Holy Week in Jerusalem
Commemorating the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus where it happened
Father Greg Friedman Comments Off on Holy Week in Jerusalem
During Holy Week, Christians the world over turn their gaze to Jerusalem. For two millennia pilgrims have come to walk the Way of the Cross, touch the rock of Calvary and venerate Christ’s empty tomb.
In 2014 I was fortunate to spend Holy Week there on sabbatical. As a Franciscan, I was an “insider” at liturgies and shared a tradition dating from the 14th century when we friars were given “custody” of the holy places by the pope.
Holy Week rituals in Jerusalem often differ from the familiar liturgies in the rest of the Church. History and tradition dictate their unique shape. The long-standing agreement called the “Status Quo” (see sidebar) regulates how various Christian communities observe Holy Week, especially in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
Latin-rite Catholics — the Franciscans of the Custody of the Holy Land and the diocesan clergy of Jerusalem — jointly celebrate the major liturgies. The presider for these is the Latin patriarch, the archbishop of Jerusalem. But by tradition, the friars escort him in procession from his residence and through the city to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
The Franciscans have a historic “pride of place” as “custodians” of the Holy Land shrines. The “custos” (major superior for the Holy Land friars) or his delegate may also preside at certain Holy Week liturgies unique to the Franciscans. In 2014, the custos was Father Pierbattista Pizzaballa, OFM, who now serves as the Latin Patriarch, having succeeded His Beatitude Fouad Twal, patriarch until 2016, who presided at the main Holy Week liturgies I attended in 2014.
A team of friar-sacristans resides in the church year-round to serve pilgrims. Friar-students assist at the liturgies. The friars also celebrate traditional Holy Week liturgies of their own at churches around Jerusalem.
As a guest in the custody headquarters, St. Savior’s Monastery, I discovered that I needed to consult nearly five feet of typed pages on the house bulletin board! Instructions in Italian spelled out times for meals, departures for services, etc. It was up to me to find time for sleep.
What follows is a personal diary of sorts, kept during Holy Week 2014, when I joined my fellow Franciscans to commemorate the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus.
Palm Sunday Morning
Just before 7 a.m. we leave St. Savior’s to bring the Latin patriarch of Jerusalem through Jerusalem’s streets to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The procession is led by the kawas (Turkish for “law”). In traditional garb, including a fez, they are part usher, part traffic cop. As we walk, they strike the ground with large batons, signaling our approach. Jerusalem’s intense security requires daily close coordination with Israeli police.
After a solemn entry into the church, the patriarch vests and begins the liturgy, blessing and distributing palms. We make the first of many of this week’s processions within the great rotunda called the Anastasis (“Resurrection”), around the Edicule — the shrine containing remnants of the Tomb of Jesus. We circle it three times, shaking large palm fronds with a rattling sound that blends with the ululating warble of Palestinian Catholics.
One walks on the sacred stones of this church with great care. They are uneven and often slippery. Whether carrying a palm branch or a dripping candle, holding a program while singing an ancient chant, I also eyeball the masters of ceremonies. They direct the ritual traffic and won’t hesitate to pull or push an ignorant concelebrant into line!
After the procession, the Palm Sunday Mass continues near the tomb, at the altar of the apparition of the risen Jesus to Mary Magdalene. Three friars chant the Passion, trying to make themselves heard amidst overlapping liturgies. This year, the Latin and Orthodox calendars coincide — we occasionally hear chanting by the other Christian communities.
Holy Week has formally begun.
Palm Sunday Afternoon Procession
Since the fourth century Christians carry palm fronds and olive branches to commemorate Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem. At 2:30 p.m., a huge crowd assembles at the Franciscan sanctuary in the village of Bethpage, on the eastern slope of the Mount of Olives, the starting point of the Palm Sunday procession.
Some have already begun processing — some 10,000 people will take part. We friars walk ahead of the religious dignitaries — the Latin patriarch, papal nuncio, and the head of the Franciscans of the Holy Land, “Father Custos.” The procession descends the Mount of Olives, following the often-steep street. It skirts the huge Jewish cemetery, passes the Dominus Flevit Church (where Jesus wept over Jerusalem). Reaching the Garden of Gethsemane, pilgrims cross the Kidron Valley and climb up to the Lion’s (or St. Stephen’s) Gate in the city walls. The whole experience takes over three hours.
