Revisiting a Contemporary Look at Good Friday

To stand at the foot of the cross, is to stand in solidarity with all those who are maligned, all those who suffer injustice, all those broken by their burdens, all those dying from neglect.

Sometimes, that is a person outside us. And sometimes, that person is us. 

Either way, to stand at the foot of the cross, is to stand in solidarity with the sadness, the dismay, the despair, the horror, the terror, the confusion, to witness the reality of the suffering. 

It is not a place of fixing, nor even changing, though certainly social justice issues may emerge from the discipline of solidarity that require action and energy. But first, before any kind of movement, there must be a time of comradeship with the pain, allowing the contemplative spirit to open our eyes to the struggle. 

Over the years that Bruce and I have written music together, suffering people have come to visit us through our music and our art. They come uninvited, floating, or sometimes barging, into our consciousness to emerge fully formed upon a blank canvas or piece of paper. Though even then, they remain a mystery, at the same time they have infiltrated our family of thought. 

Sometimes they arrive with a tune fully formed, and gift themselves as offering. They stand there begging to be heard, asking for their voice to be brought forth. And we try, as best we can to honour them. 

 Sometimes they are there in the morning waiting with their sorrow – no melody, no sound, no words to express their inner struggle. And you have to sit with them, waiting, waiting, hoping that you will be able to capture some essence, fearing they will flee before you have accomplished the task. 

 There are so many of them. And I would gather them all to me if I could. But of course, I cannot. But what I want is for you to see them, to notice them, to be aware of them, because they are all around us. And in in truth, they are you and they are me and they are all of us, and in the Christian tradition, we would say, they are Christ also, waiting for us to see them. 

To stand at the foot of the cross is to stand with them. 

To walk by them is to allow their personal crucifixion to go unseen, dishonoured. 

Perhaps you will recognize them, perhaps they are you, perhaps you have past them by…. but maybe not next time….

The Centurian, Original Painting, Bruce Ley

The Centurion

He weeps, the Centurion, for all he could not see......

and when, too late, he realized his error.

I weep too, for these many years later,

my blindness is just as brutal.

I like he am covered in the froth and fleck of the blood

of the forgotten and maligned, those left to die

alone, affliction branding their spirit

with the hot poker of chance,

the salt on their wounds our contempt,

the vinegar our tuned backs,

and their final desolation our collective murmured condemnation.

We can only hope our mingled tears will wash us,

if not free and clean,

at the least fresh enough for new beginnings.

Where else is there to turn but back upon ourselves,

hearts broken open with remorse

softened with humility, 

walking, at last, in companionship, 

with a god whose tears mingle with our own.

Weep then, dear Centurion,

and I will comfort you,

and you me.

In tears we gather strength.......

......and soldier on.