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10 Ways to Keep Holy Week Holy when You Work in a Parish

By Deanna Bartalini

10Ways to keepHoly Week HolyHoly Week is upon us. And you, like most Catholics, want to enter into the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus.

But you’re not like most Catholics. You belong to that special group who have chosen to serve the Church by working in a parish. And sometimes this week is difficult to enter into because you have so much work to do. I’ve been there; actually, I am there. But I’ve learned a few things on how to have a holy Holy Week.

The best way would be to go on retreat or leave town. That is usually not possible, if you work with the RCIA group, direct the choir, serve as the lone sacristan, or are the liturgical coordinator.

Here are ten tips that can help and are doable!

1. Plan ahead as much as possible. This means not only for the parish but for yourself and family. Have all your clothes chosen and ready for each liturgy. Keep the calendar as up to date as possible, noting the time you need to be at church–not when an event or liturgy begins. Line up any childcare ahead of time. And ladies, wear comfortable shoes. Smiling is hard if your feet hurt!

2. Spend extra time in prayer. But probably not at your parish: outdoors, at home, at another parish church–where you can be there and no one will need you to help with “just one thing for just a minute.” If possible, go to a neighboring parish for Mass that week. Allow yourself to be in the presence of God without worrying if everything is getting done.

3. Buy your favorite spring flowers, the ones that say “Easter” to you and put them on your desk and in your home.

4. Make sure you sleep and eat. Don’t rely on caffeine to get you through a non-stop Easter morning. By the noon Mass you’ll be a jittery mess and, like shoes that hurt, it makes it more difficult to be welcoming and calm.

5. Don’t host Easter dinner at your house, unless your spouse and children are willing to do it without your help–or you are serving Chinese takeout.

6. Something will go wrong and you just need to roll with it. One year, the lector for Holy Thursday forgot he was the lector. I saw him sitting in his usual pew and wondered why he was getting up. I couldn’t get his attention, so I had to read. At the same mass, the usher started taking up the collection while the priests were getting ready to wash feet. Lessons learned: Be prepared to do whatever is needed; remind people of the plan before you begin because no matter how many times we’ve done it, we are only human. That was also the year the altar server never took up the bowl of soapy water so the priests could wash their hands after washing feet.

7. If it is not absolutely necessary for you to be at church, don’t go unless you have the time and energy and your family will not suffer. While it may be nice to be present, ask yourself who it serves before you go.

8. Attend Mass with your family. If you are “working” at the Mass, have your family sit where you need to sit or as nearby as possible. If you are the choir director, try to sit with your family during the homily–if you can do so without calling attention to yourself.

9. Make time for your family traditions. You may need to arrange your family egg hunt on Easter Monday, but better on Monday than with a tired parent on Sunday.

10. And remember, we serve in the parish; but it’s Jesus who saves us all.

May you have a Blessed Holy Week!

Read all posts by Deanna Bartalini Filed Under: Featured, General, Lay Apostolates, RCIA & Adult Education Tagged With: Holy Week, Lent, ministry leaders, survival tips

Power Perfected in Weakness and Failure as a Pathway to Grace

By Lisa Mladinich

St. Paul speaks quite a bit about boasting!

In his second letter to the Corinthians, he mentions that he has been the recipient of many revelations and could well boast. After all, Jesus himself has spoken directly to Paul, on the road to Damascus. Paul is a beloved preacher and has won many souls for God. But instead of boasting of his achievements, which he recognizes as a distraction, he boasts because the Lord has permitted him to be a weak and troubled vessel. An “angel of Satan,” he says, torments his flesh.

Three times I begged the Lord about this, that it might leave me, but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me. (2 Cor 12:8-9)

Here’s my weakness.

I rather casually gave up complaining for Lent, right at the last minute, because I hadn’t really given it much thought. But I know that I complain too much, so it seemed like a great idea, and honestly, I really didn’t expect it to be that hard.

But the Lord saw fit to allow me to go through a period of intense suffering that has consumed my Lent.

