It is now 3:00, the hour Jesus commended His spirit to His Father.
Quiet, in a house of five boys, is not something I take for granted.
Quiet is something I usually associate with peace.
There is quiet in a darkened church, quiet when I fish by the stream with my little boy, quiet after my children are sleeping in their beds and I realize another day has passed too quickly.
I treasure these quiet moments.
But there are times quiet does not mean peace, times when quiet speaks at deafening volumes of a pain that cannot be verbalized, of a heart that has been shattered, off a loss so profound it is earth-shattering.
The Quiet of Good Friday
Today is the day we remember the Lord’s suffering and death. The Sorrowful Mysteries of the Holy Rosary said every Tuesday and Friday call us to remember:
The agony in the garden
The scourging at the pillar
The crowning of thorns
The carrying of the cross
There was no peaceful quiet during this time. The crowds cheered heinously for Jesus’ death. The apostles denied knowing Him in what must have been piercing words to their Savior’s ears.
And Jesus Himself cried out to God for help as we see in the Garden of Gethsemane and in His words,
Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Immediately following the death of Jesus, we know even the earth cried out as it shook, graves opened, and the dead returned. Many of those who did not believe before cried out that this truly was the Son of God, and Jesus’ believers must have spent a bit of time weeping loudly. His disciples must have cried loudly asking forgiveness, struggling to understand, expressing their grief.
But following such deep agony there is often quiet, not that peaceful quiet, but a quiet of unspeakable pain, of shattered hearts, and cutting loss. A quiet that results from the exhausted shedding of tears
Good Friday, a day of horror for the followers of Christ who still did not understand the purpose of His coming.
Holy Saturday, a day of quiet and loss, of fear and pain.
And yet just the beginning of something greater, something our weak human sight could not begin to make out. In all the terror and pain the early Christians must have felt, they did not use their voices, those shouts of grief and sorrow, to become so powerful they drowned out the Lord.
And it was in the quiet that followed that Jesus rose from he dead.
When we are at our lowest points, when we have spent every possible tear, when our shouts seem to have gone unheard, it is important to remember to not shout through the quiet of our grief, but instead to open our hearts to the whisper of the Lord and let Him resurrect our lives.
Please take some quiet time today, both by yourself and with your family to identify with Jesus’ suffering for us.
Your Turn To Share:
Has God allowed you to experience a grief so powerful you could not speak? What came out of that quiet?