Because I wasn’t baptized until I was twenty-five, I didn’t have much experience going to church.  It took me a long time to become comfortable with the rituals of the Catholic Mass. Today, I love the Mass.  I tend to prefer Ordinary Time over the crowded Christmas and Easter Masses (I know, that’s not very Christian).  I think the Chrism Mass is my favorite, a joyful Mass when all the priests in the diocese renew their vows.  But the most moving Mass I have ever experienced is the Solemnity of Good Friday.

Technically, the Good Friday service is not an actual Mass.  The hosts are consecrated the night before during Holy Thursday.

I will never forget my first Good Friday experience.  I walked into the church expecting it to be like any other Mass.  But when I arrived, the people were already kneeling and silent. When I looked up into the sanctuary, my heart skipped a beat. The hanging crucifix had been covered. I saw the priest and deacon laying prostrate under it.  The tabernacle was empty, doors opened. After a reading of the entire passion, everyone was invited to venerate the cross.  Each person took a turn to kiss, kneel before, or somehow give honor to the heavy wood of the cross, which was held up by the priest and deacon. In the background, the most beautiful, haunting music was being sung.

Poignantly aware of how Jesus suffered and died for us, I am grateful.  The darkness and bleakness of  a world without Jesus makes me gasp for air.