Like Catholics around the world, I woke on Easter Monday and received with sadness the news of the Holy Father’s passing. But there was little time for reflection.
I came into the office very early that morning to prepare the notes that would be needed by clergy and liturgical leaders around the Archdiocese of Louisville as they responded to this news.
There are traditional decorations, devotions and liturgical celebrations to mark the death of a pope. The language of the Eucharistic Prayer changes. Special Masses are said. There are protocols for mourning.
I had drafted all of this information months ago. However, when I arrived at the office, some complications immediately became apparent.
The death of Pope Francis on Easter Monday presented a liturgical conundrum. The Octave of Easter is the eight days from Easter Sunday to Divine Mercy Sunday. In our liturgical calendar, all eight of these days are among the most important and most celebratory of the year. They carry the same significance as Christmas, Pentecost and the days of Holy Week. The feast of Easter extends throughout the Octave. Each day is like Sunday all over again.
There are particular Masses of the Dead that are customary upon learning of a pope’s death and other memorial Masses that should be celebrated during the time of mourning. They aren’t permitted during the Octave of Easter.
Here we were faced with a period of requisite mourning overlapping a period of requisite joy. Fasting and feasting. Tears and dancing. Do I wear black? Do I eat my Easter candy? Perhaps both at the same time? What’s a liturgist to do?
Instead of waiting a week to celebrate a traditional Mass of the Dead for Pope Francis, those of us planning the archdiocesan celebration decided to move forward and honor him within the liturgy of the day, festive as it was. We remembered him with Easter readings, Easter prayers, Easter decorations and Easter joy.
The contrast was at times jarring and perhaps not ideal. It was odd to see colorful floral arrangements alongside the traditional black bunting that marks the death of a pope. It was strange to sing so many “alleluias” with a heavy heart.
But, as so many of you know from your own experiences with loved ones, death rarely comes at a convenient time. As we prepare funerals, there are often birthdays and baby showers around the corner and holidays to plan.
Even now, as the church looks forward to celebrating the election of a new pope, our excitement does not replace grief; it coexists with it.
This mixture of emotions is in many ways typical of the human condition. We often feel a lot of ways at once.
All of this reminds us that the message of the Resurrection — Christ’s final victory over death — is particularly suited to bereavement, even if the tone seems incongruous. Rejoicing is often tempered with sorrow, and mourning usually finds a silver lining.
