Preparing the Altar

Since my homeward journey from work has construction, I have been obligated to seek different routes over the past few weeks. Either as a result of the construction or simply how it always is, I find myself waiting in more traffic in parts of town with which I am not as familiar. One road with a bit of traffic has a few places where people often turn and so I try very hard to watch the lights and the movement of traffic in order to not be that person who annoyingly blocks intersections. I get a bit embarrassed when we wind up in completely stopped traffic and a person who could turn cannot because I’m blocking the route.

The other day it worked perfectly. The car next to me knew what they were doing and so when the light turned red, we held back and left plenty of space for vehicles in the opposing lane to turn through and carry on their way. It was nice to be next to a car that was completely stopped, not inching forward or worried that they might be a second delayed or inconvenienced. The light turned green and no cars had yet moved forward, but the car behind me honked and, when I glanced in my side mirror, gestured impatiently for me to go.

I felt a flash of anger. The injustice of being honked at–couldn’t they see that I was letting people through? I perhaps moved my arm upwards with a fling of annoyance. Then I accelerated and was no further behind the next car than if I had been inches from their bumper the entire time.

Once the anger passed, I kept wondering why the person was so impatient. The traffic was all still there. I wasn’t mindlessly on my phone. The second the light turns green doesn’t mean that the 5th or 6th car in line should expect to be moving. Why are we so impatient?

We don’t like to wait. We don’t want to feel like we are getting left behind. We don’t want to feel like our time is wasted or that progress could be made but isn’t. We don’t want to be pointlessly sitting at a light waiting for the people around us to get their act together. And I don’t think any of that is really that deep or profound or unknown.

Today, however, I was at Mass as we commemorated the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross and I experienced a moment of waiting that I hadn’t recognized before. After the homily, I was considering the various crosses in my life and attempting to surrender them to Jesus. Or to at least acknowledge them and continue to hope that Christ’s victory would someday be found in those very places. As I was praying, I noticed what was happening as the priest received the vessels from the server, unfolded the corporal, and poured drops of wine and water into the chalice.

We were waiting.

Several details are prepared prior to the start of the liturgy. Hosts are counted out, wine and water poured into the cruets, appropriately colored vestments are donned, and the lectionary is opened to the correct readings of the day. Many things are prepared ahead of time and yet, incorporated into the liturgy, is the preparation of the altar. Things which arguably could have been done earlier are completed during the liturgy.

As I watched it transpire today, I couldn’t miss the significance of waiting for the place of sacrifice to be prepared. It was an “unnecessary” waiting. And yet it seems to be intentionally included. Even liturgically, we are not permitted to just skip through efficiently, avoiding any delays or time for preparation. We sit still as the table is prepared before us. The bread is brought out and offered to the Father, followed by an offering of the wine. The greatest sacrifice is about to take place and we watch the simple rituals of preparation unfold.

It feels like the Lord has been preparing the altar of my life for far longer than is necessary. Yet as I gazed at that altar in the chapel, I was reminded of what happens after the waiting. Once all is set in place, the sacrifice occurs. It is a miracle so hidden we might miss it, but it is also a sacrifice so monumental it transcends space and time.

Our lives mirror this simplicity, too. The Lord prepares, tenderly and thoughtfully, the altars of our heart. He does not rush. He attends to each detail, unfurling the cloth, counting the drops which pour into the chalice, lifting up the gift which is to be offered. And He changes a simple, heartfelt offering into His very Self. It is earthshaking and beautiful and a true sacrifice.

What is the Lord preparing me for? I’m not quite sure. He has a good poker face and I haven’t figured out His tell. But I was reminded again today that this waiting is not pointless or unintended. The Lord is using every moment He has to prepare us and He is very intentionally letting us wait. Soon, however, He will reveal the plan and we will be invited to a great sacrifice, one of our very selves.

I simply hope I’ve yielded to His preparations well enough to offer the sacrifice which will be asked of me.

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