This Sunday I attended, not my usual ordinary-form Latin rite parish, but a Ukainian Catholic church, celebrating the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom half in English and half in Ukrainian. I’d been to an Eastern liturgy before, so I wasn’t completely lost (although leaving the filioque out of the Creed always makes me giggle–really? We schismed over this?). I was, however, not really ready for Sunday to be Fat Tuesday (in Western terms) or Cheesefare Sunday (in Eastern terms). I was not prepared to hear that Lent/Great Fast would start the next day. I was completely surprised by the Ritual of Forgiveness, about which, more later. And I was struck by the homily, calling us to view the Great Fast not as a preparation for the crucifixion, but for the resurrection. I’d never heard it put like that: Lent is meant to be joyful not because we’re dying, but because we’re rising. With that idea in mind, I wrote this for the tune of “Forty Days and Forty Nights“:
Desert stillness, desert heat, desert days' unbroken sun: Flame of love that we will meet, rising when our fast is done. Empty workings, empty words: Lay them on the barren ground. So unburdened, fly as birds straight to where our grace is found. Though your steps may weary be, journey on by strength divine. Hunger shows our deepest need, leads to saving bread and wine. Come, then, to the desert road; come, embrace the heat of love. Burn away the heavy load, free one day to soar above. Dying to be paschal-born, oh! what mercy we shall meet on that resurrection morn, when our journey is complete!
Following the liturgy was the Ritual of Forgiveness. I had no idea what to expect when Father announced this; luckily, they passed out sheets with the ritual written on it (in English) for everyone to read their part from. In this ritual, the priests knelt and faced the congregation, asking their forgiveness for anything they–or other priests–have done to harm the people or their faith. The people forgive them and ask forgiveness in their turn for anything they have done to hamper the work of the Church. Then everyone processes up to the priests and exchanges the kiss of peace, as the priests, deacons, and acolytes say to each person, “I forgive you. Forgive me.”
As we sat in the parish hall afterwards eating lunch and chatting with people (What, actual fellowship at a parish? Revolutionary!) my husband remarked that I thought I appreciated the Ritual of Forgiveness. I had to think a moment to find the right words, and then told him, “Yeah, I think I needed that script.” I needed the right words to hear and say in response. I needed priests to ask forgiveness for the actions of priests. I know no church, denomination, or rite is perfect, and none is free from abuse. But maybe the first step in dismantling toxic clericalism is right there in that ritual.
I’d say maybe I should fast from bitterness and anger over church-related things this Lent, so I can make it joyfully to the resurrection, but I doubt my ability to lay those down quite yet. I’ll work on it.
Kate Bluett 