good friday

our service tonight was at the church i belonged to before i left it to join my present church. my friends, my church family, immediately on learning the location of the service several weeks ago asked me if it would be uncomfortable for me. "of course", i told them.
"but you're still going, right?"
"of course."

we are family. we go anyway. as choir, we go robed, no stoles, because it is good friday. once before i left that other church i went to a service wearing a robe borrowed from the church where i am now. tonight i returned wearing that robe in my own right, surrounded and supported by people who understand.

this was my home. it is not my home anymore, and yet we are not about territory, we are not about what separates us. i'm sad because i know that the brass cross is in the deacons' closet, hidden from view until easter morning, and that i will not this year or anymore be the one to take it out and hold in close in that fierce, private processional of the one who polishes it up for its honored return to the altar.

in my new home i polish the brasses also, and right now in my living room i have the plates and candle lighters to prove it. but i was once intimate with this cross in this way, and my Lord does not care in which building i honor him.

this week for service i read my poem good friday, which you can read here. and tonight i played willow, which you can find here. the version i did tonight was the old one, from the down the jericho road album. "down the jericho road" is how you get from my house to my old church. the cover art is my collage of photos of the stained glass in that sanctuary.

it isn't my job to polish that one specific cross anymore. it is not my job to touch up the woodwork or to clean the plates. not there.  i wanted to stay a little after the service and speak to God from that one spot the way i used to, but they were locking up and even though i still have a key, it is not my home anymore.

tomorrow i will go and polish the candlesticks, putting back the plates and lighters. i will breathe the air of my settled home and i will speak to God from my new place.

it's just right the way it is.