Good Friday

 April 2, 2021

It’s been years since we last had one. Good Friday was the one day each year that the churches in the Valley worked closely together. The old three-hour service running from noon till three was the order of the day, with each pastor preaching on one of the seven words from the Cross, and individuals and choirs from each of the churches providing music for their time slot. 

Most who attended only came during the time scheduled for their pastor, but there were those who stayed for the adjacent slots, and a few who sat through the entire service. These were solemn and holy times. I got to hear the preaching of fellow pastors, something that rarely happened since we all were preaching on Sundays. The music consisted of many of the old hymns of the cross: “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross,” “The Old Rugged Cross,” “Man of Sorrows,” “There is a Fountain Filled with Blood,” “O Sacred Head Now Wounded,” “In the Cross,” “In the Cross of Christ I Glory,” and others. 

There was no frivolity, no casual conversation, just people silently filing in and out, sitting quietly, singing softly, bowing before the awful glory of the Crucified One. Three hours to reflect, to remember, to ponder the depth of our sin and the magnitude of God’s love. I haven’t heard of anyone sponsoring such a service in years. I suppose it’s our post-Christian culture and our fast-paced life that demands a shorter, less intensive service, if one is to be had at all. I’ve never understood how anyone could celebrate Easter properly without first going through a Good Friday service. How can there be a resurrection without there first being a death and burial? 

We will soon join our brothers and sisters in our congregation’s Good Friday service. I need the structure, the discipline of gathering together. The day so far has been busy, filled with work such that I feel cheated, even though the day’s activities have been of my own choosing. It’s as if Jesus is asking me the same question he asked his disciples as they snoozed in the garden while he battled in prayer: “Could you not watch with me for one hour?” For three hours he hung on that cross till the sun was blotted out and the ground rent by an earthquake; I went about my day’s work. His work was finished; they laid him in a tomb and waited, for there was no more to be done. Tonight I will sit and wait. I will pray and prepare for what I know is coming, but which was to the disciples the unspeakable and joyous surprise of Easter.