St Stephen's Episcopal Church, Middlebury, VT, West Park, NY
Br. Rober Leo Sevensky, OHC
Many of you may be familiar with the term Sacred Triduum. It is the title given in church circles to the last three days of Holy Week, specifically to the period from the evening of Holy Thursday through Easter Sunday. Triduum simply means three days, and those three days constitute a pivotal moment in the spiritual and worship life of the Christian community.
Some years ago, the contemporary Christian writer and mystic Cynthia Bourgeault began to draw attention to another kind of sacred triduum, to what she calls the fall or autumn triduum as opposed to the spring or Holy Week one. And what she is referring to is the period that we are in the midst of right now, the three days spanning Halloween, the feast of All Saints, and the commemoration of all the faithful departed popularly known as All Souls Day. Bourgeault says that these three days: “…do in fact comprise their own sacred passage which is not only authentic in and of itself, but also a powerful mirror image of the energy flowing through the spring triduum.”
Both periods are about the passage from death to life, a passage which is at the heart of the Christian mystical path, though the fall one is much more interior, personal and reflective, with its own peculiar perspective and tone, shaped as it is by nature and the natural symbols and events that surround us, at least in this northern hemisphere. Whereas in spring we are comforted by signs of new life and of nature putting forth hints of new growth that help us reflect on the promise of resurrection, in the fall we see signs of passing away, of limits, of change, and of death and decay along with the poignant beauty which accompanies it and which, in a normal year, draws legions to places like Vermont to share in that yearly spectacle.
Even as a child I was fascinated by these three days, at once magical, frightening, transformative and transfiguring. From the excitement of Halloween, wandering streets with friends dressed and camouflaged as an alter ego and well before the days of helicopter parents, to the solemnity of church on All Saints Day to our ethnic tradition of lighting candles on the graves of our ancestors on All Souls evening, there was a unity and a mystery which was palpable.
There is of course something of nostalgia here, and not everyone has this kind of history or connection.
But we can still ask ourselves what this fall triduum means for us today, this year, here and now.
In preparing for this message, I came across the title of a talk by a Unitarian minister who, in speaking of these three days, used three words: scared, scarred, and sacred. These words aptly describe this triduum not only in general but especially this year of 2020. They capture our situation and our shared journey accurately and forcefully.
Let's start with scared. Halloween, the first day of our triduum, is indeed scary. It's supposed to be. We confront, and intentionally so, forces and beings that seem both dangerous and beyond our control, and through our revelry and costuming we enter them, face them, and even mock them. It’s the time for gory costumes and horror movies. But this year we don't need Halloween to frighten us. God knows, we have more than enough reason to be scared at the state of things. There is of course the Covid pandemic reminding us daily of sickness, hardship, and death. And there is the national election, which is underway now, one in which the stakes are critical and whose results will be, without exaggeration, of historic proportions.
The outcome remains uncertain, and its follow-up may well lead to violence and civil unrest. We see a body politic and a civil society deeply, deeply divided and antagonistic. And all of this of course plays out against the background of climate change and the unveiling of racial disparities and inequities that are part of a pattern of systemic racism in our nation. Yes, we are scared, and we have every reason to be. And it's hard to see how our Halloween traditions can help us to confront these shadows and our hidden societal selves, though that is what we are called to do.
Scared, yes. And scarred. For none of us comes through life without being wounded. And these days are now filled with a pain and grief which scars both body and psyche, soul and conscience. In this context, I think of the remembrance of all the faithful departed which is All Souls Day. We remember all those people whom we have known who have touched our lives, for better and for worse, those dear and not so dear ones who have been part of the fabric of our own story. And in remembering them, we simultaneously remember ourselves and our own process of becoming.
There is a beautiful hymn our Episcopal hymnal appointed for burials, number 357. The words are contemporary though the haunting melody is late medieval:
Think, O Lord, in mercy on the souls of those, who, in faith gone from us, now in death repose. Here mid stress and conflict toils can never cease; there, the warfare ended, bid them rest in peace.
Often were they wounded in the deadly strife; heal them, Good Physician, with the balm of life. Every taint of evil, frailty and decay, good and gracious Savior, cleanse and purge away.
We are all wounded by life and need the healing of the Good Physician. We are all scarred. But remember: so is Jesus. And his wounds have become glorious. So, too, may ours.
And here we are today, All Saints Day, smack in the middle of this Fall Triduum, scared and scarred to be sure. But also held up by and called closer and closer toward the Sacred, the Holy One, in whose image and likeness we are made and whose destiny is to be restored to that image and likeness in all its fullness. What I love about All Saints Day is that it directs our gaze to men and women in whom we see glimmers—and more than glimmers—of the truth and power of that call lived out in trying circumstances, circumstances not so different from our own. We see men and women who, perhaps for the whole of their lifetimes or perhaps for just one brief, shining moment, mirrored and re-presented that creative and compassionate Love that made us and sustains us all. In doing this, they were changed, sanctified and became for others—and I hope for themselves as well—burning and shining lights.
God has numbered us among a vast company of believers, a cloud of witnesses whose examples and prayers encourage us to go on and to go on together, through and beyond this pandemic, beyond this election, and beyond our own uncertainties, doubts, fears and follies. If they came safely through the great ordeal, as Revelation tells us, washing their robes in the blood of the Lamb, so can I and so can you and so can we all.
Cynthia Bourgeault ended her brief article on the Fall Triduum with these words: “I encourage all of you who have the inclination to keep these days as best you can for this quiet but extraordinary rite of passage.” Scared, scarred, sacred. Reflect on and face our fears. Tend our wounds. Say aloud the names that call out to us for remembrance. Light a candle. Cultivate stillness. Be at peace.
God is God. Let God’s will be done…today, tomorrow, Tuesday and beyond.
Amen.
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