Thoughts for this Good (?) Friday

I do not like to be alone (well, never, mostly) but even moreso when I am afraid or sad. And I usually feel both afraid and sad, a little bit, and lonely, on Good Friday. Today all of these are bigger, of course. I’ve already been afraid and sad and lonely for weeks, in this isolation, so there’s a cumulative effect. And they’re bigger because on a “normal” Good Friday the fear and sadness are related to Jesus, and only Jesus, for me. I feel things deeply, and the sadness of the story of Jesus’ Last Supper, betrayal, trial, torture, and crucifixion hit me hard. Disciples running away to hide in a room because they are afraid makes perfect sense for me. I don’t feel sad very often, but on these days I feel all the feels, and I’m grateful for the space and permission these days give me to do the feeling. Of course, I know what comes next; if I didn’t, I’m not sure I could bear it.

But this year? Fear and sadness and loneliness, oh yes. Here they are, as they have been loitering outside the door of my heart for weeks now, once in a while opening up to poke their faces in and remind me they are there. And it hasn’t been related to Jesus, but to people I love whom I cannot see right now, and the identity crisis of figuring out what it means to be a pastor when I can’t gather my people, and the possibility of death creeping in unannounced.

Death is always there, of course, pandemic or not, flying about our heads like a dementor that we cannot see because we choose to believe it isn’t real. Or flitting through our dreams in the middle of the night when we wake up in a panic and want to call our loved one right then to make sure it was only a dream. Death is a promise that is so much easier to hold onto than is resurrection, for we see it every day and have had our lives altered by it. I trust in God’s unfailing love that is Jesus, but it doesn’t mean I want to have a loved one die, ever, and especially not in this time when we cannot hold a funeral for a proper and ritual good-bye. And what if the loved one is me, or my partner? Or (God forbid) my children? None of us is exempt; the virus is not asking for credentials to prove who is worthy.

Over and over again Jesus tells us, “Do not be afraid!” This is the time I need to hear that, “Do not be afraid, it is I!” But we don’t get it. In all the Passion accounts, in the last minute admonitions at the last supper, in the trial and the words from the cross, Jesus does not tell us not to be afraid. I guess it’s OK to be afraid now?

These holy days of this holy week are called “Triduum”—three days. Not one day, not separate, but three days held together, because we cannot endure any one of them without the others. I will miss attending an Easter Vigil this year (I may find one online) because it’s the only thing that can pull me out of the funk into which the fear, sadness, and loneliness of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday cast me. But I have a new ritual which helps. My daily walks remind me that there is a world out there, there are other humans who gleefully return my waves across the street, and, most significantly for today, there is spring, which thankfully is not in quarantine, is not put on hold. Spring is ruining the surprise, and I’m grateful for the spoiler, for I need to remember that God has a response to this fear and sadness. God’s promise is LIFE, new life from death. We don’t get the one without the other; we go through the one to get to the other.

The fear and sadness of these days this particular year is great, harder than ever. But I am confident that God’s love, made real for us in Christ Jesus’ death and resurrection, is greater still. I may not feel that feeling in this moment, but as the sun sets and rises on each day, we are closer to that truth. And if we cannot walk the final step because of our grief, God brings it to us. This God of new life will not let fear and sadness have the last word, because God’s good word is Jesus. When we get to the empty tomb, finally we will hear again, Do not be afraid! And I will be ready to shed my fear and sadness, celebrating LIFE again, and know the waiting is worth it, until we can celebrate life together. It will come, even though we don’t know when just yet. God is here, and Easter comes, no matter what—thanks be to God!

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