The Vigil Blog

I figure it's worth it to blog about something uplifting and soul-enriching, before I blog about the depths of hell we went through in New York. Plus, I'm at the office right now and have limited time before a student shows up. Don't worry, I'll blog the full experience of Dubsgiving in a day or so. But for now, the blog of Easter Vigil.

First off, this vigil differed from previous years, in that all of my Catholic friends chose to abandon me for lesser masses, due to baby, travel, family, etc., all of which are just excuses that lead down that slippery slope to Protestantism, or as I like to call it, damnation. So there I sat, alone, in my spiffy new jacket, hoping against hope that this mass would be just as amusing as last year, if not quite so heretical (see last April's "Where Was Moses When the Lights Went Out" for details). We began strongly, with a fair showing and a solid lighting of candles, with no small child arsonists this year. Sadly, the seminarian singing the Exsultant this year was not quite so strong as last year's singer, the little man they kept in the closet until Easter. He had a nice tenor, but it was relatively weak, and seemed rather wishy-washy about the ultimate salvation of mankind.

Until the fire alarm went off.

You'd think that Holy Mother Church, in its infinite wisdom, would have realized having hundreds of people holding candles might set off the alarm, and would take preventative steps. You'd be wrong. We stood there, with the lights flashing and the sirens blaring, listening to that one singer. But then, as if inspired by the Divine Himself, our cantor kicked it up a notch from "lame" to "Divine Champion and Herald of Christ's Resurrection." With a nod from the Bishop, he got louder, more self-assured, and infinitely more passionate in his singing. He challenged that fire alarm as if it were Lucifer and he was Piers Plowman, fighting at the Tree of Life. And he won out. Of course, to acknowledge his victory and the ever-present power of Christ, the alarm shut off right when the entire congregation came together for the "Amen." (For you non-Catholics out there, this was after about seven minutes of solo song.) It was as if God truly blessed our mass and silenced our opposition.

From there, the mass itself was much more well-constructed than last year. It was as if the Bishop had read my blog and responded to my critique. The trilling was present, but much less noticeable. The homily was not heretical, nor was it completely tied in with the bashing of the gays and the abortionists, as is his usual idiom. There was a fair amount of generic social critique, but nothing that raised my ire as a free-thinking libertarian ensconsed in a world of crazy liberal academics.

There were only two other main points worthy of notice throughout, as the bishop kept things to a sane 2.5 hours. First, while I acknowledge that it may be part of the ceremony to bless the cross with the incense, I could not help but imagining the Bishop going around and saying, a la Cool Hand Luke, "Holying up the cross here, boss." I nearly lost it when that popped randomly in my head, and stared at my feet resolutely for a minute after the fact. Though I do think that kind of speech would really bring the ceremony home to the common man. "Holying up the bread here, boss." "Transubstantiating the Eucharist here, boss." "Washing my hands here, boss." Etc.

Second, during the baptismal, it is customary for the Bishop to move throughout the church, scattering holy water onto the congregation. Our bishop. though, has not a mitre that holds water, as at my old church, but what is best described as a bundle of reeds tied together, soaked in water. This bundle manages to hurl large quantities of water out over the crowd in large droplets, and this year the Bishop seemed to take a kind of manic glee in aiming directly for the faces of small children. It looked like an insane Santa Claus bringing gifts, except instead of presents, you got a faceful of water flung in extreme violence. I myself caught the full brunt of one such toss, which nearly drove one of my contact lenses out of my eye. Though my eye did feel very holy afterwards.

That was pretty much it. Not as eventful or mirthful as last year, granted, but still full of its own unique brand of charm. I'll stop here, as my student should be here any moment, and leave you with my yearly Easter condemnation of the Hebraic people. That means you, McJew. See what happens when you mess with the Son of God? You're just lucky Jesus didn't bust out his mad vampire-slaying kung fu. Alleluia, bitch. (God, I'm going to Hell, aren't I?)