Friday of the Passion of the Lord [Good Friday] (April 3, 2026)

We begin simply today.

There is no Entrance Antiphon.

There is no opening song.

Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil are not three separate liturgies, but one continuous celebration of the Sacred Paschal Triduum. What began last night now unfolds slowly, deliberately, without interruption.

Good Friday is the one day of the year on which the Church does not celebrate Mass.

At the Mass of the Lord’s Supper, the priest consecrated enough hosts for both Holy Thursday and Good Friday. These were carried in solemn procession to the Altar of Repose, where the faithful lingered in prayer with our Eucharistic Lord. At midnight, the place of reposition was closed and the Blessed Sacrament returned to the sacristy.

Today, the church is stripped of Christ’s Eucharistic presence – the only time all year this happens.

The sanctuary lamp is dark.

The altar is bare.

The holy water fonts are empty.

Everything feels off-kilter by design. Good Friday is not meant to feel comfortable.

The liturgy has three stark movements: the Liturgy of the Word, the Adoration of the Holy Cross, and Holy Communion. It begins not with song, but with silence. For this reason, music ministers should take special care on this day. Please do not rehearse or tune up in the church as the people gather. If warming up is necessary, do so elsewhere. The assembly should enter quietly, aware that something essential has been taken away.

This austerity must also shape our musical choices.

Good Friday is not the day for full ensembles or elaborate choral forces. I know of some parishes that utilize only one piano, one cantor, and congregational song – nothing more. Like the empty tabernacle, this restraint speaks volumes. Each parish has its own customs, of course, but I encourage music ministers to consider paring things back. We will pull out the stops at the Easter Vigil. Today, less truly is more.

The First Reading from Isaiah is among the most searing texts in all of Scripture: the Song of the Suffering Servant from Deutero-Isaiah. Written during the Babylonian exile, it gives voice to a prophet who endured rejection for calling his people to fidelity. Christians hear in this ancient poetry the unmistakable outline of Christ crucified:

Yet it was our infirmities that he bore,

our sufferings that he endured.

He was pierced for our offenses,

crushed for our sins.

By his stripes we were healed.

The Letter to the Hebrews places this suffering in the light of redemption, reminding us that Christ knows human weakness from the inside:

We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses… Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered

and became the source of eternal salvation.

The Passion according to John follows – dramatic, relentless, unsettling. Events spiral beyond control. Even Pilate cannot stop what is unfolding. The Crucifixion is utter madness: the execution of an innocent man. The death of God.

Let that sink in.

To fully embrace our humanity, the Son of God embraced death itself. The One who breathed life into us breathed his last. Jesus knew the terror of abandonment and cried out from the Cross, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” And yet, in that suffering, love is revealed – deeper than words, stronger than death.

The Liturgy of the Word concludes with the Solemn Intercessions, nine expansive prayers offered for the whole world. Their ancient cadence slows us down. In many communities, they are chanted – not for effect, but to let the weight of prayer linger.

The Adoration of the Holy Cross is among the most arresting rites of the year. A single Cross is unveiled gradually as the Church proclaims, “Behold the wood of the Cross.”  One by one, the faithful come forward to venerate it. Because the rite can take time, music may accompany the procession – but never as a concert. Songs should be simple, spare, and separated by real silence. Silence itself is a form of adoration. 

Finally, Holy Communion is shared – not from a newly consecrated Eucharist, but from hosts consecrated the night before. They are brought forward silently to the altar. There is no Communion Antiphon prescribed for this day. Once again, the Church resists embellishment.

After Communion, a simple Prayer Over the People is spoken. There is no dismissal. The liturgy does not end. It waits.

The people depart in silence.

Tomorrow night, we will begin again.