Offices finished, it was down to the basement to dig up lace cottas for six torchbearers, two acolytes, the crucifer, and the clergy. As they had all week, preparations were still running ahead of schedule so there was no need to be frantic. There was plenty of time to chat with each new arrival before returning to the choir of the church, where five of us recited prime.
We rarely get to say prime in common, though many members of the parish read one or another breviary each day. I always love seeing the reader come to the lectern set up in the middle of the choir and, facing the tabernacle, recite to us the saints who entered into eternal life on this day. As with Fr. Liias' vigil sermon on the phrase "Suffered under Pontius Pilate," the reading of the martyrology grounds us in history and binds us to the exemplars who have gone before us.
I made my confession after Prime. It feels strange to mention going to confession in a web journal, but it only added to the day's joy. Telling another person your deepest failings, the things you fear most about yourself and then being told that you are forgiven and loved has an incredible cathartic power. The emotional release is wonderful, but it goes beyond this. The priest wears the biretta to signify that this is a judicial act. Confession is not simply a way to feel better-it is a sacrament given by God to effect our sanctification. The exuberance fades and the failings return, but the forgiveness is real and lasting.
After saying my penance in the church, I attended Fr. Sipe's 9:30 Mass, where I made my communion. The mass was in S. John's Chapel, which only two days ago had been the repository where we had kept watch before the Sacrament. Three of us who had said the offices together during the Triduum made our Easter communions together at thist Mass. Afterwards, I ran up to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and to sample one of DaVida's potato balls. It wouldn't do to pass out from hunger and caffeine deprivation on such a busy day…
At 10:15 we made our way to the Crypt Chapel for the last time to say terce. Six of us monotoned our way through the office in front of the re-vested altar as the orchestra rehearsed upstairs. When we had finished, we threw ourselves into the last minute preparations for the High Mass. There was a momentary crisis when we couldn't find the apparels for the Easter vestments, but they eventually emerged from under an amice in the sacristy. Soon the acolytes and choir were in place in the outer sacristy and the sacred ministers were vested in the white and green High Mass set that was made in the parish more than 100 years ago and restored in the early 1990s. The chasuble has two parrots in the center of the cross on its back. If the set has any flaw, it is that the embroidery is so intricate you need considerable time to study it on the vesting table to fully appreciate the workmanship.
The church was beautiful and everything was in order thanks largely to two people: Mr. Reilly, our Master of Acolytes mentioned in an earlier entry, and Dr. Lilley, our Rector's Warden, standing Master of Ceremonies, vestment artificer, floral designer, and greatly loved general foreman. I could not even begin to know the thousand little things he does between arriving at the church at 5:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning and the beginning of the 11:00 a.m. Mass. We are blessed to have so many people like him with exceptional talent who give of themselves unstintingly
I'm told there were 230 to 250 people for the High Mass. As has been the case since the catholic revival came to S. Clement's, the congregation was a cross-section of the city. We were the first integrated parish in the Diocese of Pennsylvania and the mother of the Guild of the Iron Cross, a national confraternity for "working men and boys." The face of Greater Philadelphia was well-represented on this Easter morning as it has been since Dr. Batterson scandalized the Bishop by putting a wooden cross and candlesticks on the altar in 1870.
The church, which seats 360 in the nave, was pleasingly full by the time the sacristy doors opened. The organ's trumpets blared as we made our way to the altar. Canon Reid aspersed the congregation with the holy water blessed last night and returned with the deacon and subdeacon to the altar to put on incense for the procession as Peter did some more genius vamping on the organ. Nothing can be too over the top for Easter Day at S. Clement's and Peter knows how to knock it out of the park. My friend Devon, who was visiting this morning, said she turned around and looked above her because she thought we surely must have trumpeters in a gallery blowing the fanfare. (Click here to get a sampling of the sound of S. Clement's.)
As I lifted my banner and waited my turn to fall into the procession, I thought of an article recounting Easter Day at S. Clement's that has reprinted here on Project Canterbury. By God's grace and Our Lady's protection, I think we have kept much of the spirit of what was good when the Cowley Father's administered the parish and S. Clement's was a national beacon or scandal to Episcopalians depending upon their churchmanship.
We made the great figure eight around the church and, after the introit, the orchestra and choir launched into the Kyrie of Mozart's Sparrow Mass. The readings flew by and Canon Reid, in his second Easter with us, preached masterfully on how after his resurrection Jesus came to those who had loved him as he comes to those who love him today. Then we were enveloped in the stillness of the canon, the Sanctus, organ, and Benedictus framing the words of institution, the bells ringing at the elevation as we all lifted our eyes to adore Our Lord.
There could be no Mass like this, or week of Masses like Holy Week at S. Clement's without a suitable encore and we have a time-tested favorite: Pietro Mascagni's Regina Coeli from Cavalleria Rusticana. There's a contagious exuberance that overtakes the congregation every year when the Regina Coeli begins after the Last Gospel on Easter Day. Though some of us are flagging from a long week and others' stomachs are growling from the Sunday fast, no one is impatient for the piece to end.
I ducked out down the back stairs during the postlude and ran through the basement so that I could meet Devon and wish her a happy Easter. She seemed to have enjoyed the whole experience. She had to run along, so I made it into choir to finish out the day with sext, none, and vespers. I was sad to come to the Magnificat at the end of vespers. This was the last of 18 trips to one of the church's altars since Wednesday night. There was still coffee hour, lunch with friends, and Monday off as a recovery day to come, but I knew things were winding down and that I would read compline at home tonight instead of in common at the church.
I will make one last entry tomorrow. For now, I leave you a passage from Victimae paschali, the Easter Sequence, that summarizes the week for me:
Death and life have contended in that combat stupendous: the prince of life, who died, reigns immortal. Speak, Mary, declaring what thou sawest wayfaring. The tomb of Christ, who is living: the glory of Jesu's resurrection.