This week, I want to focus on our memories of Good Friday.
Easter Sunday you ask? -We’ll get to that.
But this week let us zone in on the influence these Fridays (the ones we can recall from years past) have played into our lives. I share with you a glimpse into my 11 year-old self…enduring Three Hours of the Cross:
I remember as a boy being told that we would be going to a meeting that would last at least three hours. I remember my dismay and outrage at such a thing. I thought to myself, “why would anyone want to sit for three hours in a church service?” I remember falling asleep during a particularly long quiet part of the service. This three hours of the cross was truly agonizing to an 11 year old. I was impatient. I understood the symbolism, but three hours?
Of course I didn’t get it. Most children at that age couldn’t tolerate sitting through another service in the week, let alone three hours. But what I didn’t know then, I know now. I recognize what that service was suppose to portray. I understand the meaning behind it now. I can still feel those uncomfortable chairs to this day…yet it doesn’t compare to the backbreaking anguish of the cross Jesus faced. I can recall how bored I was (again I was 11). I had pen and had probably written on every service of the service program. There were some wonderful musical pieces share that day. For the life of my I cannot tell you one of them, for they are lost in my memory. I do not remember anything about the content of the service, because I was so consumed with my own comfort and attention.
I do remember with startling clarity the ending of the service.
As I lovely call it now: the “it is finished” benediction, and with a exhalation of jubilance in my new found freedom – I bolted swiftly out of that hall, like a gazelle from the clutches of a lion. I was no longer a prisoner to the pew, pen and church bulletin. I. Was. Free.
I recall how fresh the air felt on my face felt when I stepped outside. I felt like prisoner on parole…I was walking free again. It’s funny how a three hour service can feel like a prison to an 11 year old child.
I confess this memory has very little to do with the cross than it did with an 11 year old selfish child. Perhaps the only thing this memory shared with a cross was the perceived agony of three hours. Yet I still remember it vividly, and isn’t it odd, that I now remember it with such admiration and fondness?
How about your memories of of Good Friday?
Share them with us. Describe the place you participated in a service. Where were you?
Tomorrow I will share another memory of another Good Friday service that I can recall.
Perhaps we missed something along the way.
Perhaps as we ponder it together, we will recall how we felt then, and engage in our emotional and spiritual state today – here and now. Maybe, like me, you will see just how far you’ve come. And as we discover ourselves in these tales retold – I believe we discover once again Christ’s humble and loving sacrifice for us. We discover His suffering, shame, and gift to all those who would seek Him.
Ponder with me this week.
Do you have a recollection or memory?
Comment below, share and join the Good Friday Ponderings!
Hastag – #Goodfridayponderings