Holy Thursday, Batman.

In case you didn't know, it's Holy Thursday today. Holy Thursday is kind of like the Christmas Eve of Good Friday, the saddest day in all the year for anyone who believes in Jesus. I am by no means a god-fearer, but something about this time of year really gets to me. I know a few wannabe Jewish folks, but not very many wannabe Anglicans. I may be one of the only ones. I blame my upbringing in Anglican choirs and my years spent at a quasi-Anglican college, and also the hymns. I am a sucker for a good hymn. I was in the chapel choir at Trinity College for a year, and while my attendance was spotty at best (Friday afternoon rehearsals? That's momma's drinkin' time.), the power of the music was the spiritual equivalent of a punch in the gut. I had no idea how many random feast days there were on the church calendar, how many incredibly particular songs were written for incredibly particular points in the year. Something about the detail and the devotion just really struck a chord with me. At the same time, though, I always felt a little weird and guilty about singing these songs that I'd never really believe in. I felt like an impostor.

Anyway, this time of year always gets me thinking about all those Lent hymns, the weeks of reflection and sadness leading up to the most horrible day of the year, followed by complete rebirth. I always think of the opening of The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot, another wannabe Anglican who actually followed through and converted. I love those first lines:

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory with desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

As lovely as springtime is, as much of a relief as it is to see the snow melt away, there's something vulnerable about this time of year. Coming out of hibernation is scary. You never know what you're going to find under that blanket of ice. Here's hoping for something amazing.

Happy Holy Thursday. I'll be celebrating by driving down the 401 with my fur baby crying in the back seat, listening to the entire Bob Dylan catalogue, and wishing I'd given up lone wolves and bad ideas for Lent.