Last night we went to a Tenebrae service (Latin for shadows or darkness). Through the liturgy we were able to imagine what it was like when the light of the world was quenched by the darkness. We came home with our hands scented by the oils of anointing and the sound of the earthquake (caused by everyone pounding on the pews) still echoing in our ears.
Good Friday is loud. It has shouting, whipping, hammering. Weeping and wailing. Crowds. Earthquake, curtain ripping, thunder. Even Jesus breathed his last with a loud cry (Mark 15:37).
What is it about Good Friday that makes all this noise? Well... it's the dying.
Every day that I choose to follow Christ, I must take up my cross and die with him. But dying is difficult, traumatic. It is a struggle for me to die to my innate selfishness and self-centeredness. Lent helps! Even so, that process of my dying to self rarely happens without some drama and tumult, sometimes even, I must confess, a bit of shouting.
But after I have been shaken and tossed about comes a time of quiet, even some grief. But resting in the silence is good. And after each death I have hope that a new day, a new life will dawn.
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