We are in the midst of Holy Week, walking through these deeply significant days in the approach towards Easter. Lent has felt different to me this year since I haven’t been attending as many mid-week services (or any services actually as I am still trying to figure out how to do that with the wee one in tow). I have tried to use my time at home to contemplate the significance of this week, first as Jesus triumphantly entered Jerusalem and then as he approached the cross. But Palm Sunday just isn’t the same at home and for me, this Lenten season has lacked some spiritual depth more than in past years. However, today is Good Friday and it is deeply dark. I had not planned on attending the mid-day service at PSC, but I found myself and my sleepy boy in the downtown area right before noon after visiting my coworkers and I thought I’d give attendance a try. If successful, it would be our first outing to church since Eben’s arrival. Having never been to the mid-day service (usually opting for the evening one), I was surprised at how full the darkened church was. It is a very solemn service and the sanctuary is progressively darkened as we read through the scriptures detailing Jesus’ journey towards the cross. I was slightly distracted, having my newborn strapped to me, but still glad to be in church, in fellowship with others on this day. Although E was soundly asleep, I was aware of the very somber tone of the service and was concerned any spontaneous sleepy noises might be distracting for others. I really didn’t have anything to worry about, since he was sleepily content throughout the hour, giving me time to worship and contemplate the significance of the day. However, it got very interesting in the final moments of the service, with the sanctuary almost completely dark, the final words of Christ were read and after a moment of silence, a loud gong was sounded to symbolize the painful truth of Christ’s death on the cross. At the moment of the gong sounding, Eben let out a blood curling scream of anguish (as he occasionally does in his sleep). It was loud and could not be quietly shushed. I was overwhelmed, not with embarrassment as I would have thought, but the deep thought of how appropriate that sound of anguish was! We should feel that deep residing pain when facing Christ’s death on Good Friday. Eben’s scream was an audible expression of how I was feeling at that moment; he expressed it perfectly in his 6-week old sleepy slumber. Somehow, my little guy’s well timed response in that somber service was the most refreshing reminder of how I should feel on Good Friday as Christ faced the cross for my sin. I should be anguished from the depths of my soul. And my 6-week old articulated that perfectly for me. The good news for me, and for all believers, is that Friday does not last forever. As my mother always said, it may be Friday, but Sunday’s a coming! Eben’s soulful shriek at the moment of Christ’s death today was a well timed jolt for me about the darkness of this day and the promise that awaits us on Easter when the tomb is empty and Christ is alive. And of course, this memory will make an excellent entry into his baby book.