I love to cover my head on Good Friday with a veil or scarf.
See I’m a big fan of tradition. Tradition has roots. Tradition has meaning. It has heart, if you let it. All of that feeling is up to us, though…tradition itself holds little, which is why we can so easily forget. What we bring in our hearts to tradition is where the beauty lies. The remembrance of things past that have lead us to this day, the longing of things yet to be…it’s all rather poetic and my heart clings to that.
Covering my head helps me feel the mourning of my Savior’s death. For MY sins. How could I not cover my head then, in sorrow and reverence for this act that was for ME? Because of me? I put myself in the place of the followers of Jesus who were there, who saw the God of the universe clinging to a cross, barely recognizable. And YES, we know He rises. But they didn’t, you see. They couldn’t comprehend that Jesus crucified, would soon be Jesus risen. Still today, 2000 years later, it is hard to comprehend the agony and beauty mixed together, even though I know He rises, that He is alive.
But the fact remains that the price was paid. The sacrifice was made.
So I wear black.
And cover my head.
A woman in mourning. For my Savior’s death. For my sins.
For the bleak and hopeless outlook that would be ours had Jesus remained on the Cross.
But this isn’t the end of the story.
Tell me, do you cover your head for Good Friday?
Scarf: Burberry//Wool Bow Dress: Vintage//Cashmere Sweater: White + Warren//Heels: Ann Taylor