They went to the olive grove called Gethsemane, and Jesus said, “Sit here while I go and pray.” He took Peter, James, and John with him, and he became deeply troubled and distressed. He told them, “My soul is crushed with grief to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” – Mark 14:32-34

I have always appreciated and found deep meaning in Maundy Thursday, marking the Last Supper Jesus had with his disciples (both men and women) and his betrayal.

This year Rebekah talked about the disciples’ lack of awareness in the garden and how we are invited, specifically by Jesus, to be awake and aware – to be “in the moment” in our faith.

It was a really good message, but what grabbed my attention most profoundly was the way the worship service ended, the deliberate darkening. One by one, church leaders came forward and took away some accoutrement of worship from the front of the sanctuary. A candlestick, the bread, the wine, the tablecloth, another candle… each time the lights dimmed just a little more.

Finally, and this is what hit me hard this year, two elders took a black shroud and draped it over the cross, obscuring it completely.

In that moment I felt a heavy weight on my own heart. It was as if the shroud was made of lead and I could feel the heaviness, the suffocating oppression of evil, the snuffing out of light, almost the snuffing out of hope.

I know this is a dark moment in our history as a nation and I am very much aware that the harshness and the brutality of Roman injustice feels a lot closer to home right about now.

But it was more than that. What I experienced was the momentary spiritual shadow such a service of darkness is designed to evoke.

Of course we know the rest or the story: “I know that my Redeemer lives! What joy the blessed assurance gives!”

But it is very much appropriate (and the logical consequence of the long Lenten journey I have been encouraging) that today, moving into all the darkness of Good Friday, we understand exactly what it was that Jesus came to achieve.

Jesus came – Jesus comes – to defeat the darkness, plain and simple, and to transform the deep abyss of separation from God into an invitation home.

But on that day, outside the city walls where Jesus died, it must have seemed to his followers that all hope is lost and that the darkness has snuffed out the light.

At Thursday evening worship, just for the span of a few heart-rending moments, I felt the crushing weight of the darkness Jesus defeated – always defeats, and I caught my breath and I had to steady myself in the pew.

And then I remembered the bread and the wine we had just consumed.

I am grateful for what transpired. I do not want to ever forget why he came – we must not.

– DEREK