The quiet.  The darkness.  The solemn intonations of the minister.  It was so quiet that you heard the breathing of the person next to you.  The choral pieces were somber and slow.  The scene was set to see and feel Christ on the cross.  At the front of the sanctuary, a solitary tenor voice intoned, “God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whosoever shall believe in Him should have eternal life.  God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.”  The rich, baritone voice of the minister sang the familiar words of “How Great Thou Art,” and tears poured from my closed eyes as I felt the power of Christ’s love wash over me.

At the end of the service,  I prayed for peace when the lights were turned down in the sanctuary.  The only light left shining was the one above the cross on the wall.  From the back of the sanctuary, a low, somber male voice said, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”  A slow rumbling tympani and a crashing cymbal resembled the earthquake and the lightning of that last Friday for our Savior.  The light went out over the cross, and that same male voice cried, “It is finished!”  With those words, the minister slammed the Bible shut on the altar.

The sanctuary was completely dark.  The choir intoned “Were You There?” and the congregation slowly joined in.  For the millions of people who weren’t there on that terrible hill, I said, “I was there.”  We walked out into the cold and cruel world, quietly, using only the lights on the aisle floors.

I felt His pain, and I felt hollow inside.  A simple prayer, “Father, forgive me,” issued from my heart as I turned my car’s ignition key.  Can you feel His pain?  Were you there?

Anna Hartt