Good Friday

 

Today is one of the grey areas of the Christian year
a day when the lights are dimmed
and the sky feels overcast even if it isn't:
a day when theologians and poets feel
as if a heavy veil is drawn over heart and mind.
An inexplicably sad day. 

We resist the grey areas
Prefer to see everything in black and white,
look for cloudless, sunny skies,
throw in a bright colour or two
to try and enliven the scene. 

In the grey light of early morning - 

after a night in the ecclesiastical high court, 

and denial by one of his own circle - 

Jesus sound himself at the gates 

of the reluctant Pilate, who promptly 

tried to hand him back to the Jews. 

And though the sun rose that morning, 

the whole world turned grey for One

who found himself without friend or helper

faced with drinking a cup he'd prayed

would be turned away from him,

knowing that life was about to be drained out of him. 

Here's a day marked by the brokenness of the world

But it is not a day to wallow in misery

or to indulge in morbid thoughts about the crucifixion. 

It is simply a somber, dignified day

when we remember how it was for Jesus,

and find at the foot of the cross

a place to lay down ours and the world's sorrow. 

We are invited to accompany Jesus through this grey day: 

to be witnesses to his suffering,

to keep silence before his cries of dereliction. 

All we are asked to do today is to be present

to the sacred story as it is retold, and

to the inexplicable, mysterious, wondrous

transaction that was, and still is taking place. (adapted, Ann Siddall)