I barely remember the Good Friday services as a kid. Only the major items like the altar being bare, the ever presence of black, the reminder of suffering and death-no matter where you were at in your life.
As time passed, good Friday gathered more meaning. My parents and grandparents passed away, I experienced pain, heartache and national tragedies to where it was easier to dive into the deeps of a traditional Good Friday service.
With undergrad and graduate studies, I gradually stated the death of Jesus in the face. I criticized and scrutinized every part of the verses, the gospels, the images and the meaning that describe one of Christianity’s darkest celebrations. I believe that this is where my understanding of Friday grew.
Now I attend a church community where we are reminded that it is necessary to walk, nah, crawl through good Friday. God and Jesus do not work, do not resolve without going the crapiest of days. Despite the repetition of he seven last words structured service, every year the removal of the Christ lit candle and the slamming of the large Bible remind us all that “It is finished.” We all still shutter at the closure of the Word of God.
The light saved reminds us that hope still exists. No matter how small life still survives. And while the rock of the tomb is closed shut…it does not stay that way for long….