Good Friday.
Well, my visa came through a couple of weeks ago, for those of you holding on for the suspense. I'm finally back at work...that is, during the regular week.
This week takes eventful pause as my course shifts for a moment to retrospect.
Today, almost 2000 years ago, God died on a rough hewn cross, clothed in little, covered in much, but never submerged in his 100% humanity; oddly enough, I had a hard time desiring to recollect the event. I remember childhood when these days were shrouded in mystery, a dark secret the earth whispered every April, every Passover, but never quite understood...why did it happen? More importantly, whose fault was it? Judas? The high priests?
Mine?
That last one causes my existence to shiver. But why not? After all, do I not try to forget his Godhood every day at some point? Do I not avert my eyes and yet beg for him to pay me mind? Do I not ask him to forget it all even as I thank him for it?
Well, today my qualms came in the form of work to be done; I have quite a bit piling up on my desk and though today is a day off, the files did not depart from my mind. At the same time, however, an unease settled in, the trembling of my soul; what would happen if I just went to work? I personally don't think it unholy to work on Good Friday and yet, if, as some say, the very meaning of "Holy" is "separate", does not treating it like any other day render it unholy, i.e. no different from every other day?
The uproar within me: Oh come on! I'm doing something noble. Coming to work on my day off!
I'm sure you've had the same struggle at some point, not necessarily concerning Good Friday, but perhaps regarding that fine line dissolving belief and relationship into religion, belief system and myth...
Myth.
2000 years ago: "Eloi, Eloi!!!"
Today I didn't go to work. I looked up at the brightening day and despite the cheery air, my heart darkened. It's the one day I rue to remember, and yet the one day that separates myth from reality for me. I met two strangers in a laundry mat instead and looked for the mirror of my God's death there.
It was no myth that looked back.