It's Good Friday

 Man, it's been kind of an emotionally-brutal week (I am still thinking about the student who disclosed sexual abuse to me; I hope they are okay, I hope the appropriate office on campus reached out to them). 

And other things, I won't list the whole litany here, other than to note that sometimes hopes get dashed and you're back to square one, and people can be difficult and play the victim while simultaneously alienating everyone around them, and having computer problems bad enough you get flustered in front of a class and earn a bit of what felt like mocking laughter as a result, and there are a thousand worries out in the world, some of which make your own personal worries about things like finances seem petty and selfish.

And another campus shooting. 

Last night we did a Maundy Thursday service. We typically don't do a Good Friday service; the Episcopalian church here does and they invite people of other denominations to attend.

We are small, and between pastors at the moment, so for these "special" services - because our interims travel to be here - it's usually on the laypeople to run them. That's okay; Disciples of Christ kind of started with that, and it's something some congregations continue. The church secretary, who also serves as sort of a worship leader (announcing hymns, etc.) and I (as head elder) often take care of these things. We did that for Ash Wednesday; we did it for tonight - a couple other elders did readings as well. (It's the traditional "history of Passover from Exodus" and then "brief account of Christ's arrest and trial" and because this also takes the place of Good Friday, at the end, the verses from John about the Crucifixion). 

Maundy Thursday can be a hard day. It's the very end of Lent, and if you've observed Lent or even thoguht much about it, you're probably weary. And I admit it: I *feel* Lent more this year than I have some others; I can feel the "wandering in the wilderness" as now a lot of the time it does feel like my country is stumbling around in the dark, doing wrong things and hurting people. (Maybe it always was thus, or always was thus for some groups, but I think it's broken through to a lot of us now). And, as I said, there were some difficult and upsetting things to deal with this week.

And the service is often emotionally kind of raw: for one thing, it being in the evening means it's "different," and for some of us, being a bit out of schedule has us off our guard. And then, many years (though not this one) it's been stormy (one year the power even went out). And of course the subject matter is hard and raw and if you take faith seriously there's a lot about what's going on that affects you.

I did say when we were planning this out "don't give me any of the last readings" (because one year I started to cry when referencing His arrest and crucifixion in a prayer, but that was at a time when some other things were going on to make me emotional) but I was also responsible for the opening prayer and the benediction. I wrote out the prayer so I wouldn't stumble or hang up somewhere in the middle. The benediction was one I quoted - it's a poem by Rev. Shelli Williams that I liked, and I did credit her when reading it: 

A Sending for Maundy Thursday

This night is our calling to go into the world,

scattered to the ends of the earth

to love as Christ loved

and serve in the name of Christ.

It is our calling to remember,

even in our darkest hour,

who we are.

We remember that Christ is always with us.

And we remember that on this night,

we were taught how to love.

On this night, eternity begins

and the fullness of God’s Reign begins to spill into our lives.

So go into the world to give yourself for others,

in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord.

Go into the world and love

in the name of the One who loved you until the end.

It all begins and ends and begins again with Love.

That IS the story. Amen.

A link to it is here. (And yes, it's a bit over a decade old but it still applies.)

I admit my voice was bordering on shaking at the end, but I made it through. 

And yes, as a pastor friend reminded me: Good Friday was when things looked the worst and bleakest; no one knew what was coming on Sunday and I guess that means you fervently hope for something that is miraculously good and unexpected to come in the future, but I admit it's hard and what hope I might have is often hard to find...