We are invited to inhabit time in such a way that we are there and then. When the last light is extinguished and the terrifying strepitus roars across the silent dark, we are bereft. A solo voice might then ask the time-bent question of the Black spiritual: “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” which, in a turn befitting El Greco, pivots to the present tense: “O sometimes it causes me to tremble!” There will be years when the “Hallelujahs!” of an Easter morn are not just reenactments of the past but fresh realizations of a soul that has spent a year in the pit, all too familiar with
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