By 3 Jesus is dead, having spoken only seven times. The sky turns black, there is an earthquake, rocks split into, dead people come out of their graves, only to die once more. And we call this Good Friday.
So we light the candles as the shadows deepen, and mark off the calendar as the days lengthen. It’s the Babe of Bethlehem that we long for, for God to come and dwell with us.