A Holy Week of Celebration

An Easter Restoration

Throughout the world this year, Christians celebrate the events of what was both the most monumental and the most memorable week in history. The last week in Christ's life encompasses both his most tragic and his most triumphant days. These days mark not only the last week in the Savior’s life but constitute one of the world's great dramas, one filled with both earthly and cosmic import. Holy Week is a full-hearted, full-spirited commemoration of the crowning events of Christ's life and mission. It is a time of sober reflection, quiet contemplation, and, ultimately, joyful celebration. During Holy Week, Christians renew their covenants with the Lord and refresh their devotion to him. It is the holiest season of the year, even more so than Christmas, because Christmas celebrates the promise of salvation whereas Holy Week celebrates its fulfillment.

Because our own Latter-day Saint faith tradition does not formally celebrate the events of Holy Week, with the exception of Easter, our family has often found ways of honoring these holy days. What follows are some of my most memorable experiences drawn from decades of devoted observance of Holy Week. I have learned that the events of Holy Week have had an impact both broad and deep; broad in the sense that all of Christianity celebrates this beautiful week together, and deep in the sense that I see the influence of Holy Week on the earliest events of the Restored Gospel. I hope to feel the depth and breadth of Christ's love in my heart each day of Holy Week.

Traditionally, our family has attended Good Friday services at other churches. When our children were young, we sang hymns and read from the gospels on Good Friday. One year we continued this tradition with the next generation when two of our young grandsons and their parents visited us on Good Friday. When the children asked why the day Jesus died was called “Good Friday,” we told them that in Middle English the word “good” also  meant “holy” and that what Jesus did for us on that day results in enormous good for all who believe in and follow him, including giving us hope that we can make our lives better by following his teachings.

Our Holy Week celebrations have always included generous time for listening to great sacred music. While our musical fare during this season is drawn from such works as Handel’s Messiah, Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis, Mozart’s Mass in C Minor, and a number of other major and minor sacred choral works, we are particularly drawn to Bach’s exquisite music, to his Passions (derived from passio, the Latin word for suffering) according to St. Matthew and St. John, his Holy Week cantatas, his Easter Oratorio, and his magnificent Mass in B Minor.  Bach’s Passions have the power to engage us deeply in the drama of Christ’s last mortal week. The ariosos, arias, recitatives, choruses, and chorales tell the story of Christ’s suffering with such dramatic and lyric pathos that we are imaginatively and emotionally drawn into  the profound events of his last epochal week. This is particularly true with the chorales which traditionally were sung by the congregation. 

Bach wrote these Passions for Holy Week services in the German Lutheran church, and in my experience no composer before or since has so completely captured the intense devotion and deep spiritual immersion it is possible to experience in the felt presence of Christ’s passion. As Professor Robert Greenberg of the San Francisco Conservatory of Music says, “Bach’s Passions demand engagement.” No composer has helped me feel the power of the resurrection more powerfully than Bach does in the B Minor Mass. The chorus of Et resurrexit, which follows the quiet, almost indiscernible last notes of the Crucifixus, explodes with such musical force that there is a powerful kinesthetic sensation that seems to symbolize Christ rising boldly from his tomb. As one of our Jewish friends who considers himself an atheist said, after listening to the B Minor Mass, “I don't believe in God, but if I did, that's what he would sound like!” To my mind, these works, too, constitute the music of Zion—certainly so in the scriptural meaning of that word—"the pure in heart.” I imagine that when heavenly beings attend services, this is among the musical offerings they hear!

During the time I served as bishop and for periods when my late wife Ruth served as ward choir director, we were  able to create special worship services on Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday and, on one occasion, on Good Friday. She prepared wonderful musical offerings for these occasions, including performances of cantatas, motets, and selections from Bach’s Christ lag in Todesbanden (“Christ Lay in Death’s Prison”), his Passions, and on several occasions his Easter Oratorio. These were glorious occasions for all present, and, surprisingly, they didn’t require extraordinary resources or talented musicians as much as a desire to celebrate the events of this season in as high and holy a way as possible. This season my wife, Gloria, and I attended the St. John’s Passion at St. Stephens Church in Belvedere, California, and marveled anew at Bach’s gift of memorializing Christ’s last week with such glorious music.

Some of my most memorable Holy Week devotions have taken place in other churches. Let me name just two. A number of years ago, I had the privilege of attending the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C., on Palm Sunday. It was a beautiful spring day. The landscapes were resplendent with the cherry blossoms that gossamer our nation’s capital during this season. Around the cathedral, tulips, daffodils, and crocuses were all in bloom. As we entered the cathedral we were all given pieces of palm branches, which have been used for centuries as symbols of joy and victory.

