What have I done on this Good Friday?
Cleaned…working on cleaning out closets. Looked through old papers and remembered moments in our lives. Pictures of the kids as they grow. Smiles and joy and a happy life overall.
Between the cleaning, I’ve talked to the kids, checked in on FaceBook. Talked on the phone to the one I love.
This day has not stood out.
In the corners of my soul there has been this present thought throughout the day…make space.
This day is not just another day. This day will culminate for me at our Good Friday service at church, and in a way I have been pushing off that thought from the corner of my soul. Waiting for the space to be made where I can be silent and I can listen. I can think about the utter astounding truth of Good Friday.
Still…what about right now, in the midst of this normal day? How do I make the room in the midst of a ‘normal’ day…a holiday even…to think about the crushing significance of the Cross. How do I put the brakes on and silence the distractions so that I can pay attention?
How can I not?
Easter is coming…and I’m filled with gratitude….but I do not want to miss this moment. The weight of the sacrifice. The weight of the cost. The weight….of the God of the Universe wrapped in flesh and breaking the barriers. Honestly, it makes me uncomfortable because it is impossible to process the reality of Good Friday without understanding the weight of our sin.
That is not something that can be done casually or just in passing. That requires our attention and our focus.
Malcolm Guite has a sonnet for each stage of the stations of the Cross. I highly recommend going by his site and reading…taking the time to let them soak in. This one has had my attention as I’ve been trying to push back the duties of the day to listen….I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts after the service tonight.
He gives himself again with all his gifts
And now we give him something in return.
He gave the earth that bears, the air that lifts,
Water to cleanse and cool, fire to burn,
And from these elements he forged the iron,
From strands of life he wove the growing wood,
He made the stones that pave the roads of Zion
He saw it all and saw that it is good.
We took his iron to edge an axe’s blade,
We took the axe and laid it to the tree,
We made a cross of all that he has made,
And laid it on the one who made us free.
Now he receives again and lifts on high
The gifts he gave and we have turned awry.
How often I miss the moment, even on a daily basis, of the reality of the cross. Thank you for the reminder.
Thanks for coming by, Delaine!