STATIONS OF THE CROSS : PORTLAND MAINE : I JUST GOT HOME
J. Grant Swank, Jr.
I just walked in the door this Good Friday afternoon. My wife and I attended the noontime Good Friday worship at Portland’s cathedral.
It’s a shame that the Protestant churches are slacking off these past years when it comes to Good Friday worships, particularly during the day hours. It used to be that Protestant clergy would set aside one sanctuary in particular for worship from noon till 3 o’clock. It was during those 3 hours that darkness fell upon the world as Jesus hung on Calvary.
In commemoration of those 3 hours, clergy from neighborhood congregations spoke on what was referred to as the "Seven Last Words from The Cross." They were not actually seven words. They were the last seven utterances of Jesus on the cross.
A clergyman would take his "word" and preach on it. Then another clergyman would do the same. Hymns interspersed the meditations. Prayers did, also.
People came and went during those 3 hours. They would leave the workplace to slip into the sanctuary, receive whatever the spiritual food was and then return to work. Some employers even permitted believers to take the day off from work in honor of Good Friday. In many communities, public schools shut down on Good Friday.
I recall as a student going on the train from Quincy to Boston’s Copley Square in order to sit under Dr. Theodore Parker Ferris’ 3 hours of Good Friday meditations. The choir was splendid. The sermons were perfectly prepared and delivered. The sanctuary was filled with thousands. It was a taste of heaven. But that was in the late 50s and early 60s.
Today one has to search far and wide in a metro area to find a 3-hour worship on Good Friday. Or any worship during Good Friday daytime.
So it is that I know I can count on the cathedral to provide me with Good Friday worship starting at noon.
Therefore I was there for the Stations of the Cross and I thank God that I was there. Today then is not just any other Friday. It’s Good Friday. Now that I’ve been to church I know that it’s really Good Friday.
"Jesus, Lord, condemned defiled,
May we too be meek and mild
As we tread your holy Way.
"May we feel no bitter hatred,
When we too are persecuted,
Left alone to walk with You."
And so the worship proceeded. The sanctuary was packed — children and adults, teens and elderly, men and women, poor and well-to-do. There was no organ music. There was no choir. There was no Mass. It was traveling the Stations of the Cross in the Catholic tradition.
Two black boys. Three black girls. One oriental fellow. And several white boys and girls. Add a layman. And then add the officiating priest. Those were the ones who led us on the journey throughout the side aisles of the sanctuary, starting of course with the first station and proceeding to the last.
Children from the Cathedral school were dismissed from class to attend. It is always a treat to see those boys and girls walking into church, hearing the Word of God, bowing their heads in prayer, taking note of the history of this day.
"Now the cross as Jesus bore it,
Has become for us who share it,
The jeweled Cross of Calvary."
I looked into the faces of those around me. There was the older woman with cane in hand. There was the young man who appeared to have just walked out of his corporate suite. There was a stooped gentleman who appeared to have some emotional difficulties.
After all, where the cathedral is located in the city’s middle is where many of Pineland’s "problem" residents walk the streets. Pineland, outside the city in the rural countryside, is where the mentally ill and crippled once lived. But several years ago the state closed it down. Those people now are left to some-sort-of-apartments and wandering city streets. When a church door is open, they often walk through it. There is shelter and kindness there.
"Weakened, prodded, cursed, and fallen,
His whole Body bruised and swollen,
Jesus tripped and lay in pain."
I thought: Who is saved here? Who really loves Jesus here? Who is simply going through the motions of religion here? Of course, then I relaxed in soul. That’s none of my business. God sees the heart.
Jesus said that those we think are so pious before heaven may indeed be charades while those whom we least expect may know Him. Yes, God sees the heart. We see only the exterior. The Lord peers into the depths. He knows and that’s all that matters.
"Jesus met his grieving Mother,
She who made the Lord our Brother;
Now the sword her heart has pierced."
Those children led the huge bare cross from station to station. The layman watched over them to make certain the cross did not lose its balance. The priest was close by, ready to read the next liturgical section. We worshipers followed with our responses and prayers.
It was marvelous and hurtful. It was marvelous in being in church on Good Friday. It was hurtful to realize why we were there: once again to witness the murder of our dear Jesus. He never deserved that; but He willingly laid down His all so that we may know His saving grace — the hope of heaven.
"Simon stopped in hesitation,
Not foreseeing his proud station,
Called to bear the Cross of Christ."
