Steve's head is still party foggy with Klonopin action, but awake enough to blog about Holy Week. There were more Holy Week's in my life than not, where I worked double time for he entire week. If you attend Holy Week services they are lovely. If you are the one putting those services together, you long for the day of just going to church, and not doing church.
Organists and Masters of Ceremonies are the two people in a worship service which work the hardest, and get the least out of the rite. Do you suppose that the organist just before beginning a hymn has been lost in holy contemplation? No, there's been flipping pages, making sure the choir is paying attention, keeping an eye on the priest because who knows what they are liable to do at any moment.
The point here is that workers are busy behind the scene of our lovely Holy Week liturgies. We go and marvel and how lovely it was, or how meaningful. We should also take a moment to think of the planning that went into the service so you could say it was meaningful. For those who prepare and labor for those services, they have rendered their sacrifice of praise.
I am striving to make it to the 430pm at the monastery tomorrow afternoon. I particularly love Holy Week at Gethsemani. The possibility of me driving is out of the question. Perhaps an angel will show up and I'll ride in their car.
Attending these liturgies is a sacrifice of praise. Of all the sacrifices we hear of, the one that baffles me most is the sacrifice of praise. How does one sacrifice praise. Well, you do it by first of all deciding that you will go to the service, and some others deciding that the will help get the service put together, and others to make music, and others to prepare Homilies.
So I shall go, confused as I am in a Klonopin muddle, and still participate my sacrifice of praise to my Great and Holy God.
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