Easter Vigil after Painful Holy Week

I'm ready for marathon singing at both the 9 and 11 a.m. Easter services this morning, but the Saturday night Vigil may be my new favorite service. 

This year, the Vigil came after a particularly tough Holy Week.  Monday, both the beloved dogs in my life received the diagnosis of inoperable cancerous tumors choking off the narrow tube at one end of the bladder.  For my Mia, prognosis is some months of health with palliative drugs to shrink the tumor; Mom's Sassy, nearly 13 years old, had complications.  I spent a few hours with her at an emergency hospital Monday night, and we had some hopes. 

But Good Friday, Sassy couldn't swallow her food or drink water, and, for once, she shied away from my affectionate stroking of her face; Mom said, "It's time."  Laura, Mom's Visiting Angel, was there with us, and everyone cooed and patted her as she fell asleep, then "fell asleep."

Saturday morning, Mom and I went out for breakfast as we have for six years, and walked slowly through the sunny town square.  When we opened the door to Mom's apartment, she called out with a smile, "Here, Sassy!"  That breaks my heart.  She had to relive the whole story, and it must happen now several times a day.

I had all that in mind when I suited up for the Easter Vigil.  The choir and clergy gathered with acolytes on our church's portico, incense scenting the clear, warm evening air.  The church was darkened. With a prayer, Father Daron blessed, prepared, and lit the Paschal candle that will be lit to start worship all year.  We entered, singing the chant, "The light of Christ / Thanks be to God," spreading light with hand-held candles. In the semi-dark, we reviewed our salvation history in chant and spoken word and collects.  All built to the Easter acclamation, full light, and music with brass.

Fr. Roger's sermon pointed out how this one service used to be the peak of the church year until around six hundred years ago.  It used to last all night.  The Vigil contains everything in our faith:  the movement from darkness to light, the salvation history, baptism (of a tiny infant, last night), renewal of our own baptismal vows to serve in the world, acclamation of resurrection, and eucharist with the final prayer to go out into the world to love and serve the Lord -- in peace.

That's how I feel now.  

Here are some favorite photos of Sassy in her last year:

And here's the photo I took of Mia, tears in my eyes, when the Dr. Egan said, "I'm sorry" and left to call a surgeon who might be able to give her a couple more years.