Witness

In previous years I've had a bit of trouble with the ecumenical Good Friday Walk of Witness through Hornington. Last year it was my own turn to lead it and we walked in silence which improved matters hugely; this year was OK and in fact rather more people attended than has been the case for a while, and we got a lot of not-hostile attention along the High Street. As we came up Bridge Street the gentleman who does most of the organising and always leads with a remarkable portable amplifier strapped to his chest for the assistance of whichever clergyperson is presiding, started up a particularly sugary and repetitious Taizé chant which, combined with my overall mental state and the especially voluble Baptist directly behind me who wouldn't shut up, almost made me give up and leave. But the music soon shifted to something more appropriate and I stayed.

However I pondered the significance of what we're doing. Christians insist on publicly remembering a single, immensely violent event on a sunny Bank Holiday when everyone else is enjoying themselves; certainly most of my friends, to judge by Facebook which is the measure of all things, were doing and describing a variety of lighthearted activities while I was deliberately and voluntarily turning my mind to pain and horror.

The relationship between these different modes of feeling and thinking is complex. Our natural human tendency is to avoid the painful and problematic, quite understandably and rightly, and yet our understanding of who we are, what we are capable of, and what life can include, is superficial and incomplete if we spend all our time avoiding such dark elements of our common experience - and perhaps that even encourages us to avoid those who suffer, or misjudge them. As always, in my opinion the Church has down the centuries got this wrong: but I think, by contrast with the heathen world growing up around it, the truth and rightness of the sacrifice of Christ is becoming clearer than ever.