At Tenebrae, the ancient Maundy Thursday Service of Light and Shadow, there are no off-the-cuff remarks. Only Scripture. Only the story we do not want to hear. Our betrayal. Our cowardice. Our weariness. Our betrayal with a kiss. Our violence. Our denial. Our flight.

The church is dark except for the worshipers’ candles.

One by one, the worshipers blow out their candles as the nine readings are read from the midst of the congregation, as we recognize ourselves in the plot that leads to the crucifixion.

We know. We know this is our story. Our reality. Our dilemma.

Then, as if it were tonight, bread is broken. The wine is poured. In silence we share our common lot and wait for the good news we already know.