I wake up with a start. It's 12:21 am and I realize that the time has come for that especially terrifying nocturnal visitation, the Paschal Triduum liturgy nightmare. No wonder I can't remember the Mass of the Lord's Supper the night before...Holy Thursday isn't until next week.
A few moments before, I'm dreaming and it's Good Friday afternoon. Charles, what do you mean you're not familiar with this specially adapted version of St. John's Passion? Haven't you been practicing? We're all ready to go. I can't find the prayers in the Sacramentary. And why can't I remember Holy Thursday Mass last night? You were there, Father. It was beautiful, as always, Father. It must be nerves. Am I going crazy? And why am I wearing this aquamarine chasuble? I need to go find something else. I just need to untie this other thing, whatever it is...oh no, stuck in another conversation on the way back. I still can't find the page. I make it back and I hear the intoning of the Gospel acclamation--they started without me. The pastor is going to be so mad at me. The kid working the fog machine shakes his head and I understand that I'm not to go out there now. It's too late. Panic. What is wrong with me that I can't remember Holy Thursday Mass last night?
And I wake up.