Tenebrae

Being Episcopalian, it is no wonder that I love the once yearly service of Tenebrae. It is one of those now rare occasions where Episcopal clergy don our black and white cassocks and surplices instead of our white albs. It is a service of contemplation and candlelight; chiaroscuro and completion.

The sanctuary lights are dimmed and the 15 candles on the altar are lit. As the service progresses, the candles are gradually extinguished, one by one. The tension in my "Holy Week shoulders" begins to subside as the lessons are read and the candles are blown out. My heart softens. The Psalms help me cry out to God; they allow me glimmers of insight into my own brokenness. The soft voices of those in the congregation respond to a series of rich antiphons and versicles. My heart softens some more.

Then it comes: Lauds. Antiphon 10:

God did not spare his own Son, but delivered him up for us all.

And the congregation responds softly with Psalm 63, intoning:

O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you,

My soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you,

as in a barren and dry land where there is no water.

And I recognze my own need for living water; my own thirst.

When the Psalm concludes, that antiphon once again:

God did not spare his own Son, but delivered him up for us all.

And I realize, in one flicker of candle light, not only how thirsty I've been, but how delivered I am.

And I am restored.