An old emotional wound that I thought was healed broke open and my life became profoundly dark. The pain was unrelenting and terrible. I was raw and weak. To say that I was overflowing with complaints and loss of temper is an understatement. I was a total mess for most of Lent, which got me going to confession a lot more than usual, which brought me more graces than usual.

The Crucifixion, Francisco de Zurbarán, 1627

In agony, I clung to Jesus and contemplated the cross. I was in desolation.

But that desolation is a privilege, according to the saints. Hard to accept, but it’s so revealing. I felt so intimate with Christ. One day, I looked up at the cross at Mass and the thought came to me, “He felt this. So it must be a good thing to feel.”

I didn’t get a rush of good feelings—the pain remained—but I had a deep sense of calm that I knew was His voice in my soul, and it has not left me.

And I learned something that is probably the biggest grace I’ve ever received in any Lent in all of my 58 years as a Catholic:

It was strangely empowering being so weak and so desperate.

I had nothing to boast about but the cross.

But may I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. (Gal 6:14)

Total failure was the place where Jesus met me, this Lent. Failure cleared away all my pride and showed me that the cross could truly be a place of victory.

In the eighth century, St. Andrew of Crete wrote that the cross is “both the sign of God’s suffering and the trophy of his victory” because the cross is “the means by which the devil was wounded and death conquered.”

Chris Tomlin sings a song called, “At the Cross,” and my favorite line says that the cross is “a place where sin and shame are powerless.”

Jesus rendered my sin and my shame powerless: through the cross, through the consecration, and through reconciliation. So that when I was weakest, I received a gift that I don’t think I would have received if I were having a “perfect” Lent and feeling good about myself.

Yesterday, I was at an RCIA review session, and one of the team members was describing the moment of the consecration, at Mass, when the priest elevates the host. She told the catechumens that as we enter into the one-time sacrifice of the cross, Jesus is lifted up and offered to the Father for all of our sins, for all time.

But she added that, as baptized members of the Body of Christ, at the moment of the consecration, we too are lifted up and offered to the Father, and that bestows on us an astounding dignity.

In Holy Week, we will walk with Jesus through the failures of those he loves. Contemplate his response when the apostles all flee him and when Peter denies him three times. Jesus never stops working to save them.

Even the crucified thief, who squandered his life in sin–St. Dismas, whose feast day was today (March 25)–received the gift of paradise that very day. Why? Because, in the depths of his failure, St. Dismas recognized that he needed mercy and that Jesus was the Lord. And the response of Jesus went beyond his wildest imaginings. Paradise. THAT DAY.

My major offering for Lent was to avoid complaining. During the previous five weeks, I have complained more than I have in many years. To say that I failed is an understatement. My sin of complaint and ingratitude was magnified; it exploded and expanded and became epic in its power to color my days.

And yet, that sense of powerlessness drew me closer to God and increased my trust. At a particularly low moment, when the pain was almost unbearable, I felt God urging me to count blessings—which felt like sprinkling a thimbleful of water on a blazing fire. To turn my thoughts away from complaint and refocus on what was beautiful in my life was like walking head-on into a hurricane. I recognize that this powerful resistance within me was partly my own weakness and sin but also a sign of a spiritual battle taking place in my soul.

And yet, when I yielded grudgingly and started counting the beauty of the day, my comfortable home, my family and friends, my health—simple things—strength returned, and my mind began to clear. What had seemed unrelentingly dark faded and receded. It was like breaking a spell.

Our failures can bring us closer to God; they can make us more aware of our dependence, more ardent in prayer, and more childlike.

It is not the failure He focuses on; it is the disposition of our hearts.

Are we reaching for him? Learning from our falls? Resting in mercy?

For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten Son, that believers would not perish but would have eternal life. (John 3:16)

Read all posts by Lisa Mladinich Filed Under: Catholic Spirituality, Featured, Lisa's Updates, RCIA & Adult Education, Scripture, Theology Tagged With: Chris Tomlin, Holy Week, St. Dismas, suffering, the cross of Jesus Christ

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