A church I attended years ago had a three-hour long service on Good Friday. Sounds a little "extra," doesn't it? As a child, I thought so. As I grew older, however, I looked forward to it. Seven laypersons in the church would each be assigned one of the phrases Jesus spoke as He hung on the cross; they would then do a fifteen minute devotional for their given phrase. In between each devotional would be a moment of silent meditation and a song or two. You were free to come and go as you pleased, providing you moved about quietly. The reverent attitude and peaceful contemplation of the day helped me stay on track with regard to the purpose in all of this: Christ's death, His great love for us, and the reason two-thousand year old history carries so much weight, even into the future.
Given current restrictions, I thought this year, most of all, I need to be intentional about how I spent Good Friday. Rising early, spending the dawn in prayer. fasting, taking some time in the middle of the day to meditate, sitting down to dinner with my family and sharing with them all the wonderful things God and I shared. Not. Even. A little bit.
I stayed up a bit later than usual on Thursday night. No early rising for me. By 6:30, light was streaming through our bedroom window and the pitter-patter of little feet was already beginning. As I made my way to the main floor, one of the basement-dwellers was on her way up. My goal is always to get those needing food immediately upon opening their eyes, some sort of snack to hold them over while I quietly sit close by studying and praying. It hasn't worked more than once in two years. Insanity? Could be. Before I could peel Number Two's banana, Number One had hers gone already. By the time I got back to Number One with her coffee, Number Three was entering the room looking pale and close to starvation. Number One and Two are ready for vitamins! Like juggling monkeys.
Then there was the load of laundry still sitting on the ottoman and waiting to be folded, the desserts that need to be started for Easter brunch; Mom's room had to be cleaned and it was time to get her dressed for the day. There was the small matter of some online banking and an email that had to be sent. Scott had an errand to run and, taking advantage of the other responsible hands we have helping out these days, asked me to spend the time with him. Something of a date to him; a two-hour appeasement, as far as I was concerned. It was more than three hours later, when we walked in the door. And -- oh, look at that! -- about time for dinner. The masses were famished. Make dinner, more prep for Sunday, "Gramma, will you play with me?" It occurred to me sometime between the pasta and the lemon bars, I'd never washed my face that morning.
In addition to all this, I hadn't fasted. I hadn't eaten, but I definitely hadn't fasted. The fasting I desired was more than simply skipping a few meals, I wanted to heighten my awareness of God's provision and presence in my life. I wanted to, each time I felt emptiness within my belly, seek the fullness of the Lord. By the time we sat down to dinner, I was just plain hangry. There was not a "right spirit" in it.
This sacred day was nearing its end, and I stepped into the shower. I was finally alone, finally getting the quiet for which I so desperately longed. And I began to whine to my King. "I just wanted to spend the time in prayer. I just wanted to take the day to remember how You love me, what You did for me. Instead, my entire day was spent catering to everyone but You. Today's focus should have been on You. All I did was serve, serve, serve." And His words came to me, not to my ears, but to my very soul:
"Isn't that what I was doing?"
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