Now the centurion, and those who were keeping guard over Jesus, when they saw the earthquake and the things that were happening, became very frightened and said, “Truly this was the Son of God!”
Title kudos to Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s “In Memoriam,” line 12.
Yesterday we went to the Good Friday service at church, not asking for a ride there but opting instead to ride the last shuttle to Clark at 6:30, then walk the mile and a half from Clark to church. As we boarded, however, I decided to ask the driver how far south he’d be willing to deviate from his course since it was the last run of an excruciatingly light-ridership day. As it turns out, he deviated all the way to the church—a long drive down Park Ave, connecting on to Main Street, and a bit far down Main. He dropped us off right in the church parking lot at 6:09 pm—a good 50 minutes before the service was scheduled to start. Ian and I had, fortuitously, brought along books to entertain ourselves with, so the time passed fairly quickly. Overall the service was dim, contemplative; we received a sheet of verses pertaining to Easter and Good Friday and as they felt called people read a verse aloud and explained why it struck them. We also sang quite a number of hymns that I didn’t know, namely because I don’t know many hymns. At the end we did a classic ‘write a sin on paper, stick it to the cross’ exercise that, though clichéd, never fails to touch me. Because Christ did take my sin on himself that day—and though Friday we sorrow, we look forward to Sunday and life.