In the Christian calendar this is Holy Week. It is a week in which words can become superfluous. For those familiar with the Anglican (Episcopalian) or Catholic churches, Holy Week is likely something that you recall. If you grew up evangelical, your church perhaps did not really observe Holy Week. The evangelical church of which I was pastor marked Good Friday and Easter Sunday, but that’s about it for Holy Week. When I first started at the church, Good Friday (a stat holiday in this province) was observed with a late morning service and then a brunch in the church basement. It was all rather upbeat, hot-cross buns, a large happy gathering. One of the changes which I pushed for when I got hired was to change the way we observed Good Friday. I asked the Board if they were committed to the brunch on that day. They asked what day I would prefer. I said that I would prefer just about any of the other 364 days of the year.
As I saw it, Good Friday was a meaningful, but more somber occasion. It was not the time for feasting. They understood and we moved the brunch. We changed the service, as well, to be a “tenebrae” style. This meant that we had a number of readings from the story of Jesus’ passion and sacrifice, mostly from the days before the crucifixion. After each reading the lights in the room would be turned down another step until the service ended with only a candle on the cross lit. We would instruct the congregation to leave in silence (this was the only service of the year directed as such) and just before people began to file out, the candle on the cross was extinguished.
The idea was to leave with the thought in mind of Jesus’ body being placed in the tomb. When we gathered on Sunday, we would start in darkness before turning on all of the lights. The sanctuary which had been undecorated on Friday would be filled with flowers and life to declare the resurrection. Just not yet. Friday was a day to consider that Jesus died, that Jesus gave his life. It was somber, but we (our church partnered with an Anglican church for the service) hoped that it was meaningful. We generally received very positive feedback on the tenebrae services. However, I recall one gentleman telling me that he found it all rather depressing and would attend another evangelical church on Good Friday, as their service was much more upbeat.
It is somewhat cliché to mention that our culture can be death denying but death obsessed at the same time. We don’t like to think about death. That makes sense. Most of us have heard that denying the reality of death hinders us from truly living. We have heard calls such as “memento mori” and “seize the day”.
Holy Week brings us to another level. We are to reflect upon not only death, but upon one particular death, that of Jesus. We are told that, in Jesus’ sacrifice, death has been trampled over by death. Somehow, in giving his life, Jesus grants life to all the world, including to me. This is where words fail.
Believing in the resurrection of Jesus is an article of faith. I have long thought that if Jesus is truly God, then his death is actually more miraculous than his resurrection.
The author of all life coming to life is not as a miraculous as the author of all life dying.
The hope of the world, in Christian theology, is that God has not rejected humanity, but indeed embraced all humanity. The ultimate sign of this is the cross. Jesus has entered the deepest sorrow, suffering, pain, wrongdoing and death. He has, according to Christian scripture, actually become all of these things. In hopeful Christian theology, Jesus is the One rejected and the One elected and in him we are all elected. In order to see some of this, it helps to give time to the reality of suffering, sin, sorrow and even evil. Good Friday is best observed, not with many words, but with prayerful, even silent, approach.
I include here a poem sent to me by my friend, David Goa. David is an Orthodox theologian who has been a great help to me in the time that I have known him. The poem is by Edna St. Vincent, who was an American poet in the early 1900’s.
Conscientious Objector by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall; I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba, business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by himself: I will not give him a leg up.
Though he flick my shoulders with his whip, I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.
I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends nor of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much, I will not map him the route to any man’s door.
Am I a spy in the land of the living, that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city are safe with me; never through me
shall you be overcome.
In my faith I have this idea that I can relate to a line like “I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death” as hopeful because Jesus did so much more than I ever could. He took on death. He trampled over death by death.
It is not necessarily happy or easy to think of Jesus taking on death and darkness, but remembering does allow me to see and know the joy of life in ways much deeper than I ever could without such consideration.
If you are observing Holy Week this year, bless you. Prayers for a meaningful week, even if it is not easy. If you are not observing Holy Week this year, blessings to you as well.
“I shall die, but that is all I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.”
Death and Life
Good Friday, during my childhood and according to the churches I attended, was always a dark day. In my mind the day was black, it was a day different from any other. When I woke up on Good Friday I knew it was Good Friday. My family was somber. There was little activity that day. One year, the Presbyterian Church showed a movie in the basement of the church.
We watched the crucifixion with rapt attention. I can still hear the thunder as it rumbled through the basement walls.
The Catholic School I attended observed every day of Holy Week. We walked a block to the church and no one spoke…every elementary school child was quiet. We sat perfectly still in the pews and we knelt without a complaint. Some may say this was harsh observance but
I have only positive memories. I was in awe of the observance.
We will be at church on Good Friday. I will be in awe of the observance.
I shall die as well but I will live every day with gladness for the life I was given.