My memories of Good Friday are of my parents getting up as soon as it was light to plant the garden. It wasn’t just a small garden in the yard. They had purchased acreage around our house where they had a garden plot. Daddy would plow it earlier in the week and have it ready for them to plant on Good Friday. I am not sure where that tradition originated — whether it was from the Farmer’s Almanac or simply Southern Folklore, but my parents religiously planted on Good Friday.

They grew corn, green beans, peas, okra, tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, radish, beets . . . perhaps other things. I don’t remember. I did not particularly like vegetables when I was growing up. However, I did enjoy corn, radishes, and the pickles my mom made from the cucumbers.

My parents did not force me or my sister to work in the garden. They had both grown up on farms during the Great Depression. They were accustomed to hard work. I believe they wanted to spare my sister and me the hardship that they endured. 

As the plants started to grow, mother would go out as soon as the sun came up (to avoid the heat) to hoe and weed the garden. In the summer, after harvesting the produce, she froze or canned all that we did not eat. It was a labor of love. They did not have to grow their own food.  They enjoyed the goodness of the earth and the tangy, sweet flavors of fresh food. Working in the soil and watching seeds grow, gave them a connection to the land and to the seasons.

My husband and I have had small gardens a few times. Our gardens were never as successful as my parents’ garden. During this past year I have thought of their garden more than ever. I even wish we had a garden. We do not have a suitable spot, but we do have an overgrown, out-of-control flower bed that really needs to have everything dug up. 

Today, on Good Friday, I am wishing we had planned to go out and plant vegetables. As church musicians, our time is taken up during Holy Week with church services. I long for that connection with the earth, the soil, and plants . . . they all teach valuable lessons.

Bach on Good Friday

Good Friday also brings to mind one of the greatest pieces of music that exists . . . Bach’s St. Matthew Passion. It is a masterwork of all masterworks. That is a lot to say, I know . . . especially if one is unfamiliar with the work. The imagination, skill, and inventiveness it took to create such varied music from this gut-wrenching story can only be the work of a genius. The work is just under three hours and is for solo voices, double choir, and double orchestra. 

Sometimes all the forces are used at once, but most often various instruments and voices are used depending on the text. That is part of the genius . . . the way Bach weaves together combinations of instruments and voices into glorious melodies, harmonies, and counterpoint. 

Before my husband and I were married, we planned to listen (back before there was easy access to videos of performances) to the St. Matthew Passion every Good Friday. We did sometimes, but most often, since we are both church musicians, we were too busy preparing and being involved in our own Good Friday services. 

Last year after Covid hit, both of our churches had recorded services. We were able to plan our day around watching our Good Friday services on-line and then watch the St. Matthew Passion. This entire last year we have worked to make the effort for the most important things in life. (Yes, for us, music is one of the more important things.)

My favorite movement from the St. Matthew Passion is the aria, “Mache dich, mein Herze, rein” which translates:

Make yourself pure, my heart, I want to bury Jesus myself. 
For from now on he shall have in me, forever and ever, his sweet rest. 
World, get out, let Jesus in!

This aria is for bass, two oboe da caccia, strings, and continuo. This is a performance by Gustav Leonhardt leading the Tölzer Knabenchor, and La Petite Band.