Before the Easter Vigil: the Orthodox Cathedral, Cluj.
In the United States, the Great Vigil of Easter is celebrated faithfully, at least in the churches Terri and I have served. Our Vigils are by turns solemn, prayerful and joyous. They are also elaborate and often very beautiful.
But, to be honest, they are not well-attended. Many churches do not celebrate it at all, and even among those that do, the Vigil is often a small thing, especially compared to the services of the following day. People know the service, but do not always love it.
Don’t ask me why. The Great Vigil is among my very favorite services of the Christian year. And why wouldn’t it be? We gather in darkness, like the women at the tomb, and we hear the story of God’s work in the world, reaching its climax in the good news of the Resurrection, that astonishing victory over death which is the foundation of the Christian faith. New Christians are washed in the water of new life. Worship is rarely more moving, more Biblical, or more tightly focused upon Jesus.
The English Ministry did not hold a Vigil this year. There aren’t many of us to begin with, and many, even most, were going to be out of town. Instead, I slipped out of the house to see what our neighbors were up to. I found quite a crowd milling outside the Orthodox cathedral — by midnight, it was probably a thousand people. Hundreds more streamed by me onto the sidewalk, as the organ postlude played at St. Michael’s.
But the most gripping moment, for me, was at the Greek Catholic cathedral on Eroilor. I had dropped in earlier, and seen the church packed to the rafters, as people stood in the dark, chanting. I left, and happened to pass by again later in the night, as the doors of the church burst open, and a procession came pouring out. (That’s what’s happening in the comically wretched photograph posted here).
Easter Vigil at the Greek Catholic Cathedral, Cluj
The crowd — perhaps 300 people? — gathered around a cluster of priests and seminarians. The story of the Resurrection was sung. Then the bishop chanted a series of prayers, each with the bold refrain, Hristos a înviat din morti. Even someone with my limited Romanian could recognize the words. Surrextit Christus. Christ is risen.
The people gathered there were old and young, even small children in their parents’ arms. Their faces were aglow not just with candlelight but with joy, as they listened to the story and let it touch their hearts. Then, slowly, they turned, and began their procession around the outside of the church — as if the story of the Resurrection had sentthem outward, together, to lighten the darkness of midnight.
This is clearly not a place where the Great Vigil has been forgotten. On the contrary, this is a place where the Vigil is loved, as it should be loved. It is celebrated with joy in many churches and in different languages. Next year, if God is kind, we will celebrate it in English as well. Whether there are many of us, or just a few, we will light our candles, too, and join our voices to those of the whole Christian world, as we announce the victory of life over death.
