Friday, April 2, 2021

Good Friday

Liz-Anne Platt

The Collect

Almighty God, we pray you graciously to behold this your family, for whom our Lord Jesus Christ was willing to be betrayed, and given into the hands of sinners, and to suffer death upon the cross; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Readings: Isaiah 52:13-53:12, Hebrews 10:16-25 or Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9, John 18:1-19:42 & Psalm 22

It has been a year of Good Fridays. We have been living in a time of great darkness. Far longer than forty days. We have literally and figuratively wandered in a pandemic wilderness. Unable to hold close those we love. Unable to worship in person with our St. John’s family. How do we find the light? How do we see the light? Where is hope? How do we find it?

I came to this reflection, buoyed by the hope of shots in arms, as folks have begun to claw their way out of the pandemic. Are we finally on the path to normal? Can we see the light?

And now shots have rung out in cities and shopping centers and Americans are mowed down by gun violence. Again. Are we finally on the path to normal? Is this normal?

How can we tolerate this slaughter of fellow Americans as “normal?” We were afraid to go to the grocery store a year ago lest we contract an incurable virus. Now we are afraid to go to the grocery store lest we be mowed down by a neighbor. With a gun. Can we not even go to the grocery store?

How can we find Easter when there are people actively working to keep us from it? To keep us from the light?

The heart is heavy. How do we find the light?

I am tired of thoughts and prayers being offered. I am tired of this “soul crushing and life extinguishing violence.”

Deep breath, friends. Let Yo Yo Ma’s exquisite “Ave Maria” bathe you in grace.

We need a plan. I look to the words of brilliant Amanda Gorman, and The Hill We Climb, her charge at the Presidential Inauguration. That’s my plan.

“When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade?

The loss we carry. A sea we must wade.

We braved the belly of the beast.

We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace, and the norms and

notions of what “just” is isn’t always justice.

And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it.

Somehow we do it.

Somehow we weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t

broken, but simply unfinished.”

I choose, and I ask my St. John’s family to choose to be an Easter people. We must not be deterred in our search for the light. If this isn’t a time of great reckoning, I don’t know what is. We may have been brought to our knees this past year, we may have been bloodied, we may have been diminished. If we have been broken, let those cracks be where the light shines through. Each of us has it within our power to choose a path going forward. I believe it as simple as choosing love over hate. As difficult as choosing love over indifference. We must love our way out of this wilderness. Love our way out of darkness. Love one another. Love ourselves. And yes, even those who would do us harm.

“For there is always a light, if only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.”