Good Friday
I got up before daybreak on Friday morning and left for the Old City. The air was balmy before the sun rose, and it only became warmer during the course of the day. I was awake early to follow the Via Dolorosa through Jerusalem, the traditional path Christ took carrying his cross. Our procession began at 6:30 am, before the via became too full of pilgrims tracing Jesus’ Good Friday steps. I had traveled the Via Dolorosa twice before, so this time was the repetition of a well-known path. I had trouble focusing, perhaps because it was so early in the morning or because the service was continually interrupted by traffic trying to squeeze through the narrow Jerusalem streets, and later on I regretted waking up so early.
After the Via Dolorosa and a cup of coffee, I was fresh and ready to attend a Good Friday service at the Garden Tomb. The Garden Tomb is an alternative site to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher that offers a place to remember and meditate on the Passion and Resurrection of Christ. There are beautiful gardens planted all around the traditional site of the tomb that held Christ and the rock formations that resemble the biblical description of Golgotha. Today, the Garden Tomb is frequented by many Christians visiting the Holy Land who may find the Church of the Holy Sepulcher iconolatrous (adj., icon + idolatry) and unwelcoming. The type of folk who visit the Garden Tomb are, generally speaking, the type I agree with on most matters of Christian doctrine and practice, so I decided to go visit for the morning Good Friday service.
After being welcomed to the Good Friday service by a friendly staff of volunteers, I took my seat on a bench facing the empty tomb. The air was warm and the day was sunny, but we sat in the cool shade of pine trees. Birds sang sweetly all around. We were in a garden paradise of prayer and remembrance, closed off from the bustle and noise of Eastern Jerusalem. The service opened with a song accompanied by the soft tones of a keyboard piano. The service, which lasted for an hour, incorporated praise singing, reading from the Gospel accounts of Christ’s Passion, and a sermon. I was thankful to know most of the songs, some even by heart, and I sang with gusto. The renditions of the Gospel stories were read by an older British lady whose secure, comforting voice gave beautiful clarity and expression to the “old, old story.” The Holy Spirit also moved through the sermon given by the pastor. He recounted the Passion story, weaving together the varied Gospel descriptions into a single narrative. Along the way, the preacher spoke on the significance of the story and its application to our own lives. I’m not sure if I was paying more attention than usual to the sermon because of its Good Friday significance, but I walked away after hearing it feeling equipped and much better able to appreciate the significance of Christ’s suffering.
The Garden Tomb service, though set in an idyllic place probably much different than the chaotic scene of Christ’s crucifixion, offered me a chance to peacefully reflect on the magnitude of Christ’s sacrifice. It was a welcome respite after the Via Dolorosa, and I felt God’s presence through the singing, scripture readings, and message. The service was good for me to attend.
After visiting the Garden Tomb, I returned to campus for a quick rest. My fatigue wasn’t enough, though, to keep me from traveling back to the Old City in the afternoon to remember the hour of Christ’s death (3:00 pm). At that time, I ventured into the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which was full (but not chock full) of pilgrims. I climbed the steps to the traditional site of Calvary, where I found a host of people praying, reading scripture, and waiting in line to touch the rock where Christ’s cross was planted in the ground. I was able to kneel before the cross in prayer, remembering the awesome sacrifice of my Lord. There he died for my sins, Jesus Son of God taking the punishment for my dirtiness and filth. There he was forsaken by God in my place, so that I might have hope and a relationship with my Creator. It was a powerful moment to be kneeling in prayer at the foot of the cross when the church bells rang out to mark the moment of Christ’s last breath. “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” he cried, and, taking the weight of the world’s sin on his shoulders, died.
After the Via Dolorosa and a cup of coffee, I was fresh and ready to attend a Good Friday service at the Garden Tomb. The Garden Tomb is an alternative site to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher that offers a place to remember and meditate on the Passion and Resurrection of Christ. There are beautiful gardens planted all around the traditional site of the tomb that held Christ and the rock formations that resemble the biblical description of Golgotha. Today, the Garden Tomb is frequented by many Christians visiting the Holy Land who may find the Church of the Holy Sepulcher iconolatrous (adj., icon + idolatry) and unwelcoming. The type of folk who visit the Garden Tomb are, generally speaking, the type I agree with on most matters of Christian doctrine and practice, so I decided to go visit for the morning Good Friday service.
After being welcomed to the Good Friday service by a friendly staff of volunteers, I took my seat on a bench facing the empty tomb. The air was warm and the day was sunny, but we sat in the cool shade of pine trees. Birds sang sweetly all around. We were in a garden paradise of prayer and remembrance, closed off from the bustle and noise of Eastern Jerusalem. The service opened with a song accompanied by the soft tones of a keyboard piano. The service, which lasted for an hour, incorporated praise singing, reading from the Gospel accounts of Christ’s Passion, and a sermon. I was thankful to know most of the songs, some even by heart, and I sang with gusto. The renditions of the Gospel stories were read by an older British lady whose secure, comforting voice gave beautiful clarity and expression to the “old, old story.” The Holy Spirit also moved through the sermon given by the pastor. He recounted the Passion story, weaving together the varied Gospel descriptions into a single narrative. Along the way, the preacher spoke on the significance of the story and its application to our own lives. I’m not sure if I was paying more attention than usual to the sermon because of its Good Friday significance, but I walked away after hearing it feeling equipped and much better able to appreciate the significance of Christ’s suffering.
The Garden Tomb service, though set in an idyllic place probably much different than the chaotic scene of Christ’s crucifixion, offered me a chance to peacefully reflect on the magnitude of Christ’s sacrifice. It was a welcome respite after the Via Dolorosa, and I felt God’s presence through the singing, scripture readings, and message. The service was good for me to attend.
After visiting the Garden Tomb, I returned to campus for a quick rest. My fatigue wasn’t enough, though, to keep me from traveling back to the Old City in the afternoon to remember the hour of Christ’s death (3:00 pm). At that time, I ventured into the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which was full (but not chock full) of pilgrims. I climbed the steps to the traditional site of Calvary, where I found a host of people praying, reading scripture, and waiting in line to touch the rock where Christ’s cross was planted in the ground. I was able to kneel before the cross in prayer, remembering the awesome sacrifice of my Lord. There he died for my sins, Jesus Son of God taking the punishment for my dirtiness and filth. There he was forsaken by God in my place, so that I might have hope and a relationship with my Creator. It was a powerful moment to be kneeling in prayer at the foot of the cross when the church bells rang out to mark the moment of Christ’s last breath. “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” he cried, and, taking the weight of the world’s sin on his shoulders, died.
posted by Jason | 12:34 AM
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