Good Friday. The two challenging kids who are usually in school were home. I was scheduled for a night shift. I was dreading the anticipated lost sleep that night, and wondering how I was going to get through the next week with all my little kids home, my oldest home, and my two big girls away visiting family friends.

The local monthly Gong Lab was Good Friday, and I wanted to go. The Gong Lab is a very real laying down of self, which sounded perfect for Easter weekend. But the Chaplain had a Good Friday service to play at church. We didn’t know when he’d get home. And going to the Gong Lab would seriously cut into the amount of sleep I’d be able to get before going into work.

By the end of the day, though, I knew I needed to go. I was overstimulated and I knew the Gong Lab could help.

I offered my big girls money to make sure everyone got to bed OK (which they do well, one of a thousand reasons I am missing them this week). On the drive to the Pilates studio where the Gong Lab is held, the Chaplain called me to let me know he was on his way home, meaning I could fully immerse myself in the experience since he’d be on duty.

I got there ten minutes before it was supposed to start, and there weren’t any spots in the parking lot. I had to park next door and walk over. Inside, every spot was taken except for one mat at the very back corner of the studio. It has never been that crowded. As I settled in, I wondered if the Gong Lab would even WORK on me from that far away.

The Gong Brothers started as they always do with a reflection and an intention. They mentioned that they had a special gong there that night – it was the one directly in front of me in my out-of-the-way corner. They talked about the promise of spring,  going without during Lent, and Resurrection. I was surprised; the Gong Lab is religious for me because of my own intention, but the reflections at the beginning, while meaningful, tend to be secular.

This concept of dying to self keeps coming up. I am beginning to understand what it means, but as with so many things, I’m not very good at it. I went into the experience with that symbolism of death and resurrection on my mind.

Afterward, one of the other participants said that the Gong Lab was particularly visual that time. It always surprises me when someone else has a similar reaction to the experience. She mentioned colors, which didn’t happen for me, but it was fully visually immersive in a way that it hasn’t been recently. I definitely could distinguish the new gong. With my eyes closed, I flashed through different scenes. The one that sticks out most vividly is riding on the back of a white sport motorcycle in a florescently lit underground tunnel. We were flying and I wasn’t afraid. I don’t know who was driving; the driver was wearing a helmet and black and white riding gear and it was impossible to see through the tinted face screen even when the person glanced back at me as we spun out on a turn.

My ego dissolved for just a moment before it clamped back on again. I’m hoping through meditation and practice I might get a little better at letting that happen. At another moment, I realized I didn’t know who I was. I had a timeless breath where I hovered unafraid in the Not Knowing, then I remembered my name.

That kind of experience could seem wrong or frightening. Honestly, I spent the first part of my life getting so attached to who I thought I was and things being perfect and being right, that letting myself turn off and let go as a practice is a really important way of remembering Who is in charge.

After the Gong Lab was over, I quietly slipped out. I didn’t want to talk or ruin the quiet in my spirit. I was surprised by the tension in the Chaplain’s energy when I got home – I tried to quietly encourage him to let go of some of it without losing my own cool so we could enjoy a quiet moment together. Easter weekend is tough for him – he plays services for four days straight while working full time and has very little downtime to decompress in between. It was a valuable coin flip for me – the Chaplain has often been the one trying to keep his cool while I’m anxious and spinning out.

I didn’t get much sleep before I had to leave for work, but was a good shift. It’s interesting how you go to the hospital as a nurse to help your patients and often through their spirit or their attitude, they end up ministering to you in some way. I gave report in the morning to the impassive nurse who appears perpetually annoyed (there are several of these no-nonsense ladies on my floor). Since she basically never smiles in my presence, nor have I seen her be effusive with anyone else, it’s easy not to take her perturbed expression personally.

I woke up from sleeping off the night shift with two hours before it was time to leave for the Saturday service at church when I’d be confirmed. The kids were staying home since the service started at bedtime.

I’d gone to first Reconciliation earlier that week in preparation for Confirmation.

We don’t need a go-between to confess our sins. But I have a real appreciation for the kind of in-person accountability you get from confessing to another human being. There’s also a thing that I believe some of us just have that while private confession is OK, we still tend to carry our sin with us long after we’ve confessed it in prayer. With reconciliation, I left some things behind for the first time.

