Easter Weekend -- When Symbol is more Powerful than Words

This Easter weekend has been very special. Words do little for Linda now and they carry few meanings. But symbols, rituals, touch, smell, taste, hearing music, and being in the Presence are still powerful moments in their own way for her as she dwells only in this very precise moment. And when I witness the Presence in her and with her, I am touched so deeply and able to hold the memory for the both of us.

Maundy Thursday was perfect. Maundy, meaning commandment, provides us with our word for mandate. It is a reminder that Jesus, at his Last Supper in the Upper Room, commanded his disciples to continue celebrating the Lord's Supper until He comes again. And He commanded them to serve one another, providing the powerful experience and example of washing their feet. But all these words and meanings which have such depth for me, are beyond Linda's ability to grasp as her brain continues to waste away under the onslaught of Alzheimer's. So Jesus gave us something beyond words that can reach the heart of the brain disabled.

We sat in our church community, straight chairs encircling our large round communion table. It is like Camelot's table, large enough for 13 to come and sit together. And on this night, the Communion scent floated across the sanctuary from the thirteen cups that were waiting for us to gather. To smell add taste of bread and cup and companionship around the table of thirteen. I knew the tradition was for small groups to gather in turns while the rest sat and sang quiet hymns of faith and of this night. Each person was to receive the bread, break off a piece, hold it until all were ready to dip theirs in the cup nearest their seat, then turn and say to the next person, "The Body of Christ, broken for you for forgiveness of sin." I knew Linda could not remember those words long enough to say them, and might not be able to tear the bread as it came to her. So I sat and pondered how to make this work for her.

The bread was moving clockwise. So I needed to sit to Linda's left so she would not have to say words to me. But who would have Linda on their left? Who could understand intuitively? Aha, our Associate Pastor, Rev. MaryAnn was sitting at the part of the table nearest us. She would get it, that Linda did not have the ability or understanding to tear the bread or share the words. I placed Linda to MaryAnn's left with me to Linda's left. I knew MaryAnn would do it...and she did. She started to hand Linda the loaf of unleavened bread, but then quickly read the need, broke the bread for Linda and handed it to her. Knowing Linda could not share words for me, MaryAnn leaned over, passed the bread to me and gave me the words, thus giving Linda grace.

Waiting even seconds requires more memory than is left for Linda. There she was with bread in hand. What should she do? Not remembering to wait or what to do with the bread . . . Linda ate it in a moment. So when it was time to dip the bread, I took a common cup for the two of us, shared half of my bread with her and together we dipped our common bread and ate.

Ah, what grace was flowing, bread and wine, body and blood, tender love for the demented and those assumed to be of sound mind, all on common ground at the foot of the cross.

And then it was time for foot washing. Another treat of touch. I helped as Linda and I took off our socks and shoes. Then we waited in our chairs to watch as others began to go forward to wash and be washed, to give and to receive. The quiet songs of prayer and praise with piano accompaniment were perfect atmosphere of Spirit.

Then I saw that Rev. MaryAnn was bringing her young daughter Caroline to help wash someone's feet. It dawned on me, what a perfect gift if Linda could help wash little Caroline's feet...a four year old child . . . sitting in a place of awe, and fun, and with limited understanding.

No one dared to get in line next . . . our place was being safeguarded for us by Angelic hosts. So we went. We knelt on the floor as Caroline's feet dangled in the air well above the basin. Linda was distracted by water on the floor. But as I lifted water in my cupped hands to Caroline's feet, I was able to help guide Linda to do the same. Child to child. What joy there must have been on the Savior's face!

Afterwards, Linda sat in the chair so her feet could be washed. I stood next to her, holding her hand. A woman came and washed Linda's feet with such tenderness and yet firmness and even with massage strokes . . . I almost lost all composure just being a witness. Then I sat with Linda standing next to me. Another woman washed my feet as Linda stood by me. Oh, what a privilege to be partners along this journey.

As we left the Maundy Thursday service in silence, there was so much to meditate upon. Words were not needed. Wonder was present.

And Good Friday was just a continuation for me, for us. The simple but numerous candles cast both light and shadows in flickering arrays across the sanctuary. Slowly the candles were extinguished as the service and the readings progressed. A slide show of images gave amplification to the words that were read by unidentified women, men and youth scattered around the slowly darkening sanctuary.

The drama of the crucifixion played out in our presence. A wooden cross stood in the center of the encircled congregation. All were invited and welcome to write their sins on pieces of paper, move forward to the cross, pick up one of several hammers, and nail their sins to the tree. We sat in awesome silence and listened to the tapping of the hammers. He was crucified. We are forgiven!

I knew this would be too confusing to Linda if we tried to write sins, go forward, and tap a nail into the cross. So we sat still with a close friend. We listened. We watched. And in my heart I confessed for there are so many pages that must be nailed to the cross from my life.

For more than 24 hours I have been on the edge of tears...and once again I am there. They are good tears. But they usually must be shed alone. It is confusing for Linda when they are shed with her now. Sometimes along this journey of nearly five years now, I have wondered if I will "feel" the Presence of the Lord again or if I will simply walk by faith and a deep assurance that He is present. But this weekend, I have known and felt His presence in a wonderful way. Grace has broken through like fresh springs from deep within the earth. There is life here, even as I am acolyte to dying.

I must go now . . . every few minutes Linda opens the door of my office to ask if I am OK. It means she is needing to find me often now. And she needs me to prepare a meal. So we shall share a meal together...and it will be our last supper before the resurrection morning.

I think I will sleep well tonight. And on Easter morning, I will arise from my bed early as Jesus arose from His grave. This resurrection power is what it takes for this journey. And it is offered freely at the foot of the cross.

I receive it, Lord.