Good Friday Blues

As a youngster I was overly impressionable, sentimental and sensitive. I can remember feeling depressed on principle on Good Friday, and enduring nightmares about what it must have felt like to have been crucified. I think I sometimes cried, albeit surreptitiously, whilst performing my duties as an altar boy during Good Friday afternoon services, particularly when Father Abfalter lay prostrate before the altar at a key point during proceedings.  Nowadays, as a committed atheist, it all seems somehow other-worldly, as though it happened to somebody else - which of course, in a sense, it did.