Young friar-musicians with a portable PA sing in various languages. At times, we break into an impromptu conga line! It is very Franciscan, full of joy.
In the courtyard of St. Anne Church, the patriarch tells the huge crowd: “We have spent the afternoon walking at Jesus’ side. … As we begin Holy Week, we pray that we can remain faithful to Christ and not give in to despair.” After the final blessing, the Scouts of Jerusalem take up their pipes and drums to conclude this Palm Sunday tradition.
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HOLY LAND PILGRIMAGES
The Holy Land Franciscans have been living, working and guiding pilgrims in the Holy Land for 800 years. Because their mission is to also nourish the lives of Christians who live there, by taking a nonprofit Franciscan Holy Land pilgrimage you ensure that your trip will also support and nurture Christians struggling to survive in the Holy Land region. For more information, visit holylandpilgrimages.org.
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Monday-Wednesday of Holy Week
On these days, we attend Mass at several Franciscan churches across the city. The Passion is chanted at Mass on Tuesday and Wednesday (a custom no longer observed elsewhere in the Roman rite).
In the Old City, Israelis and Palestinians go about their daily business. Israeli Jews have been joined by faithful from around the world for Passover at the same time as the swelling number of Christian pilgrims. I also am struck by Palestinian Catholics — local parishioners, young and old, who witness their faith under difficult conditions.
Pope Francis invites us to ask, “Who am I?” in the stories of Holy Week. Perhaps I find something of myself in all the characters — good and bad. My cross is the distracting crowds brandishing cellphones, iPads and cameras. Why must they record seemingly every moment of the liturgies? Of course, I spend more time complaining about them than praying.
Holy Thursday
At 6:45 a.m., “Paschal (Easter) Triduum” begins! The Status Quo assigns this hour for the “evening” Mass of the Last Supper. We process into the Parvis, the courtyard in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, crowded with security barriers, Israeli police and journalists with video cameras.
Inside, the rituals of Holy Thursday unfold: Scriptures about the Passover and the Last Supper, washing of feet, the clergy’s renewal of their promises, blessing and consecration of holy oils and, of course, the Eucharist itself.
Why isn’t Holy Thursday’s Eucharist celebrated in the Cenacle, the traditional site of the Upper Room? A friar explains: “The Franciscans chose to celebrate in the Holy Sepulchre because Holy Thursday is not a costume play that mimics Christ’s Last Supper in the Upper Room. No, it has a much stronger meaning: It is a finger pointing to the Paschal Mystery, to Calvary. By our presence, we make present what Christ wanted to indicate to his friends.”
As the liturgy concludes, the Blessed Sacrament is placed in the Edicule, the shrine over the tomb, “reposed” for adoration on Good Friday. We friars may enter and briefly venerate the Blessed Sacrament at Jesus’ burial place. I can’t help but be overwhelmed as I enter this most sacred space.
Late in the day, we do visit the Cenacle — friars only — across the city. In the Upper Room (under the care of the Israeli government) there is indeed no Eucharist; rather, Father Custos washes the feet of 12 parish children who will soon be confirmed — surrounded by families who jam the small space.
On the way home, the friars pay a “courtesy call” at the Armenians’ St. James Monastery. This ancient tradition reminds us how the Armenians sheltered us when we were expelled from the Cenacle by the Ottomans in the 16th century.
Evening at the Garden of Gethsemane
As night falls, pilgrims stream to the Church of the Nations, adjacent to the Garden of Gethsemane, to watch with Christ in a solemn Franciscan Holy Hour recalling his agony in the garden.
The church is packed with the faithful — and is unbearably hot. I process with the other friars to the “Stone of the Agony” before the altar, kneel to kiss it, and then quickly exit through a side door into the cool night. I can follow the vigil outside, occasionally catching a glimpse of a huge video screen in front of the church.
