For a few years, a few years ago, the Good Friday service at the Mono Mills United Church included a quiet meditative time that was jarringly disturbed by the sound of a hammer driving a nail into wood, again, and again, and again. This to me, more than all the teachings that I can remember, has symbolized Good Friday. I found this rusted old nail on the ancient stones of the Goldie Mill, along the banks of the Speed River.
The statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary, in front of the Church of Our Lady, seemingly in anticipation of a resurrection.
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