“At that moment, the Temple
curtain was ripped in two, top to bottom. There was an earthquake,
and rocks were split in pieces. What’s more, tombs were opened up,
and many bodies of believers asleep in their graves were raised.
(After Jesus’ resurrection, they left the tombs, entered the holy
city, and appeared to many.)”
“The
captain of the guard and those with him, when they saw the earthquake
and everything else that was happening, were scared to death. They
said, “This has to be the Son of God!”
Matthew
27:51-54, The Message
Today is Good Friday but this morning
when I opened up my journal and began to compose my thoughts for the
day I thought a lot about how I celebrated last Good Friday. Last
year I spent all of Holy Week in East Africa – the first half in
Kenya and the latter half in Uganda. On Good Friday last year our
ministry team of 10 (including our driver and Kenyan host) rose
early, piled into a Toyota mini-van and proceeded overland to Uganda.
As the crow flies, its a little more than 350 miles and were we
traveling American roads we could have been where we were headed by
lunch time. But these were Kenyan roads which lent a whole different
meaning to the phrase “road trip.” In fact, for the next 15 hours
– including the hour or more it took for us to pass through the
border town of Busia [see Hoping for my A-game on the journey back to Africa] – we were roadtripping-it down the
highway, passing through various towns and cities along the way.
 |
| Rift Valley |
It was close-quarters inside the van
and unless you're someone who can read well over roads that are
frequently uneven and subject to intermittent speed bumps, there's
not a lot to do but look out the window and enjoy the scenery. But
after some truly wonderful views in the Rift Valley, the scenery
pretty much consisted of either savannah or tea plantations; like
parts of Iowa and Illinois, if you've seen one mile of it you've seen
it all. So passed kilometer after nondescript kilometer while within
our stuffy van most of us either napped or looked out the window in
something of a stupor.
From time to time we would pass groups
of Christians clearly involved in some kind of Good Friday gathering
or procession and it made me think of how I normally would be
celebrating the day were I back in the States, participating in our
annual community Good Friday service. Instead, I was cramped, bored,
hot, and weary – and we weren't even at the half-way point yet!
Every once in awhile I'd try to meditate upon the sufferings of Jesus
and the meaning of the day but frankly my own discomfort smothered
whatever spiritual flame I vainly tried to light. So, I yielded to a
state of somnolence as the hours of the day slowly passed.
 |
| We all looked and felt this way |
It was dark by the time we reached the
YWAM campus outside of Jinja. We were hungry, dirty, tired and worn.
After our Ugandan host got us situated and each of us had had the
opportunity to clean up a bit, I shared with those who were still up
that I felt we should do something
on account of Good Friday. They agreed and so we read the story from
the Gospels, prayed together and then concluded with a song or two
appropriate for the day before calling it a night. Truthfully, I went
to bed disappointed. Maybe it's the trappings of my Lutheran
upbringing that still remain after all these years but it just
doesn't seem like “Good Friday” unless I've gathered with others
in a place and re-lived the story. As someone would be quick to point
out, I, in fact, did all those things – we had gathered in the
front room, prayed and worshiped thanking God for his goodness to us
in Jesus – all the things I would have done had I been back home
except at Chetek United Methodist instead of one of Hopeland's guest
houses. In retrospect, I think I was just too tuckered out to feel
anything of spiritual significance.
Tonight
we will gather with other disciples in Chetek at Chetek Lutheran.
This year, Pastor Guy has asked each of us pastors to share a brief
monologue based on one of the characters of the story. I'll be
sharing the Roman centurion's tale. There he was at the foot of the
cross, overseeing the execution of yet another Jew. It was, by all
accounts, just another day at the office. He and his men knew the
drill. They had done it enough times to render one of the most
horrific ways to kill ever thought up in the mind of man fairly
routine. But the way this man died and the moment of his death
transformed an otherwise normal day into something akin to an
epiphany - “Surely he was the son of God!” (Matthew
27:54). And maybe that's why I went to bed disappointed last year on
Good Friday: the dullness of my spiritual senses that made me crave
the comfort of my bed more than the worship of my Savior.
I
recognize that throughout a calendar year I celebrate Good Friday;
certainly every first Sunday of the month at Refuge where we share
communion and together “proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.”
But this former Lutheran is looking forward to being in one of God's
houses tonight, entering the story yet again and, in my case, trying
to see again what that Roman commander saw for the very first time.
