Good Friday.

My heart had a 20-pound weight strapped on it this morning.  As I climbed out of my car, I trudged through an emotional and mental swamp.  The news headlines every day, the reality of sorting through my dad’s house, the weightiness of many terrible events in friends and strangers’ lives, and the deep injustices seemingly everywhere I looked brought a spiritual darkness that more than matched the gray skies and foggy mist outside my window.   

“Can you see if Kindergarten needs support right now?  Kellie’s daughter is sick,” My supervisor asked when I arrived in the Education Support Services office.  I gathered some materials to help students count by 10s up to 100 and headed down the hall.  They were still involved in their morning routine, so I plopped my things on a little table in the corridor and checked my school email. 

“You are here, moving in this place.  We worship you; we worship you,” came floating out of the open doorway.  I stopped typing.  I stopped everything.  I listened. Little six-year-old voices sang out, “You are Way-maker, Miracle Worker, Promise Keeper, Light in the darkness, My God that is who you are…” 

It was a gentle touch, a little lift under my chin to raise my downcast eyes.   “Do you notice me?” God seemed to whisper. 
On my drive to work, I had been held captive by worries that I wasn’t doing enough to fight the wrong in this world; I wasn’t sure if I was on the right track in all my thinking; I wasn’t able to stop worrying about the countless “what ifs” about the future nagging at me. 

Now, interrupting the wrestling came that music. Those pure notes coming from joyful noises were a ray of light breaking through the clouds.

Oh, I needed that. 

I needed to get out of my own head, get out of the spiritual dimness.  

Don’t get me wrong.  That moment didn’t make all things bright and beautiful in my or the larger world.  What it did do was answer my plea to God that morning when I prayed, “I am not hearing you as often as I used to Lord.  What am I doing wrong?” 

His answer began with that moment of tenderness.   

Time doesn’t stop for much musing.  I continued my day, pulling students out to read paragraphs, solve math questions, create solutions to problems.  At 2:35 pm, our principle had turned out the lights in the circle auditorium, set out signs asking students to quiet their voices, bodies, and hearts as they entered the sanctuary, and stood against a propped open door to welcome students into a sacred space to remember—or maybe hear about for the first time—what happened on that first “Good” Friday some 2000 years ago. 

I quieted my own mind and body.  We watched a powerful animated version from the Jesus Storybook Bible of the moments in the Garden of Gethsemane. We listened to our music teacher read the rest of that dark night’s story from the Bible.  The song, “Come to the Altar” played. 

Are you hurting and broken within? 
Overwhelmed by the weight of your sin? 
Jesus is calling. 
Have you come to the end of yourself? 
Do you thirst for a drink from the well? 
Jesus is calling. 

“Yes, I am, Jesus.” I thought.
More light broke through.

O come to the altar 
The Father’s arms are open wide 
Forgiveness was bought with 
The precious blood of Jesus Christ. 

I could almost feel the Father’s arms around me.
My heart grew quieter. 

Leave behind your regrets and mistakes 
Come today, there’s no reason to wait 
Jesus is calling 
Bring your sorrows and trade them for joy 
From the ashes, a new life is born 
Jesus is calling 

I fought back tears. These words were also part of God’s answer to my morning cry in prayer.

There were candles snuffed out between each reading of God’s word and reflections.  We sang, “Be still and Know that I am God” between meditations. 

Later, when we left the gathering place, I walked back to my closet-office.  One door was closed and the other partly open, the lights off inside.  I couldn’t pick up where I left off right then, I knew I needed to go into the darkness of that little closet-office and talk with God for a moment before filling out more intervention recording forms.  While it was dark physically, it no longer was spiritually. 

I see what you did today, God.  Thank you.  Thank you for loving me and others so much. You know we need you not just once that day some 2000 years ago but every single day to push aside the darkness and bring in your Light. 

I know I need your light. Help me not to forget it is you who pierce the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome you.  And the darkness cannot overcome me, because my heart belongs to you.