Good Friday - rituals lost and found

It is Good Friday

A day when the churches are traditionally full of ritual - from the high churches that have stripped altar and church to a bareness to mark the solemnity of the day, to the ecumenical gatherings that walk behind a cross carried through their communities.   And in a couple of days the ritual of newly lit Easter candles, the cry 'He is risen' and response 'He is risen indeed, Allelulia'

Others follow a ritual of chocolate and the hunt for eggs, but this year we are stripped of our rituals and the hunt for eggs is mere practicality, alongside that for flour and the elusive toilet roll. 

I remember our conversations in college about the place of ritual in human life and community. In the past religions were a gathering point for community rituals. This is less the case today, certainly in the UK, although many still look to churches and faith when it comes to a funeral.  And where no religion is invoked there is still a rhythm, a ritual to our stages of life, and of death.  We are in a time where even that most precious ritual is denied people, first reduced numbers and now in many areas no gathering at all at crematoria. A scaled down farewell, with no touch to wipe away tears, no arm to support the grieving. Before that no bedside vigil at the hospital no final moments close to loved ones.

We are in a time of worldwide insecurity, and national upheaval that has changed everyone's lives, in such times our need for some roots, some shared connection is very real. Ritual offers that, and as other rituals - of faith, and beyond - are stripped away we find new ones. The Thursday clap for the NHS, or wider to all keyworkers, has within 3 weeks become one such ritual.  It holds people in a shared activity at a set time, a bonding in unity despite our separations. It offers a sense of doing something meaningful.  On facebook people celebrate where their street has performed well, or bemoan if it is too quiet, and wow betide any that question the effectiveness of the now sacred ritual. Like all rituals, we come as we are, our motives and feelings may be mixed, but the ritual stretches beyond those that take part.

On this Good Friday - I hear the echoes of crowds in Jerusalem centuries ago, The crowds cheering on the preacher on the donkey, with a wide mix of hopes of how he might change their lives; then the crowds called on to choose between the one who threatens to rebel against Rome and the one who turned over the tables and spoke of the holy temple being destroyed.

On this Good Friday - I recognise in the cross the cry of those who feel forsaken, alone, abandoned.
And I recognise the heart ache of those forced to be distant from loved ones in pain and in the shadow of death, those who yearn to offer comfort but are kept out of reach.

On this Good Friday we again stand with those who are only able to do the basics in care for their dead, and must wait before fuller farewells can be offered.

On this Good Friday we sit and wait, stripped of so much and yet called together in new ways and new rituals. A world turned upside down, and the undervalued and under paid lifted up in true recognition. I pray that the cheers of the doorsteps morph into a real change in wages and resourcing of medics, carers, cleaners  and  others who are now revealed as those we rely on.

On this Good Friday - we weep and we wait.