It did not finish, it ended. The final "Benedicamus Domino," followed by the slow, solemn procession to the altar of repose.... "Pange lingua gloriosi [pause] corporis mysterium [pause, pause] sanguinisque pretiosi [pause]..." The dual thurifers taking turns turning to walk backward so they might incense the Blessed Sacrament as Father carries it in that slow, oh so slow, procession around the Church, to the tabernacle in a place that it does not belong.
The Lord of Glory has been unseated. He is away from his throne. He is in the Garden, pleading for his life, "please let this cup pass... yet not as I will, but as Thou wilst," awaiting his betrayer.
The altar is stripped: relics removed, all altar cloths folded and taken away. This symbolizes Christ being stripped of his garments multiple times over the course of his passion. It reveals the five crosses etched into the surface of the altar, one for each of Christ's wounds. Now exposed.
The altar lamp is extinguished: that little light shining perpetually, signifying that yes, the Lord of Glory is here, always here. Now He isn't.
The tabernacle is left agape, yawning, displaying its emptiness. There is something ugly about an empty tabernacle.
It is an incompleteness. It is a lifeless body. It is a chest without a heart.
The way the Mass of the Lord's Supper ends means that things are not well, nor finished. It leaves things unresolved. Tomorrow there will be more drama. Tomorrow we will find out why today mattered. Tomorrow we will witness the Lord of Glory reveal His glory in the most unexpected and "absurd" way. Tomorrow will not finish the drama, but it will help us make more sense of today. It advances the story—THE story—revealing to us that God's ways are not our ways; God's thoughts are not our thoughts. And thank God for that.
By the end of tomorrow we will still not have the resolution, but at least we will know things cannot possibly get worse. And so we will wait for what God will do to make it all better, because that is what He does, even if we cannot imagine how something could possibly get better.
The Sacred Triduum, from the opening strains of the "Nos Autem" right on through whatever rousing recessional closes out the Easter Vigil, really feels like one liturgy, one continuous action.
That probably makes sense, since they are the liturgical re-presentations of the series of events from the Last Supper right on through the Resurrection of Our Lord.
