This post was intended for my other blog, rebootingworship.com, but it’s having technical difficulties this evening. Until we get that squared away, I wanted to put this out somewhere.

 

I went to a Good Friday service tonight. I was longing for contemplation, quiet, and grief. Good Friday allows the space for all that.

As I walked in, I was handed a black piece of construction paper, a pen, and a nail. I accepted my tokens and walked quietly into the sanctuary. I was struck by the stillness in the room; something I long for desperately in my life and yet cannot seem to create.

I checked to make sure my phone was on silent and then figured I’d go all the way and turn the entire thing off. If I want to create stillness, I should eliminate the distractions. Rather than check Facebook to kill time, I watched the candle light bouncing off the sanctuary walls and contemplated the graphic of the cross on the front screen. I picked up the nail and felt the coldness on my palm. I felt the sharp point and felt silly that I almost stayed home because of menstrual cramps. I held the nail for the rest of the service.

I was happy to find that it was a Tenebrae service. Candles are extinguished one at a time as the passion story is read. Darkness slowly overtakes the room until the final Scripture is read, as Jesus breathes his last.

The construction paper was to write our sins/longings/prayers and then it was to be nailed to the cross. My first cynical thought was, “How cliche,” cause I can be cynical little brat sometimes. But as we all quietly walked to the cross, the only sound the loud clank of the hammer against the nails, I was profoundly moved.

For five solid minutes, the hammer clanked against the nails as the entire sanctuary nailed their sins, fears, and hopes to the cross. The sound made me cringe and brought me peace.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

Then darkness.

I saw a tweet from Beth Moore today that summed up my thoughts about Good Friday and Easter weekend as a whole.

I think we miss the profoundness of this day if we immediately jump to the triumphant “He is risen!” It was a long weekend. Let it be long.

Let’s not be quick to rush to the gloriousness of Easter morning. Before the spring flowers can blossom, we must endure winter. Those colors seem even more vibrant after a long, cold winter.

I think we rob ourselves of the glory of Easter if we don’t take time to embrace the sadness of Good Friday. Easter exists because of Good Friday.

So I will sit in the quietness of this night. Jesus will rise, but for now, we leave Him in the tomb.