In some ways, Good Friday was a day like any other day. Around noon time I made my way over to Silver Spring to have lunch with my friend, Kat. While it's been longer than we would have liked since our last lunch, this was not an unusual thing.

But as we sat in Panera catching up, we became aware of a ruckus outside. A mob of people were walking by the big glass windows, dressed in robes. Some male youth in Roman costumes with large, plastic, golden swords. Some others in plainer, earthen colored robes. I had to explain to Kat that they were re-enacting the Stations of the Cross. And the youth didn't seem to quite have it down, because while the Stations of the Cross is supposed to be a somber time in which to reflect upon the pain and humiliation that Jesus suffered leading up to his crucifixion, these boisterous kids in costumes were acting like it was a carnival. The contrast was quite amusing.

But as we continued to watch the crowd go by, the youth were replaced by older participants, and the mood grew much more somber. Kat remarked how you could literally see the atmosphere change. The sky seemed to darken.

The Stations of the Cross. Jesus' suffering for us.

Tonight I attended my church's annual Tenebrae service. Tenebrae means "shadows" in Latin, and the service consisted of readings from the Passion story leading up to Jesus' death. As the service progresses, the lights grow dimmer and dimmer. Finally, we shuffle up for communion (the only time its done at All Souls), and then out into the night in silence. Whether or not one believes that Jesus was God, and I do not, it is a powerful service. A time to reflect on pain, and fear, and betrayal, and the brokenness of our world.

I sorrowed as Bill read about Jesus alone in the garden, fearful, and not even his closest friends would stay awake to comfort him. I wept when Delabian read about Peter's betrayal, thinking of the times when I had not stood up when I should have. Jesus would likely have died no matter what, but his suffering would have been lessened had he not experienced betrayal and abandonment by his friends.

I have caused that kind of suffering myself, in many smaller ways. Surely I have sinned and need to be brought back into communion again. Tonight was the first time I ever thought of Good Friday as a time of atonement, like Yom Kippur, not for original sin, but for the sins of betrayal and abandonment.

The communion of which we partook should have been that opportunity for coming back into community. But I did not find it particularly meaningful. We went thru the motions of communion, coming out of the Christian tradition, but without an articulated UU theology which would have tied it to the experience of grief and remorse.

I do not believe that Jesus died to atone for my sins. We as UUs do not call the bread his flesh, nor the grape juice his blood. So what then does the communion represent? Maybe Easter will shed some light.