It's all in the details

Are you using the blackout curtains? I asked.
What blackout curtains? Nobody's told me anything about those. I haven't even seen any black curtains.
Yes, the windows all get covered like a World War II air raid drill. So no light can seep in.

So began a conversation about Tenebrae with the new sacristan. The look on her face said it all. More details? More things I have to do I didn't know about?

I can so relate to that look; it was mine last year. Two weeks before Easter, the then current sacristan left the community. She and I had both joined as postulants on the same day. Nine months later, we had been clothed as sisters together. Now she was gone. Emotionally I was still dealing with mixed feelings of grief, anger, relief and resentment. Now I had her job. I hadn't even mastered the day-to-day sacristan routines, let alone figured out all that was required of me for Holy Week. A different set of linens for Palm Sunday, Maunday Thursday, Good Friday and Easter... different altar cloths for Good Friday and Easter, polishing, polishing, polishing brass and silver, a string of endless details that created the atmosphere and the effects for this, the holiest of holy days in our Christian calendar. Blackout curtains for Tenebrae. What's with that? Tenebrae is a service of lights and shadows. An array of candles are extinguished in a particular order as lessons are read, responds and psalms sung. In the end everyone sits in total darkness. Total darkness that is, unless the street lamps outside the chapel windows are glaring through to spoil the effect. Blackout curtains.

During Holy Week, each observation of each particular drama has its own atmosphere and its own set of details. The sacristan's job becomes a combination of set designer, scrub maid, prop girl and Jill of all trades. There's a ten page list of things to do and when to do them that has been passed down over the years. Some things are crossed out, others have been added. The oddest thing about this whole scenario is that the job usually falls to the youngest (translate newest) members of the community... the ones who know the least and more often, have never even witnessed the finished product.

So, that was me last year. I survived, but barely. It's a true trial by fire and I'm sure there have been sisters who have handled it way more gracefully than I did. As I've mentioned before I'm a #1 on the Enneagram. We are folks who must know the right way to do things, because our self-esteem is hardwired to being able to do it right. When we know the right way, we can feel superior, and also lord it over others who don't know the right way. My stress and frustration was only furthered by this loathsome trait... I asked for countless opinions on how and when to do everything, studied the list, checked and double checked, drove myself to exhaustion. Even when other sisters offered to help, I still checked their efforts. By Maunday Thursday (with still three major services to go) I walked into confession in a state of turmoil.
"The only thing I have to confess is my attitude. I hate my sisters and I hate Easter."
The priest looked me over and answered in her quiet voice, "Well then, I'd say you have some work to do."

Yes, I certainly did. But the "work" I had to do had nothing to do with the work I had to do. We talked some more, I made my confession and felt a little more in balance. It lasted through Good Friday. By Holy Saturday I was back to being responsible for everything and had another meltdown. The next week they sent me to the country to detox for two days.

Now it's someone else's turn. We found the blackout curtains after lunch and got them all ready to put up tomorrow night. We located the pins for the other drapes, and went over the Exit signs that need to be covered up. Another sister is polishing the brass candelabras. Wednesday's details are pretty much under her belt. We talked a little about how overwhelmed I felt last year, and maybe that's given her some perspective, I don't know.

I only know you have to live through it to understand why. Your first year you don't get to go deep into the sorrow of the Lord's crucifixion, you get to feel crucified.