It’s Good Friday today.
Jesus is either all bloody and bleeding on the cross, or is dead, spear to the side to verify, and been taken to the tomb.
For me, there is sorrow all around.
The streets are quiet and empty, only a few hooded figures darting furtively in and out of the shadows, through narrow alleyways, carrying information from one group to another, and back.
So he WAS taken last night?
Where were the men?
Is he dead?
How can this be? What are we going to do?
Saturday we will meet the other groups. We will find the women…see if we can find the men. There is talk of resurrection but the cross is still there…his blood is still on the floors and walls of Herod’s courtyard…
Tomorrow. We will find the others and see.
It’s my last day of lent. Paula. Here we are. I can see you. I know you are bringing comfort to many. I know that you are hurting.
Keeping my word.
Did I do it? Did I complete my lent? Am I free to celebrate? Break the fast?
Did I finish what I started? I remember the beginning, wanting the 40days, looking to find Jesus through Easter. I remember so clearly, 1993. A community center in Grosvenor Square, in London, I’ve been homeless and squatting for months, I’ve screwed up at college, I’ve found out I’m gay, I haven’t spoken to my parents in a year, they don’t know where I am.
I’m taking a shower in the community center – The Clubhouse – the first I’ve had in days. I walked in and asked if I could have a shower. They have snooker and young people and are getting ready to receive The Queen.
A young man, a priest, handsome, gives me a towel and asked if I want a meal after.
I’m the only black person here. I squat nearby…it’s a very posh area.
I’m in the little chapel upstairs. The stained glass was made by Robert I think…the painting on the walls are by a woman with a punk cut, pink. It’s on the roof-top and next week the Queen’s coming to open it.
The priest asked me what I do…what I want to do…and I said I’m a Pharamcologist, but I want to be a film-maker.
The BBC is up the road he says, go ask them for a camera and see if you can film the Queen for us.
There’s twelve of us here, we’ve been all night, and we’ll be up ’till service on Sunday. I’ve memorised seven themes to dedicate an ‘our father’ to, everytime I pray. I’m filled with the story of this man Jesus and what’s happening…I’m sad and amazed.
God. Love. Sacrifive. Forgiveness. Renunciation. Knowledge. Control. Surrender.
Those are the themes…the book described each one for each of the days of one week of worship – some special Christian week I don’t know which…I wonder if it’s like the Krsna’s down the street. I like them. Free lunch.
I’m a liar, generally. My life is filled with little lies. Very little ones, no harm. No harm. Yet the last time I remember feeling really free was when even little lies were not told.
Do I keep my word?
Have I kept my word?
If there is anything I’ve learned this Lent, anything that I want to hold myself to forever, it is to ALWAYS tell the truth, and to keep my word.
God help me.