The Eternal Now

Holy Thursday, April 1, 2021

Today is Holy Thursday, and tonight’s Mass is shaping up to be extraordinary. In his homily, Father J. tells the touching story of believers in Belarus who were in tears when after 60 years of not having seen a priest (because Stalin had killed all of them or shipped them off to the gulags), an American bishop visited them. They had been secretly reading the Scriptures and praying the Rosary—and since they didn’t have a priest, for years they had met at the grave of their slaughtered village priest.

Father J. starts crying himself as he tells the story. He says he still can’t believe how blessed he is to get to be a priest and to celebrate all these amazing Mysteries. He asks us, the parishioners, for forgiveness for his own flaws and those of other priests we have encountered in our lives.

His voice breaking, he says, “If you have been among those who have been mistreated or abused by a priest at any time in your life, I apologize for all of us. I am so, so sorry.”

I start crying too, as do most other people in the pews, watching this dear, sweet priest weep for the sins of his peers and the church leaders.

Later on, as part of the Holy Thursday ceremony, Father J. carves a cross into a large paschal candle and intones, “Christ yesterday and today, the beginning and the end, the Alpha and Omega. All time belongs to Him and all the ages; to Him, be glory and power, through every age and forever. Amen.”

All time belongs to Him and all the ages…

Fireworks in my brain and an epiphany so huge that it makes me dizzy. For the first time, I understand what the words “world without end” in the Glory Be mean.

There truly is no past or future—only the Eternal Now.

Only we earthlings experience linear time, the chronological passage of the years. In God’s world, there is no time. This is what eternity is. He sees all that has happened, is happening, and will ever happen from a 30,000-foot view.

To Him, it all is now, happening at the same time, without the veil that separates our today from our yesterdays and tomorrows. “History” itself is an illusion, a tool that lets us live in a somewhat orderly fashion.

My thoughts are racing. I numbly follow the procession out the door to the Crosby Center where we will make our next stop for the three-hour vigil with the Blessed Sacrament. We sit down on socially distanced chairs to pray in front of the Eucharist. I’m still slightly confused about the meaning of all of this when the worship team begins to sing softly. Stay here and keep watch with me; the hour has come. Stay here and keep watch with me; watch and pray.

Suddenly, I know. We’re here to keep watch with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. We’re the ones who will stay awake while the disciples are dozing off. We’re first-hand witnesses to the Passion of the Christ, outside of time and space. Tears stream down my face. I’ve told A. I’d be home early, but now there’s no way I can leave.

In the Eternal Now, Jesus is pacing in the Garden, agonizing over what will happen to him. In the Eternal Now, he is still dying on the Cross as we speak. In the Eternal Now, Pilate is still washing his hands, the crowds are still jeering, Mary is still wringing her hands at the sight of the pain and humiliation her only child has to endure.

I settle in to pray the Rosary and to meditate on the first Sorrowful Mystery, the Agony in the Garden. After a while, a foggy window opens, like a round hole in spacetime, giving me a crystal-clear view of the Garden. I realize I’m not just looking at the scene in the Garden… I’m actually there.

Jesus paces back and forth in a moonlit spot, praying, groaning, crying—being in such distress that he is sweating blood. It’s heartbreaking to watch.

I silently repeat, “Jesus, I’m here. I’m not sleeping. I’m keeping watch with you.”

He stops in his tracks and slowly turns around until he faces me.

I gasp.

He heard me.

HE SEES ME.

Right now, right here.

The Eternal Now. There is no barrier between us. His eyes hold my gaze. He knows I’m there.

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

When the Gospel speaks of the angel who joined Jesus in the Garden to console him in his greatest agony, could it really be all of us—the believers, removed from him by years, centuries, millennia, but also joined to him through the Eternal Now—who are keeping watch with him like I do at this moment? Is it really us consoling him?

Sobbing, I tell him to take heart. I tell him that he must go through with this, that he must suffer this unspeakable fate. I tell him it’s for the salvation of the entire world, that he’s our only hope. His eyes don’t stray from mine. He appears to listen intently. After a few minutes (of my time), the spacetime window closes and I’m back in the Crosby Center.

I stay, praying a full Rosary, until Father J. puts away the Eucharist and closes up with the Liturgy of the Hours. He hugs me and the only other woman left in the room, and we slowly and silently walk down the stairs to the exit.

What an experience—what a privilege to witness this pivotal moment. I feel so much closer to Jesus now than I’ve ever felt before.