As the service began, the celebrant said, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord,” and the congregation answered, “Peace in heaven and glory in the highest.” There followed a reading of Christ’s entry into Jerusalem from Luke. The celebrant then said, “On this day Jesus Christ entered the holy city of Jerusalem in triumph and was proclaimed as King of Kings by those who spread their garments and branches of palm along his way. Let these branches be for us signs of his victory, and grant that we who bear them in his name may ever hail him as our King and follow him in the way that leads to eternal life.” To his benediction, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord,” the congregation, all holding our strands of palm on high, responded, “Hosanna in the highest.”

The music that day, which focused on Palm Sunday, included the following hymns: Procession of the Palms, All Glory, Laud, and Honor (the only hymn in the LDS hymnal specifically related to Palm Sunday), and the joyous spiritual Ride on!:

Ride on, king Jesus. No man can a-hinder me.

He died for you and he died for me 

He died to set poor sinners free. 

He died for the rich and He died for the poor. 

He ain’t come here to die no more.

After the hymn, the tone of the service shifted from joyful praise to somber contemplation as the darkening clouds of Holy Week began to gather. Now the words and music focused on Christ’s betrayal, trial, and crucifixion. The Passion from Luke’s gospel was read by those representing Jesus, Peter, the chief priest, Pilate, and witnesses. The congregation represented the crowd. Thus, those of us who earlier had shouted “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord,” were now shouting, “Away with this fellow! Release Barabbas for us!” and, “Crucify, crucify him!”

I confess that these last words were difficult for me to say, but say them I did, and as I did so, I instantly assayed the measure of my devotion to the Lord, wondering if I would have been among those who shouted him welcome the previous Sunday and then cried his death these few days later. It was a sober moment.

The service continued with the dean of Washington National Cathedral, delivering a sermon on the conflicting emotions between Palm Sunday and Good Friday, between the shouts of “Hosanna!” and “Crucify him!” Speaking of those ambivalent first disciples, he said, “We too are caught between the poles of devotion and disobedience, between praise and peccata, between wanting to welcome him into our lives and wanting also to crucify him.” I looked up at the carved wooden statue of Christ hanging high at the crossing of the cathedral and was filled with remorse for those things I had done to add to His sorrow. I joined my prayer with that of the dean, “Almighty God, we pray you graciously to behold this your family, for whom our Lord Jesus Christ was willing to be betrayed, and given into the hands of sinners, and to suffer death upon the cross.”

The service ended with the choir and congregation singing O Sacred Head, Sore Wounded (O Savior, Thou Who Wearest a Crown in the LDS hymnal). I was particularly moved by the third verse, which is different from the one in the LDS hymnal:

What language shall I borrow to thank thee, dearest friend,

for this thy dying sorrow, thy pity without end?

Oh, make me thine forever! And should I fainting be,

Lord, let me never, never, outlive my love for thee.

Needless to say, this was a fitting way to begin the celebration of Holy Week. The spirit of that service echoed throughout the week, and still echoes during times of reflection about my bond with Christ.

The second experience took place on Easter Sunday when my daughter Julianna and I attended services at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. It was a stunningly beautiful day, the sky a cerulean blue, the city sparkling like a giant dew-lit field lying below and beyond the cathedral itself, which sits on a hill. As we approached the cathedral, we were struck by how the stained-glass windows bejeweled its massive gray walls.

As we entered the cathedral, we passed a labyrinth floor patterned after the labyrinth at Chartres Cathedral. According to a pamphlet we picked up in the church, it represented “a symbolic diagram of the pilgrim journey” signifying the winding path to the center of the world, which is Christ. We took our seats and listened to the prelude music, organ renditions of Offertoire pour le Jour de Pâques (“Offertory for Easter Day”) by Jean-Francoise Dandrieu and Christ lag in Todesbanden (“Christ lay in Death’s Dark Prison”) by Bach.

A few moments of silence were followed by three raps at the giant bronze Doors of Paradise at the front of the cathedral (patterned after the famed doors by Lorenzo Ghiberti that hang on the Baptistry in Florence). The three raps startled me for a moment since I had heard three similar raps not long before at the veil in the Oakland Temple. I turned around to see the heavy doors swing open. Sunlight flooded the nave as the dean, chapter, and choir entered, singing the introit by Christopher Tye, accompanied by brass ensemble and timpani:

“O who shall roll away the stone,” 

the faithful women said; 

“the heavy stone that seals the tomb, 

and shuts us from our dead?”

But looking up, at dawn, they saw

the great stone rolled away,

And from the empty tomb a light

more dazzling than the day

The choir and congregation together sang, Christ the Lord Is Risen Today, with its repeated alleluias. Following scripture readings from the Old and New Testaments, William E. Swing, the Episcopal Bishop of California, delivered the sermon. He spoke of a recent murder in Johannesburg and of the murderer’s refusal to see his victims and their families as real people because he saw them as through a telescope.” He said, “It is hard to see humanity through a telescopic lens.” He then spoke of Paul’s inability to see Christ until he was “blinded by the resurrection” on the road to Damascus. He concluded his sermon by saying, “Easter has everything to do with a new way of seeing. The angel at the tomb said to the women, ‘Look!’ The last word was no word at all, but an empty tomb.”

