Friday, April 18, 2025
4:58 AM
I have somehow managed to get to the parish on time. My
shift at this vigil, which began at the end of the Maundy Thursday service, is
scheduled for 5 AM. After a nearly sleepless night spent trying to calm a very
protective beagle on high alert over the possum dancing across the backyard
fence, it was everything I could do to drag my tired carcass out of bed when
the alarm went off at 4 AM. I reheated the Starbucks I had bought the night
before, showered, and sped off toward Winter Park.
It is a beautiful morning. Little traffic on the roads yet. I
know that will change within the next hour. But for now, it is peaceful, quiet.
I drive without the radio, not wishing to be poisoned by the latest news
emerging from the global dark night of the soul in which our world currently finds
itself before I go in to sit with Jesus. I bid good morning as I pass to my
friends, the trees who line the roadway heading into Winter Park, friends who
lovingly embrace me each time I travel this way.
It is dark when I arrive at St. Richards. The lights
announcing the presence of our parish in this neighborhood stand in stark
distinction to the blackness of the night around it. I smile. It is a wonderful
gift to be a part of such a vibrant, healthy parish. Light in the darkness.
As I enter the sanctuary, I see the flickering candles in the Lady Chapel. Even in the dim light I can see that Jesus has not been abandoned this night. There are two other faithful parishioners waiting on me. Their shifts will end soon. For now, I appreciate their faithful silent company.
I enter, reverence the altar where the body and blood of
Jesus repose under the veil and sit down.
I had missed last night’s Maundy Thursday service when, after the washing of feet and sharing of the last eucharist before the resurrection, the parish was stripped bare. This is inevitably one of the most moving rites our church engages. There is a visceral loss as all the visual clues that this is a church where Jesus’ presence is palpable, that a faith going back two millennia is the purpose of this place, that the devotion of so many souls, some of which are present with us this night, call this place their home, are all taken away. The bare bones structure which remains is a stark distinction from the daily life of this incredibly vibrant parish.
The main altar and all the walls are bare. The parish looks so empty this morning. This place that is ordinarily so full of life, of flowers, of art, of music, of words, of people – all absent this morning save this little chapel in the corner of the sanctuary where candles flicker at Mary’s feet.
These votives are the flickering records of those who said
their prayers here after faithfully spending a portion of the night waiting and
watching with Jesus - the infant Jesus his
Mother holds, the Jesus who awaits the Temple guards in Gethsemane, the Jesus
shrouded in the reserved sacraments on the chapel altar, the Jesus who peers
down from the icon above.
Jesus knows what is coming.
So does his Mother and his companion, Mary Magdalene, and the Guardian Angels who always surround him. This morning they hover overhead, keeping vigil with Jesus.
Mary stands to Jesus’ right, watching the gathering from
above. MP θϒ (Mater Theus,
Mother of G_d) is inscribed around her in this beautiful icon with the title “Holy
Protector” above her head in her halo. Jesus will definitely need divine
protection this day.
To his left, his companion and confidante, Mary Magdalene, stands
in vigil. She will be present when he breathes his last this day. And her presence
in the Jesus movement after his death will prove to be what insures its
survival to the present time, something for which she and the other women in
Jesus’ movement rarely get any credit.
It is not surprising that Jesus is surrounded by women here.
It will be these women among others who follow Jesus down the Via Dolorosa this
day. It will be these women who stand at the foot of the cross. It will be
these women who come to the tomb to anoint him, a grisly job given the state of
Jesus’ tortured body. And it will be these woman who encounter an empty tomb,
running back to tell the other disciples what they have seen, only to be
discounted by sexist male disciples as spinners of silly tales.
Except, they weren’t. They were the actual witnesses to the
resurrection.
On either side of these three figures the Guardian Angels
are present, as they always are with all of us.
There is Gabriel with his horn, divine messenger, herald of
important events. Gabriel is often associated with key historical moments
like the one about to unfold. It was Gabriel who announced to Mary that
her divine child was coming.
Then there is Michael, the chief of the angels and
archangels, responsible for the care of God's chosen people in Hebrew tradition.
In later Christian tradition, Michael will come to be seen as the angel
protecting the faithful from attacks of the devil.
Jesus will need everything they can provide him this day.
The spirits of those whose devotions over the years have
made this place holy, whose presence I often feel here, sometimes even catching
a glimpse of them out of the corner of my vision, some of whose names I
remember and faces I can still envision –all maintain silence this morning. They
all know what’s coming.
