Good Friday

There is no Easter without today, Good Friday. Without the death and pain and isolation of the cross, there is no triumphant resurrection. And too often, we like to gloss over today. We like to skip ahead to the good part. As a kid I always thought it weird that Good Friday was celebrated on Friday evening, and then a Saturday evening Easter Vigil service just 24 hours later kicked off the celebrations of Eastertide. Wasn’t Jesus supposed to rise on the third day, not the very next day? It felt too rushed to me twenty years ago, and it does even more now.

Too often, I think we just aren’t comfortable sitting with tragedy, with death. We’d prefer to skip ahead to when things get good again. So we heap well-meaning platitudes on those who need to wallow for a little, and we force-feed encouragements to those who need to fast for a day or two. Sometimes there are no appropriate words though, and the most helpful thing we can do is to just sit with and be company to those who mourn, like Job’s friends did, before they opened their mouths and made everything worse. Many times, when tragedy strikes, words of encouragement or attempts to find meaning aren’t half as useful as simply being present, whether that’s physically visiting someone or letting them know you’re there for them, you’re thinking of them, and you’re available to talk when the time comes for that.

Now, Good Friday is not fun. It’s deeply uncomfortable, in fact. I get why we like to rush ahead and celebrate Easter as soon as possible. But I also caution against this. Life doesn’t fast-forward to the good parts. Sometimes we go through years of Good Fridays at a time, with no clear Easter in sight. We need to make space for that too, and not expect everything to be bright sunrises, blooming lilies, and bare, empty tombs by the next day. So this weekend, take a moment to sit with the realities of Good Friday before rushing ahead to Easter.