Christ goes to his death insisting that his life has meaning. When and how he will die can be left to speculation but not so why he dies.
In the cross of Christ, God sunders God’s self to draw us and those whom we love into God’s life, which is pure relationship, a love that precedes existence.
After Pascal’s death, a note, written in his own hand, was discovered, sewn into the lining of his coat. He felt compelled to record the moment when the God about whom one might speculate became his living God.
We have a cycling liturgical year because the truths of our faith are larger than we can receive all at once. Perhaps ashes say it best, but even they can’t say it all, not all at once.
Reading sacred Scripture or watching a televised Eucharist can be powerful meditations, but neither rises to the level of sacrament, the mystery by which Christ promises his presence to his church.