Remembering Good Fridays

A-Poem-a-Day

Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: latintimes.com

REMEMBERING GOOD FRIDAYS

When I was a young girl, back in the 50’s

my grandmother said

there should be no talking on Good Friday

between the hours of one and three

no running around, no radio and no TV

all out of respect for our Savior

Who suffered and died

upon the Cross at Calvary

so try though I did to be silent and still

I was as fidgety, squirmy and irksome

as any healthy active kid would be

who had not yet grasped

the profound depth of what happened

that terrible good day when Jesus died

and in the 70’s when my own children

were young and restless

I would bring them to church

during the very same hours Grandma decreed

to venerate the Holy Cross

We’d approach the altar

where the Crucifix was displayed

kneel down and kiss the nail pierced feet of Jesus

or solemnly watch a reenactment of the Passion

by the youth group

Now, so many years later

now that I am a grandmother myself

I sit without fidgeting and fumbling

willingly turn off the radio and the TV

and carve out meaningful time to meditate

upon all my precious Lord endured

to save me from my sins

Sometimes I sing

“Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?”

Sometimes I weep

and sometimes, like today, I write a poem

Always, Jesus’ great sacrifice breaks my heart

and always, looking ahead

to the astonishing empty tomb

I’m reminded of the Hallelujah Hope

I have in Him—which is eternal

Grandma would be so pleased

Maude Carolan Pych