This night, they come. And there is nothing like it outside of the Catholic Church.

There is nothing like it outside of the Catholic Church.

On this night, they come. The children. The parents. Those in wheelchairs. Some with canes.Some who have lost a spouse, some who come with a spouse.

A father with a son. A mother with her infant.

And the server stands at His side like St. John and holds His cross like Simon the Cyrene. We genuflect. We kiss His feet. We worship. It is so different from every other ritual. Nothing like it anywhere.

But here.

Quietly, they process forward. And wait for their moment at the cross. They do what they would have done that night so long ago. A night that is now.

Not then.

This night. In the midst of the three-day Liturgy, they are there. There… is Golgotha.

Not an Old Rugged Cross on a Hill Far Away.

Now. This is that Friday. In this place, we meet the Crucified stretched out on a Tree.

I feel the tears on my face because it beautiful – and yet, it is also terrible. This is the Cross of Christ. These are the ones who love His Cross. I know it. I see it. I feel it with them.

And we worship… For by His Cross, He has redeemed the world.