City Called Heaven

We remember them... the Towers, of course, as they stood, steel sentinels at the tip of Manhattan, first rising in pieces from foundation stone, at moments reflecting pale glimmer of dawn, shining bright in summer sun or glimpsed through clouds drifting low to touch the earth. They were robed in sunset bronze, glittered with lights of night workers, never fully dark, constantly illumined by those within and by the heavens we remember them as they fell, in a shroud of smoke and ash and choking dust. When we remember the towers, let us still more remember those who lived and died there, that their lives be a sentinel of memory, a witness to the terror of violence, and to the heroism of those who simply strive to live.

The text tells that Friday ends with the burial of Jesus. "[A]s evening approached, Joseph of Arimathea, a prominent member of the Council, who was himself waiting for the kingdom of God, went boldly to Pilate and asked for Jesus’ body....[, and] he gave the body to Joseph. So Joseph bought some linen cloth, took down the body, wrapped it in the linen, and placed it in a tomb cut out of rock. Then he rolled a stone against the entrance of the tomb. Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joseph saw where he was laid. Mark 15:43-27 (edited), NIV And so we wait... The three-day cycle recalling the Passion of Jesus is filled with meaning for the faithful. His last supper and the first communion on the night of Holy Thursday. The overnight legal drama, torture, and judicial murder of Jesus through crucifixion on Friday. Leading to the empty tomb and the appearance of the resurrected Jesus to his disciples on Sunday, there are many points to engage with this story. Saturday, that d...