It’s early morning of Good Friday. In my native tongue, it would be called Long Friday [Långfredag].
Being a kid, and later teenager, Good Friday certainly felt very long. You were hardly allowed to do anything, and certainly not to go anywhere. As I grew up, at times I tried to rebel against my mum, but was always told the same story: “This is nothing!!! When I was young, I had to wear black ribbons in my hair!!!” That was what it was like back then, in Lutheran but also secularized, Sweden. Later on, some store started to keep open on Good Friday, for a few hours, and she was very upset about that. Not because she was extremely religious, but because she was a traditionalist.
Living here in Saint John now, I get that old feeling of Good Friday back. Now that I’m certainly not a teenager anymore, wanting to hang out with my friends all the time, I appreciate the stillness of the holiday. Here, everything comes to a grinding halt … the silence is almost palpable and this year, even the weather is playing along. The skies are grey as steel, we have freezing rain, it’s as if the whole atmosphere in itself is grey.