Why is
Good Friday, good?
Since
Monday Worldometer reports we’ve lost, in America, over 7,000 to COVID-19. (That
doesn’t include today, Good Friday.)
Passover
is no stranger to death.
This week, not so long ago, was a pretty hard week for Jesus, too.
This Passover—Good Friday—Easter, week, with all of its death soaring sorrow
and finger pointing fear…remember Jesus.
He washed
the disciples’ feet, even Judas’s stinking betraying feet.
He said
things like; “My peace I give unto you, not
a peace the world gives, but My peace” and “Greater love has no man than
this; that he lay down his life for his friends. You, are My friends...”
He was
mocked, slandered and lied about in a make-believe impeachment. He turned the
other cheek while they ripped out His beard, bloodied Him raw with fists, whips
and a crown of thorns.
Then,
while hanging from an old rugged cross with nails in His hands and feet, for
the first time since, forever, darkness clouded His heart and mind.
With all
the agony and pain ever known to man from creation to this day, He choked out
the saddest words ever echoed on the planet, “My God, My
God, why have You forsaken Me.”
At that
moment all my bloody, nasty, putrid sins were laid on Him.
(After
writing that last line, I broke, and wept…and wept. hard. I cried tears of sorrow, for my part in nailing Him to the tree. It's been a long, long time since I've done that. Years. But, there was something more. Those tears were mostly tears of gratitude. Thankful for what He's done for me. There was Easter in my tears.)
We still cry, we still have sorrow, but thanks to Jesus, we weep with Easter in our tears.
If you want to think about that for a moment, before completing. Stop reading. Start praying. It’s okay, I’ll wait.
We still cry, we still have sorrow, but thanks to Jesus, we weep with Easter in our tears.
If you want to think about that for a moment, before completing. Stop reading. Start praying. It’s okay, I’ll wait.
Oh My God, I’m so sorry, please
forgive.
My hands are bloody and filthy
…and holding a hammer.
Oh wretched man that I am.
Oh my God, I am so so so sorry...
Thank You. Thank You. Thank You, My Lord Jesus
Thank You. Thank You. Thank You, My Lord Jesus
There, I’m
better now. It took a while to regain my composure, blow my nose and wipe my
eyes.
What
makes this sorrowful Friday good? How could we ever tack the word “good” in
front of a day our Lord lay down His life in the most painful of ways?
Jesus, pulled
in a ragged breath and said through quivering, bloody, broken, bruised lips, "Father forgive them…"
Did they
remember, just hours before He’d said, “Greater love has no man than
this, that he lay down his life for his friends.”
Do we
remember?
Sure, we’ve
had a rough week, but nothing, nothing, compared to His.
How can
we call this Friday, good? As odd as it seems, I don’t know, but perhaps it was
by inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Perhaps God had it all worked out, knowing the
end from the beginning.
Remember the
beginning? Creation? At the end of each day, God looked at all that He’d made
and said, “It was good.” Every day, except the seventh day. The day of rest.
The day of rest remained open without an ending, no epitaph; for all who will enter
into His rest, with Him.
But, now,
this day, this day we call Good Friday, this day in which Jesus hung between
heaven and hell, knowing all things were accomplished, took one last breath and
said, “It is finished.”
With that
the earth shook, the sky went black, the veil in the temple was torn asunder
from top to bottom; exposing man to what was behind the veil, the Holy of
Holies, the very presence of God Almighty. Allowing me and you and whosoever
will to return to that day in the garden, before the fall, before the sin and
walk once again as they did back then, with Him, in the cool of the day, in the
peace and rest of Eden.
And that,
my friend…is very good.
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