Bernard of Clairvaux, a defender of the faith in the twelfth century, called Lent “our Christian period of military service.” Lent is the time when we take pause, look purposefully and intently on our sins, and weep. We prepare our hearts to read, mark, and inwardly digest Christ’s Passion, to meditate on the source of our forgiveness. The devil despises this time in the church year and attacks. He does not want us to repent and he certainly does not want us to remember Christ’s suffering, death, and resurrection on our behalf. If there is anything he can do to tear us away from our Savior, he will do it. So we must fight the battle, certain of victory, but also certain of the pain and suffering that the battle brings. What do soldiers do during war? They go without all manner of comforts, often all manner of necessities. They eat, sleep, and wait in the valley of death, ready always to fight but also praying for deliverance. And so do we. 

This Coronavirus quarantine is nothing to make light of. I am sure that many others have already pointed out the significance of the quarantine beginning in this particular church season. We have suffered more acutely during our Lenten battle this year. For all else that we have suffered - separation from friends and family, inability to shop freely for food and important household items, inability to work or perhaps even loss of employment altogether, fear, uncertainty, confusion - the greatest thing we Christians have endured is the loss of our regular church habit. We thank God for pastors who quickly adapted and streamed services, but let’s be honest, it just isn’t the same. Our hearts long for the sweet liturgy sung out clearly by our dear fellow believers sitting close by. We long to rest before the altar and gaze on Christ, our Beloved, upon the cross. More than anything else, we are starved for His Body and His Blood. I pray that my pastor and all of our pastors know how much we long for that Food. To go without it during Lent affords a whole new picture of soldiers tightening their belts in the midst of the long battle. And I pray that our pastors will fight through whatever they must to deliver the much needed Nourishment to our front lines. 

And so, through all this, entrenched in both spiritual and physical disease, we come to another Good Friday, the Day of days, the culmination of the Great Battle. Last night, after many weeks of going without, I was able to receive the Lord’s Supper. I received the medicine of immortality and comfort for my troubled mind and soul, and never has the forgiveness of my sins tasted so sweet. On this Good Friday, unable to receive that Gift again, I think of all the suffering I have endured, which is nothing compared to that of others, but mine nonetheless. And I ask the Lord to remember me in His Kingdom, even as I pray, “Thy will be done” and prepare to follow Christ into the firestorm. Bernard, in that same sermon, wrote this fitting prayer for Good Friday: 

Well, wholly well, is it for me to cleave to You, O glorious and ever-blessed Head, on Whom the angels yearn to look. Wherever You go, there will I follow You; if You pass through the fire, I will not be turned from You. I will fear no evil, for You are with me. You carry my griefs, and grieve for my sake; and through the narrow portal of the Passion You enter first, to make a wider passage for Your limbs that follow You. - IN CAPITE JEJUNII

Good Friday is not about death, just as the battle is not. The battle is fought so that all at home may have life and have it in abundance. Good Friday, Christ’s suffering and death on the cross, grants us life in abundance. Today, we suffer. But there will come the time when suffering ends, and we will live with Him in peace. 

Lord, remember us in Your Kingdom.