The priest holds the Crucifix, heavy against his face as it is held aloft, and starts his procession around the church. His somber hymn clang and echo around the walls:
"Today is hung upon the Tree, He Who did hang the land in the midst of the waters. A Crown of thorns crowns Him Who is King of Angels..."
As the scandal of the Crucifixion is bought before the congregation, each member kneels and bows his head; each member's head is bowed.
"He is wrapped about with the purple of mockery Who wrapped the Heavens with clouds. He received buffetings Who freed Adam in Jordan..."
Each one kisses the Crucifix as the instrument of our salvation and shame passes them by. Dry lips, or moist, a misguided peck or a pious lingering on the wood, every one leaves their impression on the cross. Every one is is collusion.
"He was transfixed with nails Who is the Bridegroom of the Church. He was pierced with a spear Who is the Son of the Virgin...."
At the front of the nave the Crucifix is raised up. Our Lord, scoured, spat upon, nails driven into feet and hands is raised up. The congregation flow forward as a mass, pressing onwards at the back, but slowing at the front as the approach to the Messiah, God in suffering flesh brings sorrow and regret. Yet still each one kisses those wounds weeping blood into Golgotha, hoping to be like the good thief.
"We worship Thy Passion, O Christ..."
Head crowned with thorns and bowed to the right, his side throwing forth His blood and water; Our Lord already having commended His spirit to the Father...
"Show also unto us thy glorious Resurrection
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