And so are we. We are called to "bear the Cross of Christ." Thank you, Jesus. What a privilege. Thank you, Jesus.
I just walked in the door this Good Friday afternoon. My wife and I attended the noontime Good Friday worship at Portland’s cathedral.
It’s a shame that the Protestant churches are slacking off these past years when it comes to Good Friday worships, particularly during the day hours. It used to be that Protestant clergy would set aside one sanctuary in particular for worship from noon till 3 o’clock. It was during those 3 hours that darkness fell upon the world as Jesus hung on Calvary.
In commemoration of those 3 hours, clergy from neighborhood congregations spoke on what was referred to as the "Seven Last Words from The Cross." They were not actually seven words. They were the last seven utterances of Jesus on the cross.
A clergyman would take his "word" and preach on it. Then another clergyman would do the same. Hymns interspersed the meditations. Prayers did, also.
People came and went during those 3 hours. They would leave the workplace to slip into the sanctuary, receive whatever the spiritual food was and then return to work. Some employers even permitted believers to take the day off from work in honor of Good Friday. In many communities, public schools shut down on Good Friday.
I recall as a student going on the train from Quincy to Boston’s Copley Square in order to sit under Dr. Theodore Parker Ferris’ 3 hours of Good Friday meditations. The choir was splendid. The sermons were perfectly prepared and delivered. The sanctuary was filled with thousands. It was a taste of heaven. But that was in the late 50s and early 60s.
Today one has to search far and wide in a metro area to find a 3-hour worship on Good Friday. Or any worship during Good Friday daytime.
So it is that I know I can count on the cathedral to provide me with Good Friday worship starting at noon.
Therefore I was there for the Stations of the Cross and I thank God that I was there. Today then is not just any other Friday. It’s Good Friday. Now that I’ve been to church I know that it’s really Good Friday.
"Jesus, Lord, condemned defiled,
May we too be meek and mild
As we tread your holy Way.
"May we feel no bitter hatred,
When we too are persecuted,
Left alone to walk with You."
And so the worship proceeded. The sanctuary was packed — children and adults, teens and elderly, men and women, poor and well-to-do. There was no organ music. There was no choir. There was no Mass. It was traveling the Stations of the Cross in the Catholic tradition.
Two black boys. Three black girls. One oriental fellow. And several white boys and girls. Add a layman. And then add the officiating priest. Those were the ones who led us on the journey throughout the side aisles of the sanctuary, starting of course with the first station and proceeding to the last.
Children from the Cathedral school were dismissed from class to attend. It is always a treat to see those boys and girls walking into church, hearing the Word of God, bowing their heads in prayer, taking note of the history of this day.
"Now the cross as Jesus bore it,
Has become for us who share it,
The jeweled Cross of Calvary."
I looked into the faces of those around me. There was the older woman with cane in hand. There was the young man who appeared to have just walked out of his corporate suite. There was a stooped gentleman who appeared to have some emotional difficulties.
After all, where the cathedral is located in the city’s middle is where many of Pineland’s "problem" residents walk the streets. Pineland, outside the city in the rural countryside, is where the mentally ill and crippled once lived. But several years ago the state closed it down. Those people now are left to some-sort-of-apartments and wandering city streets. When a church door is open, they often walk through it. There is shelter and kindness there.
"Weakened, prodded, cursed, and fallen,
His whole Body bruised and swollen,
Jesus tripped and lay in pain."
I thought: Who is saved here? Who really loves Jesus here? Who is simply going through the motions of religion here? Of course, then I relaxed in soul. That’s none of my business. God sees the heart.
Jesus said that those we think are so pious before heaven may indeed be charades while those whom we least expect may know Him. Yes, God sees the heart. We see only the exterior. The Lord peers into the depths. He knows and that’s all that matters.
"Jesus met his grieving Mother,
She who made the Lord our Brother;
Now the sword her heart has pierced."
Those children led the huge bare cross from station to station. The layman watched over them to make certain the cross did not lose its balance. The priest was close by, ready to read the next liturgical section. We worshipers followed with our responses and prayers.
It was marvelous and hurtful. It was marvelous in being in church on Good Friday. It was hurtful to realize why we were there: once again to witness the murder of our dear Jesus. He never deserved that; but He willingly laid down His all so that we may know His saving grace — the hope of heaven.
"Simon stopped in hesitation,
Not foreseeing his proud station,
Called to bear the Cross of Christ."
And so are we. We are called to "bear the Cross of Christ." Thank you, Jesus. What a privilege. Thank you, Jesus.
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