...well...it's actually Thursday but..

…tomorrow is Good Friday*

Though my early years were spent attending Hollywood Presbyterian church in Hollywood, California, we later moved to the First United Methodist Church in Santa Monica. Donald Shelby was the pastor for most of my time in that flock, and man could he deliver a sermon. We’d get printed copies of his messages the following week, and I often would go home and try to recite the sermons...just like pastor Shelby. He actually thought I might be a good candidate for the seminary. So while he could mesmerize the flock with his homilies, he was not too good at identifying future men of the cloth. Like those before him, he also had a profound influence on my early life…especially as a teenager. In addition to my parents, I suspect he as much as anyone was largely responsible for keeping on the straight-and-narrow when many of my peers seemed to be struggling.

For much of the time while attending that church, I served in the acolyte/crucifer corps. We didn’t have anything like that at the Hollywood church, and was neat to be involved in the services in what I thought at the time was such an important way. The duty was always interesting and fun, and as the son of a proud WWII and Korean War Vet, my no-nonsense father always ensured I squared off my turns and performed the assigned tasks with the utmost of decorum and reverence. The Maunday Thursday service is a big deal for any acolyte, but for the Crucifer, the role is truly center stage. While serving as an acolyte I’d always hoped I’d get the opportunity to be a crucifer at that important service on the eve of Good Friday, and the second year I became a crucifer, I got the nod.

At the special evening service, the crucifer was to carry the Christ candle. It would be placed on a table in the middle of the chancel, and remain lit for the entire service. About halfway through the service, the crucifer would also coordinate the Communion. He (it was later opened to young women too) would stand there in the center of the chancel, decked out in the red and white robe, ensuring that the trays were good and ready each time the serving clergy returned for another supply. Later in the service, the all lights in the sanctuary would be dimmed down to total darkness, and the only remaining light would be from 12 candles (six on each side of the chancel) representing the disciples and their denials, and the one Christ candle carried in by the crucifer. As Pastor Shelby would read the Easter story, one of the twelve candles would be extinguished after each denial of Christ. Near the end of the story, there would be only two candles remaining. Then…in almost total darkness, Shelby would read the following:

"Truly I say to you that this very night, before a cock crows, you shall deny Me three times . . .Then he began to curse and swear, "I do not know the man!" And immediately a cock crowed. And Peter remembered the word which Jesus had said, "Before a cock crows, you will deny Me three times." And he went out and wept bitterly."

With that, the last of the 12 candles was extinguished.

After a couple of versus…Shelby concluded the story with this these words “He rolled the stone against the door of the tomb.” That was the crucifer’s cue. He would slowly get up in hushed silence and near total darkness, and walk over and carefully raise the candle. Ever so slowly…in light provided only by that one candle…the crucifer would walk down the center aisle of the church. Ushers would be waiting and hold-open the narthex door. At the point, the congregation would be left sitting there, in complete darkness, and the organ bell would toll 33 times. At that point, the crucifer would re-enter the sanctuary carrying the still lit candle and proceed down the center aisle and then return the candle to the table on the chancel. Again, after a dramatic delay, the lights would SLOWY come up to half-bright…and the congregants would respectfully and quietly file out of the sanctuary.

But that’s not how it went down the first year they gave me the ball. When Shelby clicked off his pen light shortly before reciting “He rolled the stone against the door of the tomb,” I just sat there. I wasn’t frozen, I just reasoned it would be a bit more dramatic to wait a while. I’m not sure how long I waited, but Shelby was whispering to me to get going, and I just sat there (probably no more than thirty seconds). Then I pretty much performed the duty at described above…expect on the return. After the organ bell tolled 33 times, I waited a bit longer again (probably another 30 seconds)…and walked back into the sanctuary carrying the candle ever so slowly. When I got about two-thirds of the way down the aisle, I unexplainably stopped and just stood there. Again, after about 30 seconds, I lifted the candle fully above my head…and walked as slow as one can up the chancel steps to return the lighted Christ candle to its proper place.

In my mind, it was a flawless performance. However telling me I’d done well, Shelby approached me after the service and asked what was up with the script change. He wanted to know if my nerves had caused the initial delay, and if that was responsible for the delay before reentering the sanctuary. I told him no, and that while I was indeed nervous, I had done it that was because I just thought it would be kind of cool…and a little more dramatic. Shelby smiled, and then told me to do it that way every time. He also said the Maunday Thursday crucifer duty would be mine as long as I wanted it, and I continued to serve for the next six or so years. For the last couple of years, even during my freshman year at UCLA and after moving on to the church’s usher corps, I continued to do the Maunday service. Until moving to a ski resort in Northern California,  I continued to do it believing that somehow it was mine.  

Other than weddings, Bar or Bat Mitzvahs, funerals, concerts, or a few occasional Christmas services to make my visiting mom happy…I really don’t get into many places of worship much anymore. As a matter-of-fact, after growing up rather devote and NEVER missing a Sunday, other than playing old hymns on the piano or guitar, I’ve pretty much trended away from the whole thing. I can’t help noticing though that I’m a far worse person than when I regularly attended. Back then, I didn’t drink, I didn’t cuss, I didn’t smoke, I didn’t lie (OK…there was the whole geometry test thing…and telling my parents I’d studied…and shoplifting the candy bar from Pico Drug…and knocking off the Bank of America…just kidding), and things that would make me literally make me sick to my stomach…I now tolerate with a casual shrug of the shoulders. It’s actually worse than that really…as I suspect there are an increasing number of times when evil doesn’t even register as wrong. Not sure why that is really…but there is no question it’s true. I want to think it has something to do with becoming wiser with age (or actually recognizing that I know less than I thought), or maybe about becoming more tolerant as one evolves…but I fear it’s really something far less flattering.

So, whether you’ve left a seat open for Elijah or you’re looking forward to a Sunday holiday ham…or maybe even if you’re destine to shovel coal for eternity like me, make it a truly nice, long, restful, and well-deserved holiday weekend.

A couple of Sundays ago, my wife and I were watching Showtime’s gritty (and often vulgar) show “Shameless” (I would not have tolerated the contents of this show when I was younger), which centers around the dysfunctional family of alcoholic/drug addict Frank Gallagher…a single father of six children living in a rough area of Chicago. While he spends his days drunk and usually behaving in some unbelievably depraved manner which sets new weekly lows, his kids resist the odds and struggle to take care of themselves. At the end of a particularly tough show, the song below played out over the credits. I had never heard of the group or the tune, but for some reason, the melody and the lyrics just grabbed me. Perhaps it might do the same for you. Besides, it’s only about four and a half minutes out of your morning…and it’s not a bad way to start a Friday…or even a Maunday Thursday.   

Get on the road...

*A slightly different version of this was originally sent as an It’s Friday email (before the blog) on Thursday, April 21^th, 2011

Sorry too for the typos, misspelligns and grammar bad