Good Friday

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Today is Good Friday, the most somber of holy days in the Christian faith.  After having been sentenced to death by Pontius Pilate in an ancient equivalent of a coin toss, Jesus Christ was paraded through the streets of Jerusalem bearing his own death cross on his shoulders while a derisive crowd mocked him and shouted “Hail, King of the Jews” as he made his way outside of the city walls to a hillside called Golgatha – appropriately translated as “Place of the Skulls.” A sarcastic crown of thorns adorned his head, the pricks of which sent rivulets of blood down his face.  When he reached Golgatha, soldiers ordered him to lay down the cross and they proceeded to stretch his body upon the vertical piece, arranging one foot atop the other and tying his ankles tightly to the wood.  They then secured each arm to the crosspiece.  With metal spikes of sufficient length to penetrate his feet and hands, they pounded his extremities onto the cross and raised him upright, sticking the base of the cross into a hole deep enough to sustain its weight.  And then…….whether out of compassion to end the agony or out of contempt for Jesus…..one of the soldiers took his spear and pierced it into Jesus’ side.

His cross was raised up between that of two common thieves. It was a most gruesome death…..an ignominious end to the life of someone whose only crime had been the questioning of religious authority and the offering of a new interpretation of man’s relationship to God.  Little did his persecutors know that they had set in motion a sequence of events that ring like a clarion bell until this day.

I must tell you that whenever Good Friday occurs, I am drawn to one of the most significant memories of my life.  It happened accidentally, but as these things go, upon reflection probably providentially.  Captain and I were in Antigua, Guatemala, - along with your mom, dad, Aunt Bee and a good friend of hers, Emily Lynn – to witness the weeklong Easter celebration known as Semana Santa meaning - “Holy Week.”  I will write to you another time about our total experience, but for now I want to concentrate on what occurred on Good Friday.

The population of Antigua swells to over 100,000 during Holy Week and that Friday was no exception.  It was around noon.  We were tiring of the crowds and the temperature was rising as well, so we decided to seek shelter somewhere out of the sun.  Noticing a flow of people into the doors of a small cathedral, we decided to follow along.  The inviting coolness of the thick stone walls called out, but there was no way to know what we were about to experience. 

The Crucifixion of Christ
(Words by Meemaw, pictures by Captain)

At noon on Good Friday, the sanctuary of Escuela de Christo is packed with people who have come to witness the reenactment of the crucifixion of Christ.  Young  and old alike wait until chimes somberly ring the hour.  The service starts with the introduction of the patrones from the church who comprise the official committee to oversee the service.  They are led by priests to a vault at the back of the church where a sculpture of Christ called Senor Sepultado rests on a bier.

With tympani beating and incense burning, the priests raise the sculpture off of the bier and place it in the extended arms of the patrones.  The Sepultado typifies Colonial sculptures prevalent throughout Antigua, his body carved meticulously from fine cedar wood and a ceramic finish that creates a flesh-like appearance.  Real hair flows from the top of his head.  

The patrones deliberately make their way through the crowd to the steady roll  of a snare drum.  With an eerie sense of reality, they progress towards the altar where an elaborate backdrop depicting Golgatha hangs from the ceiling covering the entire back wall of the actual sanctuary.  The images of the two thieves flank a sunburst on either side.  Once at the altar, the patrones relinquish Senor Sepultado to the priests.  Quiet envelops the crowd like a holy mantle; the only sound comes from the drum.  The priests place Senor Sepultado on a cross and secure his hands and feet with rope.  

With each haunting roll of the snare, the cross is raised until fully upright with Christ hanging at the center of the sunburst.  There is a final roll of the drum – absolute silence.   

The reverence and respect is palpable.  Other than the introduction of the patrones, the entire ceremony has been wordless.  Perhaps there just are no words.  Everyone quietly files out of the church into the bright sunlight – subdued from what they have just witnessed, but secure in the eternal hopefulness manifested on Easter Sunday.