I choose to wander a bit in the Garden of Gethsemane, where I made a retreat earlier in the month. Among the olive trees I imagine Jesus, with his disciples praying — or dozing — here.
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Keeping the Keys
Since the 13th century, the key to the Holy Sepulchre and the privilege of opening its doors has been entrusted to two Muslim families of Jerusalem — the Judeh family (key holders) and the Nusseibeh family (doorkeepers). On Holy Thursday, the Status Quo allows the Franciscans to take possession of the key for a brief period of time. In a tradition-laden ceremony, representatives of the two families come to St. Savior’s Friary, where they share coffee with a Franciscan official in a sign of good relations and respect between the Christians and Muslims.
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Inside the church, Father Custos scatters rose petals on the stone where Jesus sweated drops of blood while he prayed. Readings, prayers and hymns spill from the crowded church. At the end of the ceremony, pilgrims venerate the stone and collect a few petals.
As some of us return to St. Savior’s Friary, candles are being distributed for one more event — a torchlight procession by Palestinian parishioners to the Church of St. Peter in Gallicantu, where Peter’s denial is commemorated.
Good Friday
At 7 a.m. in front of the Holy Sepulchre, a friar announces, “The doors will remain open for only a few minutes for those who wish to take part in the service.” With the Latin patriarch in tow, we enter before the doors are shut and ascend Calvary for the Liturgy of the Lord’s Passion in the Franciscan Chapel. The small space fills quickly with friars and clergy, a small choir and the few faithful who manage to squeeze in.
Under the mosaic-covered ceiling, the Passion according to John is chanted in the traditional Latin, except for the Turba (“Crowd”) parts, sung in lovely, multi-part harmonies by the choir.
I suddenly am aware that I am at the very spot where Jesus died. Despite distractions, the simplicity of the Good Friday liturgy helps me focus on the mystery, as we kneel and venerate the relic of the Holy Cross.
While the Passion was proclaimed on Calvary, Jerusalem’s streets filled with pilgrims walking the Via Dolorosa. One sees the diverse cultural dress and hears a “Pentecost-mix of tongues.” Israeli police are everywhere to forestall violence.
Around noon, the Franciscans, carrying a portable speaker, lead their Way of the Cross to each of the traditional Fourteen Stations. We pray and sing in multiple languages, winding through streets and marketplaces. People squeeze past us, indifferent to our devotion. The procession stretches until it seems to disperse, then regroups. It snakes up and down the steep and slippery stones, until it finally turns and climbs to the Ninth Atation atop the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, then down past the Coptic chapels, into the packed Parvis, to enter and climb to Calvary for its conclusion.
I later reflect, Was it like this when Jesus was led to Calvary? Did many of the crowds even know who he was? Did most inhabitants simply go about their daily business, oblivious to what was taking place?
The Franciscan Burial Service of Jesus
This evening the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is full for the traditional “Funeral Procession” of Jesus, a simple, intimate Franciscan service. We process around the church to places marking events in the Passion, repeating the Latin chant Parce Domine. Readings from the Passion narratives are interspersed throughout. A cross — with a removable corpus — is carried to the Greek chapel on Calvary over the rock of the crucifixion — a privilege of the Status Quo.
Deacons vested in black remove the corpus from the cross. With great ceremony, they hold up each nail and the crown of thorns for veneration. The corpus is wrapped and carried to the Stone of Anointing, below Calvary near the church entrance. There, Father Custos anoints the corpus with perfume and incense, and it is “entombed” inside the Edicule. There is a homily in Arabic.
The crowd edges close, trying to touch the corpus. The Franciscans are accustomed to such excesses of piety. “That’s how it is; this is the Holy Sepulcher. There has to be life here; if not here, then there isn’t life anywhere,” comments one of the friar-sacristans who has just chided some pilgrims who were standing atop one of the security barriers.
After the service concludes, the deacons offer incense grains and perfume to the faithful. I make my way out into the April night, my palms carrying the sweetness of the perfume. Back at St. Savior’s, Father Custos says to me, “This was probably a bit strange for you.” I reply that — in fact — this intimate ritual has moved me deeply.
