It’s taken me more than three decades to really catch the goodness of Good Friday. But standing tonight between my husband who can’t walk and my dad whose heart is not fixed, I think I started to grasp it.
Tonight we traced the events before Jesus’ death, and they’re anything but good. It’s always bothered me that churches traditionally call this Friday “good” because it just sounds like another Christian euphemism. Can’t we call it Crucifixion Friday? Death-of-Disciples’-Dreams Friday? “Good” seems to read Sunday back into Friday.
Christians can grow accustomed to hearing some pretty gory phrases surrounding the crucifixion until something like our own family traumas or images from the war on Ukraine jolt us back to the horror of death in real time. It is good that “He took on our infirmities,” but ongoing doctor visits indicate that He didn’t take them all. It is good that “by His wounds we are healed,” but an over-emphasis on physical healing doesn’t always sit well with someone who can’t stand. “His punishment brought us peace,” but say that to the citizens of one country relentlessly pursued to the death by another.
The first Good Friday was a dashing of hopes: the disciples saw regicide. The mother saw murder.
The first Good Friday was a rise of evil: the religious leaders killed true religion. The Romans quelled the latest local uprising.
What’s good to me about the first Good Friday is that it legitimizes human suffering. By moonlight we see divine and human nature pleading with his Dad to exhaust all other options before martyrdom. By torchlight we see regal restraint in refusing to call thousands of angel armies to shut down the whole operation. We see pure, unadulterated truth bought, sold, struck, spat upon, accused, condemned, killed. And angels just watch.
How could we twist Good Friday to mean Safe Passage through this life?
My favorite Good Friday summary is this: if our hope in Christ is only for this life, we are more to be pitied than anyone in the world (1 Corinthians 15:19).
This doesn’t whitewash injustice and injury-induced paralysis and atrial fibrillation. Far from it: Jesus has already demonstrated His identification with human suffering. But His identification with our present pain is matched by His identification with our future restoration.
His death—the blood we sing about in major keys—purchased for God persons from every tribe and language and people and nation who will one day be a kingdom and priests to serve our God and will reign on the earth (Revelation 5:9–10). This is serious, eternal, costly, infinite joy.
After dishonor, we are promised glory. After weakness, we are promised power. After the natural, we are promised the spiritual (1 Corinthians 15:43–44). If Christ hasn’t been raised, our faith is futile and we’re still in our sins (1 Corinthians 15:17). But He was raised; because He lives, we also will live (John 14:19). I’m getting ahead of myself now; this is Sunday stuff.
But that’s how I can look at my husband and my dad in the middle of their situations and call Good Friday good.
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P.S. Photo taken on an evening walk (may have been a jog)
P.S.S. For those who’d like to know, the Oxford English Dictionary takes over 30 pages to define all possible meanings of “good,” and definition 8.c. notes that “good” was used to designate a day or season observed as holy by the church. That brings me more clarity as to the origins of the “Good Friday” title. In other languages this day is called Long Friday (Danish), Sorrowful Friday (German), and Holy-and-Great Friday (Greek). So if you struggle with the goodness of Good Friday, remember that it’s partially the English language’s fault. 