Today’s post is from Marissa Sotos, mission developer at Tree of Life in Minneapolis, MN.

I was 22 when I took communion for the first time. The church I grew up in only communed once a year, and by the time I was old enough to partake, I was also old enough to be skeptical.

Then a year after college I found myself sitting in a Lutheran church. Working in the congregation’s office had started out as just a job, but soon I got curious, and once I experienced worship, it drew me back like gravity. Intellectually I was still an atheist, but on Sunday mornings I just couldn’t help myself. There I’d be again, stumbling through the liturgy, and there God would be again at the back of my mind saying, “Just talk to me. Please.”

I didn’t though, and I also didn’t take communion. Each week the ushers would come by and each week I would shake my head. I knew communion meant eating Jesus’ body and drinking his blood. That seemed like something I shouldn’t do unless I was willing to let God be a part of my life.

Over the weeks I started to change though. That God-voice in the corner of my mind wasn’t going away, and I began to look at the people taking communion with less trepidation and more longing. One day, the balance finally shifted. Instead of hunkering down when the ushers came by, I stood up and followed the congregation. The pastor recognized me, “This is the body of Christ given for you, Marissa.” I took it and ate, I drank the wine, and then as I turned to go back to my seat, I completely panicked. What had I just done? Had I eaten God? How would that change me? I rushed back to my pew, lightheaded and with my heart pounding.

The rest of the service was a blur and I left as soon as I could. Outside I tried to clear my head, but it was no use. That God-voice was there, more insistent than ever, “Just talk to me. Please.” Having just eaten Jesus’ body, I felt that I could no longer refuse. “OK God, yes, I’ll talk to you.”

I was right to wonder how communion would change me. It did, and it does. These days I approach the table with more love and less fear, but as I stretch out my hands I still wonder, “How will this change me?”

Simply defined, The Three Days (Triduum in Latin) are the three days of Holy Week which focus intensely on Christ’s passage from death to life: Maundy Thursday evening through Easter evening.

Historical Background

The keeping of The Three Days has its roots in springtime rituals and in the Jewish celebration of the Passover. The Jewish people observed the passage from winter to spring by slaughtering a lamb and sharing a meal. This meal recalled the saving power of God and their thankfulness not only to have survived winter, but to have been freed from slavery.

Christians layered onto this practice the observation of the death and resurrection of another lamb, Christ, the Lamb of God. The date for this observation coincided with the Jewish Passover.

In the second and third centuries, this festival continued to evolve. Pascha (from the Greek, meaning “passage,” as in Christ’s passage from death to new life) became not only linked to the Passover as described in Exodus, but also the to waters of Baptism. Individuals or families were baptized at this time of the year. Thus what began as a Jewish celebration of the Passover became an annual celebration of the Resurrection (see Keeping Time: the Church’s Years, by Gail Ramshaw and Mons Teig, page 94).

This annual celebration had become a three day observance by the fourth century. After a period of preparation, Christians were welcomed into the church through baptism at the Vigil of Easter. Although Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and The Vigil were observed on three days, the event was regarded as one ritual with a dismissal given only at the Easter Vigil.

Over time, the practice of keeping The Three Days waned and other Holy Week rituals developed. Only in the twentieth century has the church witnessed a renewal of this feast.

Current Practice

Some Lutheran congregations have an established practice of keeping The Three Days while others have only begun to learn about the practice. ELW is the first Lutheran worship book to include the service. (LBW included this in the Ministers Desk Edition only). Introducing The Three Days into an assembly’s life takes careful planning and preparation as well as education, especially because the involvement of congregational members in leading, music, reading, art, and other roles greatly enriches the keeping of The Three Days. See the Worship Guidebook for Lent and the Three Days for additional insights, images, and practical tips to help deepen your congregation’s worship life during the days from Ash Wednesday to Easter.

Today’s post is from Patricia Baehler, a member of Christ Church Lutheran in Minneapolis, MN, with photos by Anke Voigt.

I am often asked by my non-churchgoing friends why I go to church so much during Holy Week. “Really?” they say. “Really? You go to four church services in four days? Why does anyone need that much church?” It’s a valid question. Work, family, home … we have endless things we could be doing instead of hearing the stories many of us know so well. They are difficult stories, full of shame and sorrow and pain, and don’t we have enough of that in our world right now? Maybe we could just skip to Easter?

Yet during my time at Christ Church Lutheran, a vibrant and growing congregation in the Longfellow neighborhood of Minneapolis, I have come to realize that I do need that much church. The Triduum, also known as the Three Days, at Christ Church is an intimate and personal experience. It challenges me to feel my faith more deeply than at any other time, to feel it spiritually, emotionally, and physically. It is by immersing myself in the story over the three days that I find a profound joy even before the glory of Easter morning.

At Christ Church, Maundy Thursday is a family service, and the children enjoy helping the pastors to wash feet. I feel enormous hope watching these children pouring bergamot-scented water over others’ feet. Small children, some as young as three or four, show us the way to serve each other: eagerly, fearlessly, joyfully. Their first instinct is to reach out and perform an act of love – just as Jesus commands. So even as the service concludes, as Jesus is betrayed and led away, as the altar is stripped, the image that stays with me is the one of children loving others as God has loved us.

