Christmas and Easter were the big days in my childhood church-going experiences. Christmas was a Christmas-Eve communion — grape juice and homemade bread. I was a kid and was more interested in Santa than the baby Jesus but I went and tried not to grab too big of a piece of bread (my mother said I’d see Jesus if I did). Easter brought funny hats, a bowtie for me and an Easter basket full of sugar. I didn’t particularly believe in a giant rabbit — mainly because I was scared of ever meeting one. At least Harvey was invisible.
After looking through our baskets, we’d load up in the station wagon and head down to the Presbyterian church and listened to the hallelujahs and were grateful for the risen Christ. It was a beautiful service.
I have fond memories of my childhood church.
A few years ago after Amy and I moved to Jackson, we switched churches. It was then that Lent and Holy Week became more important parts of my life. (My mom asked me why I switched and I said I was predestined to — she just looked at me and didn’t say anything). One of the most moving services I’ve ever been part of was a Good Friday service where I carried the cross during the Stations of the Cross. As we (there were five of us — can’t imagine the pain of carrying it alone) put the cross into its holder, the sun set, darkening the giant stained glass above the alter.
Darkness had blanketed the world.
My next piece of art (that I do at night) is for a friend. He recently lost one of his dear friends to COVID-19. His friend was a minister and was a giant of a man — physically and spiritually. He healed individuals and communities alike. And thanks to the damn virus, he died alone in a hospital bed, gasping for air.
“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”
I didn’t know my friend’s friend — but him dying without the thousands who loved him by his side has haunted me. But as I will show in my drawing, Sunday is a reminder that there is good news. There is hope. That his pain has been overcome.
Easter became more meaningful to me once I understood Good Friday. And Good Friday — and all the pain in the world — became more bearable the more I understood about Easter. In this time of fear, I need this week more than ever.
I hope your faith, whatever it may be, can lift you up during these frightening times.
