The Good Friday service told only the first half of the story, of course.
So Jesus died. If even Jesus had to die, then what hope is there for me? For the second half, I have to attend the Easter Sunday service.
There is a Presbyterian Church to doors down from my hotel. Two long lines of people have formed, on either side of the main entrance, early on Easter Sunday. They were waiting for the first service to be finished, so that they can enter for the second one. Judging from the length of the lines, it looked like the service would be well-attended.
A man in a wheelchair was distributing Easter eggs. A young lady was handing out hot drinks - at 10 degrees Celsius in windy Chicago, it was rather chilly. Another walked behind the young lady with a garbage bag, collecting the used paper cups and handing out tissues. The image is that of a well-attended church (at least on Easter Sunday), an enthusiastic congregation and a well-organized operation.
Upon a closer look, most of the people in the two lines were well-dressed. Overcoats, topcoats, leather jackets, dress shoes, high heels, ... I saw two and only two pairs of sneakers, and no down jackets. A well-heeled congregation, certainly. This was Michigan Avenue in downtown Chicago, the so-called Magnificent Mile, after all.
This was not where I worshiped this morning, however.