Holy Saturday
Dawn has barely broken as the friars again escort the Latin patriarch to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. According to the Status Quo, the Latin-rite Catholics celebrate the Easter Vigil at this hour. (Catholics “of a certain age” will remember how, before the reforms of Pope Pius XII, the whole Western Church celebrated the “night” of the Easter Vigil in the morning!)
It is serene in the nearly empty church. For now, there are few tourists or pilgrims. The Easter fire is kindled at the Stone of Anointing. We take light from the paschal candle and listen to the Exsultet. It is odd to hear “This is the night” sung at this early morning hour. The vigil readings and prayers follow, then the atmosphere is shattered by a long, low, discordant chord on the organ, which heralds the familiar Latin chant of the Easter Gloria!
As we celebrate the Eucharist across from the tomb, Orthodox Christians begin to arrive, anticipating the celebration of the “Holy Fire” later today. Focusing on the liturgy again becomes difficult as the noisy crowd presses around us with cameras held high. But we are here to celebrate Resurrection at the place where faith and tradition tell us it happened. During it all, one finds moments of grace.
The Latin Easter liturgy ends with a procession and Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus” resounding throughout the basilica. Easter greetings can now be given:
Christos Aneste! — “Christ is risen.”
Al masih qaam — “Christ is risen.”
Hakan qaam — “He is truly risen.”
Late in the evening, the Franciscans return for a nighttime service of readings, a quieter time to meditate on the mystery of the Resurrection.
Easter Sunday Morning
Faithful from around the world arrive at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre for Easter Sunday Eucharist. A large number of priests have tickets to concelebrate with the Latin patriarch at an altar erected in front of the Edicule. Earlier, four successive Masses were celebrated inside the tomb.
One final procession around the Edicule closes the three-hour service. Franciscans, secular clergy and seminarians escort the patriarch, pausing four times to proclaim the Gospel resurrection stories.
After the final benediction, the patriarch receives the consuls general of Italy, France, Belgium and Spain — traditional “protectors” of the Catholic communities in the Holy Land. A weary and happy community of friars returns home for a festive Easter meal.
‘Go to Galilee’
Pilgrims who have come to Jerusalem to answer the invitation: “Come and see the place where he was laid. He is risen, he is not here,” return home. At the empty tomb, they heard the angel tell the faithful women, “He goes before you into Galilee.”
All of us, as Pope Francis has said, must find “a ‘Galilee’ at the origin of our journey with Jesus … the experience of a personal encounter with Jesus Christ. … It is returning to our first love, in order to receive the fire which Jesus has kindled in the world and to bring that fire to all people, to the very ends of the earth. Go back to Galilee, without fear!”
FATHER GREG FRIEDMAN is a Franciscan priest in New Mexico. He serves in the administration of his province and his Sunday Scripture reflections can be found at www.usccb.org. This article originally appeared in a different form in The Holy Land Review.
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The ‘Status Quo’
In the mid-19th century, the Ottoman Empire first codified the use of Jerusalem’s Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Bethlehem’s Basilica of the Nativity and other shrines with the “Status Quo.” This unwritten “collection of historical traditions and influences, of rules and laws [establishes] the relations, activities and movements” (see www.custodia.org/en/sanctuaries/holy-sepulchre) principally among the Greek Orthodox, Latin (Franciscans) and Armenian Orthodox Christians. Syrian, Coptic and Ethiopian Orthodox Christians also follow it. It governs each community’s proprietary space, shared common spaces and specifies times and places of public worship. To outsiders, the Status Quo appears archaic and cumbersome, but it enables the communities to coexist — despite occasional conflicts. Orthodox Christians calculate the date of Easter by the Julian calendar, while Western Christians use the Gregorian, yet in 2014 (as described here) the two groups celebrated Holy Week simultaneously — a relatively rare occurrence. Liturgies normally held weeks apart fell on identical days — prompting a delicate dance with the Status Quo — and the occasional overlapping of sights and sounds. To learn more about the history of this religious modus vivendi, I recommend “Saving the Holy Sepulchre: How Rival Christians Came Together to Rescue Their Holiest Shrine,” by Raymond Cohen (Oxford University Press, $39.95).
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