Good Friday - Part the First

I have not worked for an organization that gives you Good Friday off for a long time. I appreciate that Roberts not only gave us the entire day off, but on Thursday they sent staff home at 3. This gesture creates the kind of breathing room so desperately needed in this era of packed schedules, insane activity and relentless demands. I determined to put the gift of a free day to "soul" use.

There are three special events I wish to attend. I had been introduced to the first one back in 1998. The Asbury First Methodist Church on East Avenue holds a noontime service that offers readings from the Bible about the events leading up to and including the crucifixion and burial of Christ. They surround the readings with projected slides of works of art from various ages and in various media, and intersperse the readings with choral and instrumental music written to portray the particular incident.

The first year I attended, I left with tears streaming down my face. It was exceedingly moving. Every year thereafter, I invited someone to attend with me, and they had the exact same reaction. You become quieter and quieter and the events unfold. You know what is coming. The reality of the sacrifice is overwhelming. You are impressed by how different artists portray the same scenes - especially the flogging, the arduous journey to Golgotha, the nailing.

All the artwork you see reaches into your soul and touches your inmost being. Some of the music is elegantly simple but speaks volumes. Some music is difficult, complex, dissonant. It is raw and bare and moving. They thoughtfully leave space between the fading vibrations of the a cappella choral works and the beginning of the next reading so you have time to process, to allow yourself to react, to decompress.

You can hear everyone sniffling, coughing. You see people dabbing at their eyes with a white handkerchief or a Kleenex. You are not alone in your experience. I came expecting the same, interested to see how they might have improved upon the presentation.

The format was much the same, many slides were new. Rembrandt, Renoir, Picasso, Spanish painters and sculptors I did not know. The music was new and very fitting. A string quartet, an excellent a cappella choir, a stellar organist. I especially liked the Shaker tune arrangements. The voices of the singers floated up from behind the huge screen splashed with an artist's rendition, above which you could still see the round stained glass window with its beautiful hues glistening in the noon sun.

What surprised me this year was that I was strangely calm during much of the presentation. No need for the tears, though of course, I am moved tremendously thinking about all the Christ endured on my behalf. What does me in is the picture of Mary holding the crucified body of her son. It is the dark entrance to the tomb that sends chills down my spine, grabs me, pulls me in.

I am glad I am not with anyone this year. I am quiet, reflecting long afterwards on what was presented. It washes my heart.