In our culture of constant distraction, none of us well trained consumers do well with silence. That is decidedly true of myself.
As I try to calm my monkey mind, a Taizé chant inspired by Jesus’ words in the Garden of Gethsemane, begins to fill my head.
“Stay with me
Remain here with me
Watch….and pray.
Watch and pray.”
So I watch and pray. But I am sleepy. I brought coffee with me this morning but I feel a little embarrassed about that. As a rule, I never take beverages into the sanctuary.
But I don’t want to fall asleep on Jesus. His words
“Can’t any of you remain awake with me?” echo in my head. Already I am
thinking about my waiting bed once safely home.
How spoiled we are.
5:38 AM
Outside the first birds have begun to sing the sun up. I
wonder if they sang to Jesus as the sweat of blood rolled down his stricken
face. I wonder if he could have even noticed them, despite his deep love of
creation which he often illustrated his parables.
Was the overwhelming terror of the coming day all his mind could
handle this early morning?
As I focus on the icon of Jesus, I hear in my head the words
of St. Richard of Chichester, our patron, which often come to me unbidden in
this parish:
Jesus, our
Brother,
May we see
you more clearly
Love you
more dearly,
Follow you
more nearly,
This day
and every day.
What will
following Jesus mean this day?
6:09 AM
The fatigue of a sleepless night is beginning to catch up
with me.
It is my tendency to close my eyes when I meditate. And
there are any number of aspects on which to focus that meditation in this
deeply spiritual moment. But if I close eyes for very long, I feel the sleep
ready to come over me.
It’s at this moment that I think I understand why the
disciples slept. They, too, were exhausted. But they were also overwrought with
apprehension and sadness, paralyzed with fear. Their hearts were breaking at
the very thought of losing their beloved Jesus, a tragedy they so wished to
avoid but knew was inevitable.
No wonder they shut down.
6:20 AM
There were two people here when I entered. One left about 5,
her shift completed. The second, a dear man who serves on our vestry, just
left. Both stood, crossed themselves, and walked away slowly in silence. I now
sit alone.
I note that the birds have stopped signing. But they have
done their job. The sun is beginning to rise. The stained glass window above
the altar is beginning to light up.
Jesus’ time is coming. The soldiers, led by Judas his
disciple, will arrive momentarily.
What is Jesus thinking? Feeling?
The women who share the icon above the altar seem to stare
down at me. What fears run through their minds at this moment?
6:38 AM
As my time to leave approaches, I focus on the angels in the icon before me. These angels will hover round Jesus this day as they do with all of us every day. Sometimes we even catch glimpses of them, hear their wings fluttering around us, overjoyed – relieved - to know they are present. I wonder if Jesus could be aware of them as he made his way to Golgotha.
6:58 AM
The parishioner who is to take the 7 AM shift has arrived. We talk briefly, softly, so as not to disturb the serene scene all around us. Then it is time for me to go.
“Keep him company,” I say. “I will,” she
replies. And I know she will.
I light my votive, cross myself and depart in silence. As I leave the parish, I am struck by the beauty of the morning sky, lighting up the eastern horizon beyond our memorial garden with its bell we seldom ring. The evening’s moon still lingers overhead even as the rising sun illuminates the beautiful long needled pines that shade our dog park and pet cemetery.
It has been a good morning. But now comes the hard part, the day we remember one of history’s most brutal executions, knowing that every day in this world the powerless and the vulnerable continue to be crucified. It is a day we so ironically call Good Friday. As my professor in seminary often said, “Qui bono? Good for whom? And at whose expense?”
As I walk to my car, letting the thought and emotions of the
past couple of hours wash over me, another Taizé chant runs through my head:
“Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.”
May my heart and my soul be present with you, Jesus, my
Brother, this day as we walk the Via Dolorosa together.
[IMAGES: Photos by the author. All iconography images are the work of resident icon writer and director of the parish icon guild, Sayaka Kamakari.]
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Harry Scott Coverston
Orlando, Florida
If the unexamined life is not worth living, surely an
unexamined belief system, be it religious or political, is not worth holding.
Most things worth considering do not come in sound bites.
Those who believe religion and
politics aren't connected don't understand either. – Mahatma Gandhi
For what does G-d require of you but to do justice, and
to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your G-d? - Micah
6:8, Hebrew Scriptures
Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief.
Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly now. You are not obligated to
complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it. - Rabbi Rami
Shapiro, Wisdom of the Jewish Sages (1993)
© Harry Coverston, 2025
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