St. John Paul the Great being true to Form all the way?

Now we’re into the Interregnum. It is a period governed by papal law, which permits no changes to Church governance, or to the spiritual or material patrimony of St. Peter, except for the election of his successor. No longer do we commemorate our Holy Father, Pope John Paul II, at Holy Mass. This is the ONLY time period in which the fanatical “sede vacantists” (“empty chair”) nut-jobbers might have a valid point. Enjoy it while it lasts, guys. I pray that you won’t be putting his successor through your schismatical torments as well. May the holy examples and intercession of St. John Paul the Great inspire you to Come Back Home.

And also now, TODAY, begins our Novendialis which lasts nine days. (This time honored tradition starts on the day of the Pope’s requiem & burial, NOT his death.) Each of those days will have a Mass for the Holy Father. A Mass is entrusted each day to a different group, taking into account that group's links with the Roman Pontiff. This variety shows the universality of the Church of Rome. Here’s the program for the nine days of official mourning:

Day 1: Funeral Mass. Day 2: For the faithful. Day 3: For the Church of Rome. Day 4: For the chapters of the patriarchal basilicas. Day 5: Cappella Papale. Day 6: For the Roman Curia. Day 7: For the Eastern Churches. Day 8: For members of Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life. Day 9: Cappella Papale.

Ethnic traditionalists can also be a superstitious lot. There is an old Polish belief that says whomever dies during the Octave of Holy Pascha goes directly to heaven. The Pope died directly on that day, as though it mattered. I saved two blessed red Pascha eggs to break open in our Holy Father’s memory (another Polish and Russian tradition depicting our Lord's Resurrection from the tomb) and in celebration of his promotion to Glory. But I can’t bring myself to crack them yet. That’s when this transition will finally hit me big time.

"Wesolego Alleluja! Saint John Paul the Great!"
(Polish: "A JOYFUL ALLELUIA TO YOUR HOLINESS!")

"Christos aneste!"
(Greek & Russian: “CHRIST IS RISEN!”)
"Alethos aneste!"
(Greek & Russian: “HE IS TRULY RISEN, INDEED!”)

Prince Charles, too bad you didn’t get “married” today as planned. Most of us could have cared any less. And too bad you didn’t do us Catholics a bigger favor and eloped instead. Quit the pretense of trying to show respect for The Church and Her sacraments (Holy Matrimony being one of them). Why not be a bloke and chip in for the security expenses of the photo-op you attended today with all the dough you saved from not having a big shin dig? You might be buying a used horse, but we still have the spirit and memory of Lady Diana, Princess of Wales. May your long friendship with Camilla continue to blossom. (BTW, have you apologized to her husband yet as the Archbishop of Canterbury directed you to?) Break a leg.

And you, Pres. Bill Clinton, had the nerve to opine in Rome yesterday that our late Holy Father “may have a mixed legacy.” Well, nothing like yours, bro. It was nice to see you paying homage to the Pope with our two esteemed leaders of faith. But your nasty remarks were uncalled for. Even the good deacon, Pres. Jimmy Carter, wouldn’t have said anything as tasteless, out of place and ill timed as that. It’s a shame that he was bumped from Air Force One (for space reasons) instead of you.