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Do we take Good Friday for granted? Do I? Do you? Is it merely a day that is necessary to get to Easter Sunday? Well, yes and no. We do need Friday before Sunday; it happens every week. And Jesus does need to die before he can rise again. But do we gloss it over because we know what’s coming? Sure, we go to church on Friday to hear the words from John or Luke and sing the songs that some have been singing longer than others have been alive. But what happens the rest of the day and even through Saturday? We have the benefit of knowing what happens – it’s the same every year, but the disciples did too (or they should have – Jesus dropped a few hints). I encourage you to look at Good Friday from a different lens – from the eyes of those closest to Jesus.
If you are Peter, you may not only be feeling deep sadness on Friday but also tremendous guilt and shame. Sure, Peter is known for saying some crazy things, but Jesus was there to correct him – sometimes, gently, and other times, not so much. Now, Peter has fulfilled exactly what Jesus said would happen when he denied knowing him in the courtyard, but there was no chance for Jesus to correct it or for Peter to take it back. Jesus is gone.
Or what about Mary, his mother, and the other women? Jesus had been elevating their status in a society that wasn’t (and still isn’t) ready for it. And now, he has been brutally killed by his own people, via their use of Roman authority, to set an example for others. He’s gone; how does a mother recover from that?
I don’t remember how old I was, but it was somewhere in those middle school years when the meaning of Good Friday hit home. As I sat in service that night with my parents and sister, I remember tears silently running down my cheeks. Everything from that day was sinking in – the nails, the darkness, the spear, the words Jesus spoke to John and Mary. But even deeper, Jesus prayed from the garden the night before to be spared from this suffering, saying, “if it be God’s will.” And Jesus crying out from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” This is from the same Jesus who knew what was going to happen and who had been telling everyone what would happen. Even in the midst of knowing that Easter joy would come, he cried out in pain. Everything came together that night for me so many years ago. I could feel in my bones the weight of Jesus’s sacrifice … for me. I could also feel the enormity of his love and, as it so often happens with my emotions, they bubbled up from the spring. But something else happened that night. I realized I was the only one crying. And, in a German Lutheran family, I was also old enough to understand that before the lights came up, I needed to discreetly wipe away the traces of those tears.
Today, I extend an uncomfortable invitation to you. Let’s imagine being a disciple standing on the hill from a distance, trying desperately to make sense of what our eyes are seeing while trying just as hard to remember any of the words Jesus had just spoken over the past week. Let’s sit with Mary in her grief and Peter in his shame. Don’t rush the sorrow knowing the joy that awaits us. We will have plenty of time to celebrate.
