Night’s dark soul stirs. Tiny chirps of life tug at its ear. Just the smallest candle-full of light peeks through its shadows. Dawn tiptoes in.
This is the balance-point of all time.
The Resurrection.
Friday tempted us to guilt—about his wounds, since our sins caused them. About his arms, still marked with terrible hurts. He uses them today to hold us, enfold us so well. His wounds know somehow the shape of our small selves. Mothering Christ.
The cantor at Easter Vigil sings:
O certe necessarium Adae peccatum
quod Christi morte deletum est!
O felix culpa,
quae talem ac tantum meruit habere Redemptorem!
Oh truly necessary sin of Adam,
blotted out by the death of Christ!
O blessed fault,
which won so great a redeemer!
Singing in praise of sin? Even though Christ’s death has taken their sin away, is it right to rejoice about sin? Original sin was not really a good or blessed event. Nor is our selfish penchant for misdeed.
Yet it is right to rejoice about such sin. Without it the reason for Christ’s coming would have been absent. With it, Christ’s wounded arms can sweep us up, comfort and absolve and hold us. We are blessed beyond words.
In its midst, night carries the promise of light. Sins carry in their revolt the pledge of forgiveness.
O vere beata nox,
in qua terrenis caelestia,
humanis divina iunguntur!
O truly blessed night,
in which earth is wedded to heaven,
and humans to God!
The light is coming. Look: several rows of people have their candles lit. Over there, several more. Soon half the church awakens to Christ’s gentle light. And quietly, the rest. Morning has eased their faces into daylight, into the soft, humble glow.
Christ became the night. Christ is the light.
Fr. John Foley, S. J.
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Latin texts are from the Exultet, an ancient chant sung during the Easter Vigil. It is traditionally sung by the deacon after the Paschal candle has been lit and the clergy have processed to the altar.
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