Good Friday

Growing up in Aztec, New Mexico, there was a long-standing tradition for Easter Sunday morning—the Easter Sunrise service at the Aztec Ruins. It was both one of my favorite services of the year and one that I dreaded.   I loved the service because it was beautiful. It was beautiful to see the sun rise across the hills. It was beautiful because of the ecumenical nature of the service and people from all different churches gathered together to welcome the morning of resurrection. It was beautiful watching our breath in the cold morning air (Sometimes with snow still on the ground). It was beautiful because there was a tendency for little powerful moments to sneak up on us, like the time a jackrabbit came galloping through the gathered worshippers, surprised to see a crowd of people singing together in his usual haunt. It was beautiful.   Then there was the other side of this service. For one, it was a

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