Holy Thursday — The Empty Tabernacle

As I sit in the pew during the Mass of the Lord’s Supper, I am struck by the fact that this is the last Mass any of us will experience before Easter. This is the final time we will hear the words of institution and witness the bread and wine become the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Christ until the celebration of Easter. When Mass concludes and the priest carries the ciboria filled with consecrated Hosts to the altar of repose, the main tabernacle sits with doors left open. A deep feeling of emptiness washes over me. My Lord has been taken away.

That emptiness stirs memories of times I have felt abandoned, when God seemed distant or silent. I specifically recall living in a small rural town, which was the darkest and loneliest season I have ever experienced. I lacked community, endured a very toxic work environment, and felt as though every prayer went unanswered. It seemed as if the Lord had disappeared. Through the help of a priest, I clung to hope that I would see and hear God again, but in those moments, I truly wondered where He had gone and why He had left me.

One Holy Thursday devotion many participate in is the Seven Churches Visitation, a pilgrimage of sorts. Last year, I visited several churches to pray at their altars of repose, where the reserved Hosts from the Mass of the Lord’s Supper were kept. Each church represents a different place Jesus stopped between the Garden of Gethsemane and His Crucifixion. The culmination of the night is the Tenebrae service that some parishes offer. For me, it stands out as the most powerful Holy Thursday prayer experience. The word Tenebrae is Latin for “darkness,” and the service consists of prayers and readings coupled with the gradual extinguishing of candles. A loud noise follows, representing the earthquake at the Crucifixion as the veil of the temple was torn. The church is left in darkness before a single candle is returned, signaling the hope of Christ’s eventual Resurrection.

Holy Thursday night also commemorates the time Jesus remained bound in a pit as He awaited crucifixion the following day. During the Tenebrae service, I contemplate this reality.

My mind returns to my 2023 pilgrimage to Israel, where my group prayed in that exact pit. Experiencing even a fraction of the darkness and confinement that Jesus endured left a lasting impression. Together, we prayed Psalm 88 there, the only psalm in the Bible that does not end on a happy note but rather ends with the words “my only companion is darkness.”

On Holy Thursday, I often reflect on how Jesus must have felt: tired, hungry, in pain, alone, and filled with anxiety. I have known that feeling, lying awake at night, feeling alone, unable to stop my thoughts and worries long enough to fall asleep. The emptiness of feeling abandoned resonates deeply.

Good Friday — The Emptiness of Pain and Death

Good Friday is a day immersed in hours of prayer. I begin with the Stations of the Cross at my parish and remain there in prayer until the Good Friday liturgy in the afternoon. One of the most powerful moments of the day is the this liturgy. As the liturgy begins, the priests and deacons lie prostrate before the altar, a gesture of humility and total surrender in the mourning of Christ’s death.

There is a profound emptiness that accompanies death: the loss of someone we love, whether a family member, a friend, or when we recall the death of Christ. We experience a similar sense of loss in other ways, too: the end of a relationship, the loss of a job, or a trip that falls apart. There are moments in life when we know what it feels like to be lacking.

For me, the liturgy on Good Friday is a time when I feel a particular deficiency and desolation. I am only physically able to receive the Precious Blood at Communion, and Good Friday is the one day during the year that I cannot receive at all. Only Hosts reserved from the Mass of the Lord’s Supper the night before are distributed, so no matter how well-disposed I may be, I am unable to receive.

Watching others receive can be painful, but over time, I have come to see the beauty in that emptiness. On the most penitential day of the year, I unite my sense of emptiness and lack to the Lord on the Cross. As St. Paul writes, “I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ.” (Colossians 1:24) Christ is perfect, nothing is lacking in Him. But what is lacking is our participation. Good Friday is such a special time for me. It allows me to enter into that space of emptiness with Him and participate in dying to anything that is not of God, trusting in the Resurrection we know is coming. Each of us carries something that keeps us from full union with Christ. Good Friday is the perfect opportunity to surrender it.

Holy Saturday — The Stillness

As I enter into Holy Saturday, there is a sense of silence and stillness. Christ has died and has been buried. Now, we hold our breath awaiting the Resurrection. This day always feels unsettling to me. Anyone who has lost a loved one has experienced the feeling of grief while the rest of the world continues to move. You feel stuck, frozen in time, still mourning, yet life continues.

I notice a similar feeling on Holy Saturday. The world carries on with daily life as though the events of the last few days never happened. I notice some people skip over Holy Saturday, focusing instead on the busyness of preparing food or Easter baskets for Sunday. I find myself wanting to cry out, “Don’t you know our Lord has died?!” Holy Saturday is an invitation to sit with the silence, to pray and reflect upon all that Lent has revealed, and to remain open to enter into the emptiness with Him, so that we may more fully embrace the joy of Easter.

Easter — The Joy of Seeing Christ Again

When Easter Sunday finally arrives — whether I attend the Vigil Mass or one of the Masses during the day — I enter it with joy. The emptiness that once brought sorrow now brings rejoicing. I reflect on the joy of the Apostles and other disciples as they see the tomb is empty, not because Christ is gone but because He is risen!

Over the last few years, I can see parallels of this to experiences in my own life. When churches closed during the Covid-19 quarantine in 2020, I felt lost, as many did. I had been attending daily Mass and adoration, and suddenly I had access to nothing. Livestreamed Mass and prayer at home were not the same. At the time, I was living with my non-Catholic father and stepmother, which made prayer time much more difficult. Even when churches slowly reopened, I did not have the ability to get to Mass or receive Communion.

Then, in August of 2020, I moved for a new job and was finally able to attend Mass again. The priest was accommodating and worked with that local diocese to provide a separate chalice for me. I remember crying as I received Holy Communion for the first time in months, overwhelmed with gratitude and joy. I had missed my Lord. In that moment, I caught a glimpse of the joy the Apostles and disciples must have felt when they saw Jesus again, alive and risen.

We worship a God who is alive, is always with us, and who is even more joyful to see us than we are to see Him!

An Opportunity to Journey with Christ

The Triduum offers us an opportunity to walk with the Lord. It’s a journey from emptiness to fullness of life. He is with us in the empty tabernacle of Holy Thursday, in the pain and death of Good Friday, in the quiet and stillness of Holy Saturday, and in the radiant joy of the empty tomb and the resurrection on Easter Sunday.

Walk this journey with Him. He will not abandon you.