As I drove to church alone that Saturday night, the sun was setting. The sky was grey, white, and gold with purple. The sun went down in a blaze of Easter colors.

When I arrived at the church, the lights were out. I was given a candle as I walked in to the quiet sanctuary.

I sat nervously in my place in the front row, alone. I meditated in silence for a little while, and briefly convened with the Deacon who had led my RCIA class about how the service was going to go. I’d had Two copy my lines onto an index card. I didn’t know it then, but both of the others from the Team of Three were also in the congregation that night.

A group of us went outside at the beginning of the service as the palms from the previous Sunday were burned in a grill. The wind was kicking up and the flames were fierce. Another parishioner told me that the resulting ashes would be used for next year’s Ash Wednesday service. The Paschal Candle was lit, and we headed back inside, singing as we went. Gradually we passed the firelight around until all the candles were lit.

The beginning of the service was completely different from a regular Mass, with extra scripture and singing. I think I’ve been to one Mass without kids since I started attending church with the Chaplain after we got married. I didn’t know how to focus on the service without any distractions, and I had trouble staying present.

Next was my part. We went back by the Baptismal Font and the priest did a remembrance of our Baptism, and then gently sprayed the members of the church with water from a bowl as we walked back up to the front. It’s such an immersive experience and really meaningful. You only get baptized once, but water spraying on your clothes (and glasses) is a hard-to-ignore reminder of that ritual.

When I was confirmed, I had tunnel vision. I don’t do well as the center of attention, and I couldn’t even turn to look at the rest of the congregation as the ceremony took place. I was annointed with oil and the priest laid hands on me, while the Chaplain had his hand on my shoulder. Somehow I got back to my seat.

Communion was another blur. I was the first one to go forward and the only thing I could think was, at least I’ll be the first person to drink out of the common cup that is used to distribute the wine.

After the service, a number of people I know greeted me, with varying degrees of understanding of what had taken place. I’ve been a Christian for a long time. This wasn’t a conversion so much as a lateral move that reflects a change in the way I view my faith. It’s taken place over a number of years and certainly wasn’t just represented by the moment in time when I was confirmed. That felt more like an official stamp on something that has already happened in my heart.

One woman approached me afterward and shared that she had members of her family who were Methodist and Anglican – that she had always understood that we were all worshiping the same God. I don’t know what led her to say that but I felt like she really understood what happened for me that night. I had felt alone many times during the process of RCIA and during the Confirmation service. I felt like she  understood that tension while understanding that the strain is created by the need for there to be Us and Them rather than We.

Sunday morning, the kids were unusually compliant with wearing nice clothes for church, and somewhat compliant for photos. The homily on Sunday morning was the same as it had been Saturday night, which took some of the pressure off. The baby was determined that I should not sing the hymns during Mass, and ripped and crumpled the program every time I tried to hold it up to see the words to the songs.

On the way home from Mass, I stopped at Stewarts for milk and glancing in the ice cream cooler on the way through the store, saw not one but TWO half gallons of my very favorite flavor of ice cream, Mounds of Coconut, which is a limited edition flavor that isn’t even in season right now. Needless to say, they now live in my freezer, where I can hopefully eat them before One realizes they are there.

That afternoon, the Chaplain left to take the big girls on the first leg of their journey to Virginia for vacation. He would be spending the night at my parents’ house on Long Island before heading back north early the next morning. I spent an afternoon alone with the Littles, then went to bed too late after watching American Idol separately but together with the Chaplain, texting and video chatting back and forth while we watched. In the dark, quiet house, I was finally able to fold the three baskets of laundry that had been waiting in the living room for me for most of the weekend while I watched Katy Perry throw her tentacles around.

My theme this past year has been surrender and acceptance. It now feels like it’s slowly changing to a theme of dying to self. In this, the Resurrection had particular meaning this year. It isn’t just for Christ to die, but also for us, to give up the things we think we need until there is nothing left but us and God. No opinions, no wants, no demands, just our spirit in communion with God.

 We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us! 1 Corinthians 13:12 The Message