"Adoramus te Christe, et benedictimus tibi..."

"...qui a per sanctam crucem tuam, redemisti mundum."

For about 72 hours, the Catholic world pauses from the routine of everyday life.

On the morning of Holy Thursday, priests gather around their bishop, to renew their fidelity, and receive the sacred oils to be used for the coming year. That evening, the faithful will gather around their priests, to remember the institution of the Eucharist, and the prelude to the events of the following day.

For it is on that day, Good Friday, from noon to three in the afternoon, that the cross is venerated, and He who hung upon it is remembered.

That single event, of all events in human history, transcends all time and space.

It is just that single moment that is seen again and again, every time a priest of Mother Church utters those words "Hoc est enim corpus meum." This is My Body. The same is done with the chalice. "Hic est enim calix sanguinis mei." This is the Cup of My Blood.

The faithful are witness to the transformation of substance, from mere bread and wine, to the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Christ Himself. Saint Augustine once wrote that a priest momentarily stopped aging during the moment of the act of Consecration itself. As the universe itself remembers, so we remember as well. Christ yesterday, today, and forever.

The next day, Holy Saturday, is a day of waiting. Waiting for the unseen events that were foretold, waiting for the coming of night, the blessing of the fire, the reading of the events that lead to the joyous proclamation: CHRISTUS RESURREXIT! Christ is risen! The sun rises on Easter morning, and the Great Fast has ended. The faithful continue to celebrate, even as spring in the Northern Hemisphere cries out to the heavens with new life, for the next forty days.

In what other system of belief, does a god die, then raise himself from the dead to life? It is the Resurrection, of all beliefs in Christianity, that has never been solemnly defined by the Church, as even She is not competent to do so. No living mortal actually saw what happened. Even the apostles themselves tell us less the what of those events, than the why of them. It was during that laying in the tomb, that Death was cast into defeat, and Life emerged victorious. In the two millennia since this unseen act, the rivers of blood have been shed for the crown of martyrdom. The suffering of a Chosen People, the warnings of the Prophets, the clashing of armies and conquest of nations, the changing of the very fabric of civilization itself -- all of human history hinges upon the moment on the cross, and the passing from Death to Life.

As a child, I remember the house becoming quiet during the three hours on Friday. If we did nothing else, our very comings and goings were permeated by that remembrance. In the city of Cincinnati, since the days of the Civil War, devout Catholics would pray the rosary on the steps leading from the Ohio River, on up to Mount Adams, to the Church of the Immaculata, "St Mary's of the Steps."

From now until Sunday, there will be no entries in this journal. Preparations will be underway to greet the day the Lord has made.

"We adore Thee, O Christ, and we bless Thee, for by Thy holy cross Thou hast redeemed the world."