I finally got into bed after midnight last night. Technically, it was already Good Friday. The most solemn day of the Christian liturgical calendar. I had participated in the Maundy Thursday service that the Hildegard community had online. We remembered the Last Supper as a festive gathering of disciples. We remembered other events of that last day. And when we were done, we were in darkness. The sun had left the sky. We blew out our candles and left in silence. Several hours and a few other activities later, I finally realized I was tired and went to bed.
As I drifted off to sleep, I realized the house was completely dark. My house is a fairly open floor plan and the prayer candle that I burn in the dining room for my brother and my cousin’s daughter sends gentle gold light into the hallway outside my bedroom. This week, I also had a prayer candle burning in the fireplace for the many heroic nurses, doctors, EMTs and other medical technicians. Both candles burned out as I was getting ready for bed.
I thought about getting up to light a new prayer candle for my brother but the ancestors told me to just go to sleep. They reminded me this is a time to remember darkness. Sometimes we are in dark and sometimes we are in light. Sometimes we are in darkness even when the sun shines.
In these days of covid-19, Good Friday is particularly meaningful. We don’t have to be Christian to know how that feels. Today there is a solidarity that binds all humanity.
I’m going to wait a little longer to light that prayer candle again. And I’ll light another one for all the medical workers, transportation workers, grocery store staff, garbage truck drivers and everyone keeping our society going in the middle of this nightmare.
Today I understand why they call it Good Friday.
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