Gratitude 33

I am grateful for Good Friday, which is today.  This is a day that has little or no resonance to most people, at least here in Vancouver.  It is a day off, a day to go shopping, to go out for coffee, lunch, for a walk in the park, to stay home and watch TV or go online, or to stay online while texting to their little heart's content as cars and other pedestrians try not to send them to their eternal reward.

I will quote here from an email I sent my friend who is on the cusp of ordination to the Anglican priesthood:

I just want to wish you a very Blessed and Meaningful Good Friday and that on this day that you really sense the love of God, the love which sent him to the Cross, enfold you and fill you. 

Even though I no longer attend church services (till further notice, anyway) this day always resonates with me and there is something of the sorrow that fills the boundless heart of God in his love for this broken world that always touches and impacts me.

It really is in our weakness that God manifests his strength, eh?  The vulnerability of suffering that brings forth the beauty and power of his love.

Every year, something happens to me or around me on Good Friday that really reinforces to me the reality of the Cross.  Today, the blessing of Good Friday came in the form of two men seated near us in the café.  They were both wearing suits and ties, but otherwise....

One of them did most of the swearing, or should I say, talking.  His voice wasn't particularly loud, but he sounded very emphatic.  Moreover, every one of his sentences contained at least one F bomb, usually three or four.  I have never heard the word "fuck" used with such frequency, passion and reckless abandonment.  It was every bit as fascinating as annoying and offensive.  We did what we could to cope, and really tried to brush it off, laugh it off, et cetera.  This went on for at least an hour.  As we were getting ready to leave we noticed the look of absolute exhaustion and disgust on the face of the young man who was sitting right next to them.  When we left the café we suddenly realized how impacted we were by this very angry and apparently ignorant person.  It was exhausting.

We walked through the West End and into the forest of Stanley Park where the gentle sounds, fragrances and silences of nature helped soothe and heal our wounded nerves.  We agreed not to blame that individual for his behaviour, given that we really know nothing of his life circumstances: perhaps mental health, addictions?  Maybe he has been through his own crap load of trauma.  He is another person for whom Christ suffered and died, whose evident human brokenness so touched the heart of God as to send him to the cross for us as Jesus Christ.

This was an opportunity for my friend and I to participate in Our Lord's passion and suffering for us.  Difficult, yes.  But still a blessing.