In contrast to the smells, textures, and tastes of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday is barren. The sanctuary is stark and empty, and there are no pitchers of scented water or hands offering me bread. Unlike the previous night, the congregation stays in one place for almost the whole service. There is nothing to distract us from the difficult story of Christ’s death, and we are powerless to stop it. But even here there is joy, because at the very end of the service we are invited to come forward and reverence the cross. It is a profound moment for me each year as I touch the rough wood and am reminded that even in my powerlessness I am saved.

Christ Church’s Easter Vigil is a nomadic affair; the congregation wanders through several locations before ending up crowded around the table for the meal. For me, the most moving part is when, like the disciples two thousand years ago, we gather in a room to tell each other stories and sing songs. We hear God call the world into being, thrill at the Israelites’ narrow escape from Egypt, and laugh at the absurdity of King Nebuchadnezzar. These are the stories that bind us together in our faith and call us to lives of trust and love. Through these stories I feel connected to everyone in the room and to Christians around the world; whatever our differences, these stories are our shared foundation.

So to my friends who ask: yes, I do need that much church. My Easter would be incomplete without those Triduum-inspired images of service, love, and community. The Triduum at Christ Church is part of my Easter experience and part of my Easter joy.

Today’s post is from Joel Cruz, PhD, who attends Holy Trinity in Chicago, IL.

Most of us have had those mountaintop experiences–those moments when you can feel the adrenalin pumping through your body, when the senses are heightened, when the clouds part and you can see more clearly than yesterday—when everything finally makes sense. For me, that describes perfectly the experience of the Easter Vigil. It’s not just a “special service.” It is the Queen of all Feasts, to quote an ancient writer.

As individuals and as a church family we have trekked through these barren Lenten lands, taking stock of life, reflecting on who we are and where we have been in relation to God and one another. Perhaps we have added an extra burden or discipline onto our daily lives. We’ve gathered around the Eucharistic table, our metaphorical campfire, to hear the stories of Jesus’s ministry among the outcast and oppressed. Soon we will travel the most somber nights of our journey, remembering to love and serve one another even as Christ gave his own life for the world.

But then…on that Saturday night, our Paschal flames will dot the darkness. We will come together to recount God’s awesome acts among us. Then light. The thunder of the organ. Music. The smell of fresh flowers. Color. The welling up within each of us of that word we have not dared speak these several weeks until we can resist no longer. Smiles flash back and forth to one another as if to say, “Well done! We’ve made it!” And the world around us seems to bathe in light; the coming spring joins us in announcing Christ’s Resurrection. In this celebration we can be confident that the victory of Jesus over inhumanity and death is and can indeed be a reality in this still-dark world through the Spirit that dances within us. And it all. Finally. Makes. Sense.

If you’ve never made it to an Easter Vigil I hope you’ll consider joining this celebration, one of the Church’s most ancient.  Having never grown up with the Vigil, the experience for me is truly a mountaintop experience.

Today’s post is from Renee Hermanson, Worship Committee member at St. Mark’s Lutheran in Aurora, CO.

The soaring arches in the large sanctuary of St. Mark’s Lutheran Church in Aurora, Colorado, reach high above the long rows of pews to focus on the chancel’s wide stone altar and brilliant stained glass window. Such elegance seems out of place in the surrounding neighborhood of modest tract homes and the nearby mini-mall, all showing their age. 

The population of this congregation, like many across the country, is also showing its age, as younger members move away or change churches, and older ones slow down and retire from active participation, then move to care centers or leave this life. The still active and able members give selflessly to help the congregation serve those whom Jesus loves and welcomes. Through providing spaces for AA meetings, offering once-a-week Food Bank distribution, serving a free Wednesday night supper and hosting special events for the neighborhood, St. Mark’s imposing building has become a symbol of service and welcome where people have found hope and belonging in a neighborhood that is home for several immigrant communities as well as people experiencing homelessness.

This outreach has brought a more diverse group of people into the congregation. For some, —perhaps most —of those who have become a part of the St. Mark’s family, the whole church culture is an entirely new experience. For others, who come from a different branch of Christianity, the message is familiar, but the form of worship is not. These people follow along as best they can, but they may wonder why we sing so many prayers and those hard-to-sing hymns.

To help these people —and others as well—the St. Mark’s worship committee decided to provide some Lessons in Lutheranism in two places — the Sunday bulletin and the monthly newsletter. Each week the Hymn Notes item in the bulletin provides both a “what” in a short history of one of the hymns and a “why” that shows its relationship to the day’s text and/or the Liturgical Calendar. The Worship Matters column that appears each month in The Messenger describes and explains the “what’s” and “whys” of the liturgical seasons, symbols, and practices of worship.

The response has been positive, as much from the established members as from newer ones. The articles are researched and written by a member of the committee, but could be done by another member or the pastor. Aside from having a general understanding of Lutheran doctrine and practice, the only requisite is a few hours a month to research and write the short items. A wealth of information can be found in books and articles on Christian/Lutheran symbols, festivals and traditions found in most church libraries, and on the Internet —on the ELCA Worship committee and hymn history sites.

As we enter into this observance of the 500th anniversary of the Reformation, this kind of review and education might help any congregation enrich its worship experience.