The Passion and the WC

We have been living in Switzerland for over a month now and are starting to get more comfortable with our daily activities and our home. Our sea shipment just arrived, so we have been united with our furniture, pictures, and other belongings.

We are also settling in with our new Church community. We attend a parish that offers the only English-speaking Mass in Bern, Switzerland. The parish has not had a pastor for the last two years, so the Church community has a different priest to celebrate Mass weekly. All of that to say, for me, this has been a Lenten season void of the Christian community I have been accustomed to in the States. As a result, I was looking forward to Holy Week, the high point of our Christian faith, starting with Palm Sunday.

Palm Sunday for Catholics is one of the most extended Masses of the liturgical year, yet one of the most powerful, as we not only listen to the Lord’s Passion, we take part in it.

Immersing ourselves in the Lord’s Passion brings up all kinds of emotions. Although we play the role of the crowd as we retell the story within Mass, I can relate to so many of the characters involved. Judas betrays Jesus, Peter, who denies our Lord, the vengeance and anger of the high priests, the elders, and the scribes, and even the blindness of Pilate. Raw emotions usually overflow within me as I feel all sorts of unworthiness and need for a Savior.

As we got to the church (after running down the hill from our house to the tram station), I should have known that my deep yearning to be close to Jesus would not go as planned. I heard a different voice as I knelt and tried to quiet my soul to listen to what God might say to me on this day. It was the voice of my seven-year-old son calling into my right ear, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy….”

I tried to ignore it and concentrate on the Lord, thinking that if my son saw me kneeling with my eyes closed, he would know that I was kind of in the middle of something. Instead, the rapidity and intensity of the calling picked up. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.” Finally, I gave in, turned to him, and asked what he needed. He responded, ” Is today Palm Sunday?”

Usually, this would be a great question, but since we talked about it 58 times leading up to today and 34 times just on the tram ride coming into Bern, the question didn’t seem that cute to me.

The first reading was proclaimed, followed by the Psalm and the second. According to the Gospel of Mark, we were ready for the Passion. We stood and prepared to begin.

At this point, everything was going as planned. My two boys were content as my wife, Amy, and I followed along together. I even got to shut my eyes for a good portion as I began to immerse myself in the story, allowing my life and emotions to be immersed in it.

Then, just as Jesus was nailed to the cross, just as He was asking the Father why He had forsaken Him, just as we were about to kneel, like Mary, at the foot of the cross as Jesus breathed His last breath…I heard that voice again.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, I have to go potty!!”

The emotions of the moment are broken, and the connection to the death of Jesus on the cross vanishes.

Or did it.

Without a doubt, becoming a parent is the ultimate death experience, for it is no longer what I want but what my children need at that moment. For example, today, I wanted to be silent with my Lord and be in that place of contemplation that I have missed and longed for since moving to a foreign country. Instead, my seven-year-old son asks me to take him to the “potty.”

Thank you, Lord, for speaking to me today through my son. Thank you for reminding me that the whole point of the Lord’s Passion is sacrifice.

I went to church today because I wanted to be close to the Lord during His Passion, and I might have accomplished this at the WC.

(By the way, WC stands for “Water Closet,” in other words, toilet.)