Two of the things particularly informing this Good Friday for me are the Pieta on the Font at Bag Enderby (which the first post on this blog mentioned Simon Jenkins saying was 'worth crossing Lincolnshire to see') and a passage from Simone Weil's Waiting for God (which identifies the 'music of the spheres' within the tension set up by the forsaking of God by God).
Christ being made a curse for us. It was not only the body of Christ, hanging on the wood, that was accursed; it was his whole soul also. In the same way every innocent being in his malheur [Weil uses this word to describe the suffering which enslaves and is soul destroying] feels himself accursed... Even the grace of God itself cannot cure irremediably wounded nature here below. The glorified body of Christ bore the marks of the nails and spear. One can only accept the existence of malheur by considering it at a distance. God created through love and for love. God did not create anything except love itself, and the means to love. He created love in all its forms. He created beings capable of love from all possible distances. Because no other could do it, he himself went to the greatest possible distance, the infinite distance. This infinite distance between God and God, this supreme tearing apart, this agony beyond all others, this marvel of love, is the crucifixion. Nothing can be further from God than that which has been made accursed. This tearing apart, over which supreme love places the bond of supreme union, echoes perpetually across the universe in the midst of the silence, like two notes, separate yet melting into one, like pure and heart-rending harmony. This is the Word of God. The whole creation is nothing but its vibration.