After listening to the Passion narrative from the Gospel of John today, as part of the Good Friday liturgy, recast somewhat for our zoomed "house church" (I was in our bedroom), we were encouraged to contemplate the Cross. If we had one to hand, we might use that; if not, we could close our eyes and imagine one. I didn't have one to hand. As I conjured up the Cross, it shared my awareness with another image, which had come to me while hearing the end of Passion narrative.
The image was of Hart Island, the place where New York City has always buried unknown and unclaimed bodies, where yesterday a long trench was dug for victims of the coronavirus. We've been reading about the city's morgues reaching capacity for some time now, and know that many funerals can't be scheduled. Contemplating the Cross I felt the forlornness of those bodies. It's been a gusty day and the wind started howling just at that moment, more loudly than I can remember, and more sustained. It seemed the moan of all those dead, and of those fearing and facing death, terrified and alone. Or maybe not alone.
After
these things, Joseph of Arimathea, who was a disciple of Jesus, though a
secret one because of his fear of the Jews, asked Pilate to let him
take away the body of Jesus. Pilate gave him permission; so he came and
removed his body. Nicodemus,
who had at first come to Jesus by night, also came, bringing a mixture
of myrrh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds They took the body of Jesus and wrapped it with the spices in linen cloths, according to the burial custom of the Jews. Now
there was a garden in the place where he was crucified, and in the
garden there was a new tomb in which no one had ever been laid. And so, because it was the Jewish day of Preparation, and the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.
The image was of Hart Island, the place where New York City has always buried unknown and unclaimed bodies, where yesterday a long trench was dug for victims of the coronavirus. We've been reading about the city's morgues reaching capacity for some time now, and know that many funerals can't be scheduled. Contemplating the Cross I felt the forlornness of those bodies. It's been a gusty day and the wind started howling just at that moment, more loudly than I can remember, and more sustained. It seemed the moan of all those dead, and of those fearing and facing death, terrified and alone. Or maybe not alone.
