It was a Good Friday of epic proportions. My day began with the baking and assembling of hot tea and hot cross buns, a tradition I’ve tried to keep up and incorporate. I remember attending a few Good Friday church sessions at Westmore, stations of the cross, not like the liturgical kind: a walk-through to taste sour vinegar, feel nails, and look at thorned crowns – just as a touch and see for some of the things Jesus went through. I can’t attribute this to any specific denominational practice; it just seems like an interesting thing they did for a few years, and I don’t even know if they do it any more. It was beneficial, inclusive, interesting, educational, and left a big impact on a young Jennifer.
At the end of the stations, after you sat in silence and stared at a wooden cross, they had teas, coffee, and pastries available. I always chose the Constant Comment tea, and now the two are inextricably linked in my brain. Constant Comment always reminds me of Good Friday and Good Friday makes me want to drink Constant Comment tea.
My parents arrived to play babysitter, and I was off with my husband. We drove a backward route avoiding tolls to a surgery center and I sat nervously in the waiting room with two other wives and one other husband as four people were brought back into the waiting room for the same simple procedure: a colonoscopy. I am usually vague about these things, because my husband is quite private, but Daniel has Hirschsprung’s Disease. Usually this is just a genetic thing that leads to a simple surgery and a lifetime of complications are avoided, but this has not been the case for my husband. After many many medical issues in his childhood, he now has a colostomy bag (and yes, I double checked to make sure I could share all this information so publicly!) and now he is in a position where he needs to have a major surgery – either a reversal, or a better-placed bag. He is dealing with pain, bleeding, and tissue growth and the colo-rectal specialists are taking a great interest in him as his solution is not typical or cut-and-dry. In fact, after he woke up, the surgeon called me back to let me know he was okay. I was the last spouse to be called back and I nervously sat, wondering if something was going wrong.
“We had several surgeons and specialists in there, and we’re still not sure what we’re looking at,” they told me. “We don’t know the solution. Dr. So-and-So has published several studies though, and this is his specialty, so we’ll look at the information and you need to make a follow-up appointment for the next week.”
Just another meeting waiting in our near-future, the results of which will be life-changing for our family. Can we handle so much drastic change in one week?
I made his appointment and walked outside the building so I could drive around and pick him up in the waiting circle. Seeing him after two hours was like a burst of joy to my heart that I could not explain. In the midst of my depression and extremely uncertain financial and future circumstances, Daniel is my rock in ways I find unimaginable. A true gift from God, given to me (and often taken for granted, just as all the other gifts God gave me) at a young age. I can’t explain what Daniel means to me.
After a few hours of food, last-minute Easter errands, Daniel decided he was up to attend Lenten services with me today. As I have been going to every single service alone, I was delighted to share this experience with him – though somewhat nervous, as Daniel’s theological views are just a bit more conservative than mine, and afraid he would find offense with Rev. Jack Spong’s words. I wanted him to draw the same wonder and curiosity and appreciation I had, without becoming offended when he said things with which we likely both disagreed.
This was no ordinary Good Friday service, though. This was a three hour service, from 12-3. Six meditations, all very liturgical with a guide book for us helpless evangelicals. It was repetition: First someone prayed a traditional prayer, then a contemporary one, then we sang a hymn, then the singers (not sure if that’s what they call themselves, but a handful of robed choir members seated next to the organist!) sang a chorus, usually in Latin or German, and then someone – all seemed to be wealthy, important members of the community or family members of the rectors or both – would come read a Bible verse that was about to be the subject of Rev. Spong’s meditation, all of which were on Matthew’s Passions, leading up to Jesus’ death on the cross. We sat, kneeled, and stood.
For three hours, Daniel would sleep intermittently on my shoulder, make grievous eye contact with me when Rev. Spong said the phrase “not meant to be literal” and try to stand and sing as best he could under the effects of lingering narcotics. We enjoyed the liturgy of it, regardless. At some point we nearly left because the exhaustion of the day got to us both, but I told Daniel I felt like I had to stay through to the end. I faced the black veiled golden cross at the center of the room and determined to stay.
As I suspected, the days of pointing out supposed Biblical flaws and pointing out the dreadful misinterpretations by us terrible Gentiles led to a glorious conclusion and I was so glad to hear it, and glad I sat through homilies that made me somewhat uncomfortable in order to get to Rev. Jack Spong’s ultimate conclusion which, as it turns outs, is the same as my own: Jesus is the ultimate manifestation of God’s love. Jesus’ last commission was not to go out and find brown-skinned heathens and torture them until they turned to the religion we wanted from them. It was to go out and treat people as he had treated us. The tale of Jewish allegory was for Jews: love the gentiles, the samaritans, the people of every race and sexual orientation and gender and walk of life, because that is what it means to worship God as fully as you can. God is the source of life and it was honored through the life of Jesus Christ, a humble figure who was so unimportant in the political spectrum that Greeks and Romans did not mention him for over a century, until the efforts of Paul brought it to their attention.
I nodded my head and said Amen, despite the fact that the entire church was silent. You can take the Pentecostal out of the Church of God, but…
I felt confused and unsettled after the three hour service, and I panicked on the way home. I messaged a good friend for philosophical insight and he was able to talk me off the ledge. I spent time with my family, tried not to think about the chance that I may be an unemployed and broke failure soon, and did a difficult yoga practice. I thought about the future which sometimes feels like it’s all I ever do.
My husband, he loves these card tricks. He watches videos of them online. Then he tries to show them to
me, and while his hands are deft and his manner is quick, he doesn’t always get the right card. Sometimes even if you read the directions and try to learn all you can, you’re still going to fail. I think about my career in writing and I feel like I’m fumbling, trying to find the right card, and I keep pulling up the wrong one, over and over again. Is this my card? Is this my card? Am I ever going to find the right one?
The more evangelical friends of mine have posted little things talking about how much change can happen in three days. Good Friday was not a good Friday. It was three days later than God showed up and everything was changed. I really hope that’s the case.
jennifercmartin 