Our Tenebrae service once unfolded into the darkness
of Good Friday’s evening.
The candles were all gradually extinguished
into an ever deepening gloom,
and when, finally, the Christ candle was put out,
the darkness was complete.
Several years ago, that service was rescheduled earlier in the day
for a variety of reasons—many that remain good
—including consistency with other Holy Week services
and attention to those who prefer not to drive after dark.
But now it doesn’t get dark outside
until well after the service is over,
and when we extinguish the candles in the sanctuary,
it’s actually hard to tell.
The loss of that rich experiential symbolism
has been a source of personal frustration.
This year though, it occurred to me,
“Part of the tragedy of our time
is that we extinguish the light of God around us,
then look around and say,
‘You know, it really isn’t that dark at all!’
But, of course, for those with eyes to see,
there is indeed a dreadful darkness.”
I love the gift of an insight from a frustration.