Friday

Luke 23:44-49 (The Message)

44-46 By now it was noon. The whole earth became dark, the darkness lasting three hours—a total blackout.

The Temple curtain split right down the middle.

Jesus called loudly, "Father, I place my life in your hands!" Then he breathed his last.

47 When the captain there saw what happened, he honored God: "This man was innocent! A good man, and innocent!"

48-49 All who had come around as spectators to watch the show, when they saw what actually happened, were overcome with grief and headed home.

Those who knew Jesus well, along with the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a respectful distance and kept vigil.

Every single year, there is one moment in worship that stands out as unique from all the others.

On the Friday before Easter, worshipers all over the world gather together to remember the death of Jesus Christ.

The same is true at Shepherd of the Hills. We sing songs, we listen to the story of his arrest, trial and crucifixion from scripture. Sometimes there is a sermon, sometimes there are various other acts of worship.

But the end of that service is always the same. It is unlike any other ending, any other moment of worship throughout the whole year.

We extinguish the candles. We cover our altar table in black cloth. We are silent.

And then we leave. We just leave. It is the strangest feeling in the world to just walk out, lock up, get in a car and drive home. That's it.

That moment is a re-creation of the moment experienced by all those who were present at the Cross that day.

The skies darkened. The curtain was torn. The Roman soldier proclaimed the truth.

And then everyone left, in silence. Those closest to him stayed behind and kept vigil. But there was a real darkness...a real loss...a real grief in that place.

It's disconcerting to leave church in the silent darkness. It is strange to hear that last chord left unresolved.

Thank God for the good news of resurrection.

Without it, our own lives, for all time, would be left with the heaviness of grief and the silence of loss. Without that hope, we would live in the midst of that strange, twilight, uncomfortable silence...we would walk away, heads down, into a real sort of hopelessness.

That is the nature of this moment in Luke. Friday. But Sunday is coming.

Father God, we give thanks for the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ. May we always be willing to enter fully into Friday. Help us not to look away, but to know that only Friday's darkness makes the bright light of Easter Sunday possible.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be. World without end. Amen.