Another Good Friday

 

As I drove home under a full moon from a Good Friday service, I reflected on two parallel observances that took place during Passion week.  On Thursday, the biggest Methodist church in the county held its annual “Reign of Darkness” service.  This 28 year old ceremony, which brings neighbors from all denominations and walks of life together to dramatize the events leading up to Easter weekend, begins in candlelight and ends in near total darkness, with the only illumination from the backlit cross at the front of the church and the streetlights through the stained glass windows.  The readings took us through the arrest, trial and death of Jesus, with quiet hymn solos punctuating the age old words of scripture.  Some of the readers have done the same part for years, and the end is marked by the booming voice of an elderly preacher from another denomination, whose voice must bear a resemblance to the voice of God himself.  I don’t know what we will do when he is gone.  It will never be the same with someone else shouting out “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me!”

On Friday night, I participated in a similar service at one of the smallest Methodist churches in the county, a gathering of no more than twenty worshipers.  This is not my home church, but they graciously let me be a part of their Christmas and Easter events and I always feel a warm welcome.  The candles were lit just as twilight fell outside the windows; windows that overlook the cemetery just steps away from the little church where generations of church-goers are buried.  And the age-old words were read again, from a slightly different version of the ageless story.  When the last chorus of The Old Rugged Cross faded and the flame of the last candle was extinguished, we left the dark sanctuary silently, each person pondering their place in the familiar story.

On the way home, as I watched the full moon play hide and seek in the clouds, I thought how even the disciples, the closest friends of Jesus, got it wrong.  They spent three years with him, having daily conversations, hearing his message every day, and breaking bread with him.  They still didn’t fully understand his mission or his purpose.  They still didn’t understand that his mission had no part of military might or political power and that he was not going to bring about a seismic shift in the power structure of the world.  He changed the world, but not in the way they expected.  They struggled to understand why he didn’t call down an army of angels to smite the officials and install him and his followers on the throne.

People still struggle with the concept that the kingdom of God is not found in the halls of government or the ranks of the military; it is found in the hearts of those who accept the mercy and grace of God and who try to walk in Jesus’s revolutionary footsteps.  One of the scriptures I read last night contained the words of Jesus to Pilate. “My kingdom is not of this world,” he said, in answer to Pilate’s questioning.  Indeed, we can stand with one foot in eternity, even in the terrible, wonderful world we live in today.

On that first Good Friday, the disciples were frightened, confused and disappointed.  They didn’t remember or realize that Jesus had promised that the cross was not the end, but rather the new beginning.  And even though they didn't fully understand Jesus, they eventually did get it right.

On Sunday at sunrise, my little country church will gather with our friends and neighbors from other churches and other theologies, and, for a brief time, we will unite to celebrate the resurrection.  “He is not here; he is risen.”   The powers-that-be tried to shut Jesus up with a stone.  They forgot that the power of God cannot be shut in or shut out and that love will always win, a love so breathtaking that it even extends to those who tried to destroy it.  

 For a brief shining moment, just as the sun’s first rays streak over the tombstones of the cemetery beside the church, our differences will be forgotten.  We will listen to the familiar story from John.  We will hear the familiar hymns and remember. Maybe we can do a better job of taking the words of Jesus with us. “If you did it to the least of one of my brethren, you did it to me.”  Maybe we can carry a little of that with us even after Easter this year.  Maybe this time we will get it right.