In the Episcopal Church, Easter Sunday is a day of renewal of baptismal vows, so following the bishop’s sermon, all who wished to do so reaffirmed their denunciation of sin and recommitted themselves to Christ. This reaffirmation of our discipleship took the form of answers to a series of questions, including the following:

Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in
Christ?

I will, with God’s help.

Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself? 

I will, with God’s help.

Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?

I will, with God’s help.

May Almighty God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has given us a new birth by water and the Holy Spirit, and bestowed upon us the forgiveness of sins, keep us in eternal life by his grace, in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

As I listened to these questions and tried to answer them honestly, I felt a renewal of my own baptismal covenants in an expanded way; I felt anew the purifying waters of baptism wash over my soul. 

The service continued with the Eucharist or sacrament, additional musical numbers by the choir and congregation, the bishop’s blessing of the congregation, and, as we walked out into the spring sunshine, the organist playing Widor’s majestic Toccata.

I was filled with the Spirit during and after this service. My heart was full of praise. I felt like Joseph Smith who described his feeling after the First Vision, “My soul was filled with love and for many days I could rejoice with great Joy.”

I am aware of the fact that these were unusual Palm Sunday and Easter services and that they took place in churches with a professional clergy and many of the trappings of large, wealthy, urban churches. While the sublime drama of such services can be appealing, it isn’t necessary to celebrate Holy Week in such grand style. Some of my most memorable Holy Week experiences have taken place in simple, humble church services, including Latter-day Saint services where as Christians we gathered to center our lives on Christ and to renew our devotion to him. What is important for Latter-day Saints, I believe, is that we elevate the significance of Holy Week and expand and deepen our ways of expressing praise and devotion to our Lord during the season that marks his triumph over sin and death. 

The seeds of such worship exist both in the primitive church (where Christians celebrated Easter every Sunday, not just on the anniversary of Christ’s rising from the tomb) and in the first years of the Restoration. As I have observed elsewhere, we have several testimonies of Jesus’s resurrection that occur at the intersection of foundational moments in the history of the restored Church and the Easter season.¹ For example,  while we do not know the precise date of the First Vision, it is possible that it took place on Easter Sunday, April 2, 1820. Joseph records the time simply as “early in the spring” (JS—H 2:14). My reason for speculating that the Father and the Son chose this day to reveal themselves to the young Joseph is that sixteen years later when Christ appeared to Joseph and Oliver in the Kirtland Temple, April 3, 1836, it was Easter Sunday. 

That entire week, in fact, seems to have been a holy week, for on Sunday, March 27, Palm Sunday, Joseph dedicated the temple, and, at the conclusion of his dedicatory prayer, the congregation sang, “The Spirit of God like a Fire Is Burning.” They then partook of the sacrament. Joseph recorded, “We sealed the proceeding of the day by shouting hosana to God and the Lamb 3 times sealing it each time with Amen, Amen, and Amen.” Although Joseph does not so indicate, this is the shout given by those who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem on the first Palm Sunday. The following Tuesday and Wednesday of that week in Kirtland witnessed the ceremony of washing of feet, an ordinance in similitude of the washing that Jesus offered his disciples at the Last Supper. On this same Wednesday, according to Joseph, “the Savior made his appearance to some, while angels ministered unto others, and it was a penticost and enduement indeed.” Maundy or Holy Thursday was another ceremonious day in the temple, but the historical record is silent as to whether Good Friday and Holy Saturday were celebrated in any particular manner. Easter Sunday, however, witnessed  a series of remarkable spiritual manifestations, including the appearance of Moses, Elias, and Elijah. The most glorious vision was of the resurrected Christ, who stood “upon the breastwork of the pulpit, before us; and under his feet was a paved work of pure gold, in color like amber. His eyes were as a flame of fire; the hair of his head was like the pure snow; his countenance shone above the brightness of the sun; and his voice was as the sound of the rushing of great waters” (Doctrine & Covenants 110:2-3).

Since, as Latter-day Saints believe, the Restoration is an ongoing dynamic through which new revelation awaits our spiritual preparation and yearning, contemplating the events of the last days of the mortal life of the Savior and appreciating the reverberations of that Holy Week in our own history and in the lives of our fellow Christians can nurture the seeds of such spiritual preparation and yearning. If we nurture those seeds with faith and love, they will, I believe, flower as blessed revelations and celebrations each Eastertide as we open our lives to the profound riches of this week that have such power to expand our souls and imparadise our hearts.

Youtube playlist with all referenced songs.

1. Robert A. Rees, “Why Mormons Should Celebrate Holy Week,” Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought (37:3, 151-167); https://www.dialoguejournal.com/wp-content/uploads/sbi/articles/Dialogue_V37N03_161.pdf. Some of the material quoted above can be found in this article.