Last night we had our Good Friday worship together. It was a service called a “Tenebrae,” which basically means service of shadows. The heart of the worship time is the reading of the Passion account from the Gospel of John in 7 different sections. Between each reading a candle is put out, a song is sung, and part of the sanctuary is stripped. The effect is as you move through the story of Christ’s trial, mocking, and crucifixion, the mood gets more somber, the lighting gets darker, and the sanctuary gets more bare. I find it to be a very moving time of worship.
As I was contemplating the whole thing last night, while the verses were being read, something new stuck out to me. They took Jesus’ clothes. Don’t get me wrong, I knew they stripped him and that they cast lots for his clothing. I knew that. But last night that part hit me.
I have presided over many funerals. I have walked with many families through grief, and one of the things that I’ve found is that grief is especially wicked in the little things. There are many seemingly insignificant things about people we love that we miss the most when they are gone. On top of that, in the midst of the tragedy it can be the little injustices that just seem to push you over the limit of how much you can take.
How the deceased looks during the funeral can be very important. Is there hair done right? Is it parted on the correct side? Did she wear that color lipstick? I know it seems trivial, but it’s not when you are just trying to cope with the tragedy of death. I think we just want something to grasp on to. I remember the suit that Grandpa was buried in. It was a light blue one. It was one he always looked good in, Grandma said.
So can you see the stripping of Jesus differently now? It was not simply that the soldiers stole Jesus’ clothing. It was that this was what he was wearing in their last memories, and the soldiers took even that away. No keepsakes. No memories. Jesus’ mother was stripped of even that as she watched her son die. It seems particularly cruel doesn’t it?
“He was despised and rejected by others, a man of sorrows.”
Amen.