We welcomed them on the morning of the great Easter Vigil as we gathered to decorate the Church. Concealed in tall paper bags that carpeted the floor ─ bursting open with just the flick of a hand.
Their petals were closed in a quiet sleep; much like infants unaware of their surroundings; and they offered no resistance as we shifted them about─ bearing our moves patiently, until we settled them into perfection.
Grouped by height, fullness and posture, the lilies stood steeped in the breadth of our faith – adorning the tabernacle, altars and ambo; gracing the baptismal font like the woman at the well.
Within a few hours, our church was transformed ─ from the agony of Gethsemane to the hope of a new Eden. Yet the lilies had no knowledge of the majesty to come – the glory of the Great Alleluia …
Together they welcomed Him, hand in hand with the faithful, who came rejoicing and clothed in their favorite and finest. Yet they deferred their own beauty to the Risen Christ, blooming days after His Resurrection.
I can only imagine how many prayers they heard during their weeks at the foot of the cross. Through the days of witness and the hours of darkness when only the church bells could speak.
Did they feel the brush of the angels as they surrounded the altar at the moment of consecration? Or gasp in awe at the Lord coming down from Heaven – the Son transfigured – into the hands of the priest.
They watched us receive Him, alive in the bread; the Creator of the universe – from folded hands to tongue. Lined up in rows, like two rivers of hearts; each at various junctures of their journey.
They saw the lonely at peace in the quiet church, when lights were low and the sun’s glares had diminished. They heard the melodies of children playing outside the school; their voices like jubilant bands.
They learned our Lady’s Rosary recited from the heart, each morning by those who love her – the Gospels etched into every meditation and mirrored in the stained-glass windows.
Through the daily readings the scriptures came alive, woven by our responses to the poetry of the psalms – followed by preaching, deep in the Word – heartfelt and truthful with a challenge to love more.
The Church was built by the blood of the martyrs, yet the fragrance of the lilies temps us to sleep. But their time is short and their beauty fleeting, a sobering reminder of not knowing “the day or the hour”.
Still, was it the weight of nature, or the weight of sin, that caused them to stoop in posture? Carrying burdens meant only for the Lord – instinctively reflecting His sorrow.
We said goodbye to the lilies after the fullness of our “hello”, with the promise of a new birth through re-planting. We’ll meet them again when their bulbs pierce the earth; greeting each other with an everlasting alleluia.
