I’m not suggesting we pivot to this exact way of observing the Strepitus here at UUMC!, but it is an interesting lesson about the meaning behind this tradition. It is rather dramatic as I consider the chaos and sound of all that commotion. And it seems fitting and poignant. After all, this is the death of Jesus. The death of unconditional love. The death of peace that passes all understanding. The death of hope embodied. The horror causes us to cry out in ways both audible and physical. It causes the very earth to shake.
We know of the places in this beautiful and broken world where the earth shakes and cries out in anguish. Places of violence and terror. Places of famine. Land, water, and air are vulnerable to climate change. And given how life is, dear ones, chances are some of you are living through your own earthquakes. The ground beneath you shifting as you live with a relationship gone sideways, a health diagnosis, or any number of dreams dashed.
These three days before Easter are for those who mourn and cry out for justice and mercy. However you observe these days leading up to Easter, I pray you will take comfort in knowing that God is close to the brokenhearted.
Below, I’m including a link to an online service. Especially if you are not able to make it to Good Friday services, you might appreciate this brief service of scripture readings, prayers, and special music. You’ll also find a poem for Good Friday by the creative writers at A Sanctified Art.
Go gentle as you live these hours before Easter morning. Take time for the things your body and soul are needing. Perhaps more space for prayer, rest, and silence. May the Spirit create in that space room for the surprise of Easter morning’s joy. Which, by the way, also includes the drama of an earthquake. As we’ll hear Sunday morning:
