Good Friday service last night. The choir did not sing, so I got to sit in the pew and BE instead of DOING. I like that so much sometimes.
Fr. David preached a wonderful sermon - pointing out that the Gospel of Luke (from Palm Sunday) indicates (in a politically correct vein) that Pilate offered to release Jesus, but "the voices of the crowd prevailed." He reminded us how difficult it is to listen to the right voice, instead of the prevailing voice.
The service is very solemn. The altar, still with its black drape. The side altar where the reserved Sacrament is usually kept...the little door is wide open. It is empty. He is gone.
Some churches have communion from reserved Sacrament on this day, but we do not.
We pray for the church, the nation, the world; we sing "Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?" and "Sing, My Tongue, the Glorious Battle."
A large wooden cross (taller than me) with three railroad spikes driven into it is carried to the front of the church and placed in a stand. The people who wish to, come forward to kneel before the cross and "venerate" it - touch it, kiss it, lay on it the troubles and sins and fears they carry.
I kneel before the cross and the waterworks in my eyes turn on.
We leave in silence.
Holy Saturday, today...there is a very brief service in the prayer book, not usually celebrated at our church. I read it alone.
Tonight, we celebrate the Great Vigil of Easter - lilies, A-words, kindling the new flame, Exultet, Paschal candle, and three baptisms!
I am very tired and sore. I am a little frustrated that this transition from death into life is so hard for me. But I don't think it is actually supposed to be easy.
