The Joyful Widower

I hadn’t planned to write during Holy Week. Between work during the day and church services every evening this week, as well as chauffeur duties for the kids, plus planning for food for the feast (Tracy’s savory cheesecake!), I had figured I would write something after Pascha, either during Bright Week or the week after.

But sometimes the heart is too full. Things want to be gotten out, and I may as well get it out here, in a blog post. I’ve stayed up a bit later than I’d wanted to the last couple nights, and had wanted to go to bed as soon as I got home this evening, but here I am. Maybe I’ll sleep better if I write. Maybe I won’t. But the only way to find out is to sit down and do it.

This year I’m an “eleventh hour” christian. Those who have read St. John Chrysostom’s sermon to the catechumens at Pascha know what I mean:

If any man be devout and love God, let him enjoy this fair and radiant triumphal feast. If any man be a wise servant, let him rejoicing enter into the joy of his Lord. If any have labored long in fasting, let him now receive his recompense. If any have wrought from the first hour, let him today receive his just reward. If any have come at the third hour, let him with thankfulness keep the feast. If any have arrived at the sixth hour, let him have no misgivings; because he shall in nowise be deprived thereof. If any have delayed until the ninth hour, let him draw near, fearing nothing. If any have tarried even until the eleventh hour, let him, also, be not alarmed at his tardiness; for the Lord, who is jealous of his honor, will accept the last even as the first; He gives rest unto him who comes at the eleventh hour, even as unto him who has wrought from the first hour.

And He shows mercy upon the last, and cares for the first; and to the one He gives, and upon the other He bestows gifts. And He both accepts the deeds, and welcomes the intention, and honors the acts and praises the offering. Wherefore, enter you all into the joy of your Lord; and receive your reward, both the first, and likewise the second. You rich and poor together, hold high festival. You sober and you heedless, honor the day. Rejoice today, both you who have fasted and you who have disregarded the fast. The table is full-laden; feast ye all sumptuously. The calf is fatted; let no one go hungry away.

From “The Catechetical Sermon” of St. John Chrysostom, read at Matins of Pascha.

This Lent, I haven’t fasted. I started reading Psalms every night at the beginning of Lent, but ran out of gas in the second week. The temptation to just fold like a cheap card table has been there the whole time, and I’ve mostly folded.

And yet… God is merciful, and provides even before we arrive at the great Feast itself. Last night and tonight I made it to the Bridegroom Matins services, one of my favorite services of the year. On Palm Sunday, Jesus comes to Jerusalem. He is the Bridegroom of the parables. Yet he is not greeted as the hope of the world, as the fulfillment of God’s promises, but he is betrayed, arrested, tortured, and executed. In the “in-between” time, between Palm Sunday and Holy Thursday, the services carry the language of marriage, that “most excellent mystery,” that most fully describes the union of Christ and his church. The icon of Christ the Bridegroom is in the center of the nave. It shows his love for us, even as he is depicted in the mocking robe and crown of thorns, with bound hands holding the rod with which he was beaten. There is love in his face, love and forgiveness despite the cruel treatment he received.

I haven’t done the work of Lent this year. Not by a longshot. But last night and tonight, I’ve offered what I could. I brought my grief. I am living with dashed hopes from both my marriages. I had hoped, both times, for a long life together, to see our children’s children together. Last night and tonight I found in Christ, the great high priest who took on flesh to empathize with us all, I found in Christ a man who knows the grief of unfulfilled union, who has experienced bitterness and sorrow far deeper than I ever have or ever will.

I pray for the mercy of God, that this most difficult encounter with grace, though it be but a single moment of Lent and not forty days, can yet hold redemption.

Tonight’s service included the hymn of Kassiani, a beautiful, mournful, haunting and hopeful hymn that Tracy sang several years with a women’s ensemble on Holy Tuesday. Tonight I wept, at the beauty of the voices, at the absence of one particular voice, at the grief and longing I carry, at the beauty of Christ who steadfastly loves me, even when I am more like Judas than the woman who anointed Jesus’ feet, more like the foolish virgins than the wise. I was comforted by so many around me, my daughter, my goddaughters, my godparents, a fellow widower, good friends. God is so good, to provide such care and kindness.

As I write this, I’m enjoying a wonderful cup of tea (my godmother’s recommendation), brewed by the gentle hands of my daughter (tea is her “love language”), and I’m ready to turn in for the night. There is joy in this sorrow, and I shall push on this week, determined to find whatever portion there is, wherever it may be.