Today is called “Good Friday” and I was thinking about it, and how it must have felt anything but good at the time.
It was dark and heavy.
A day with more questions than answers.
Consumed with confusion and little peace.
Little faith and mostly doubt.
Despair hangs in the air, hearts are trampled and dejected. The soul-depth disappointment in God was clear and suffocating.
What now? How could He? Why would He?
Nothing makes any sense. It doesn’t line up with everything they’ve seen and heard and experienced. The miracles… the teachings… the love… it all hung forgotten on two wooden beams on a hillside.
Everything they thought their Messiah would be, died that day.
Their hopes. Their dreams. Crushed with His nail pierced hands. They’d thrown everything away to follow Him — their families, careers, homes — and now this. A dreadful, shameful death.
Of Him…their hearts…their hope.
The Disciples didn’t know what we do now. We look back thousands of years later and see that life comes out of death. New beginnings arise from the most horrible of endings.
That hope rises.
To me this Friday is so breathtaking because it was so dreadful.
I’m reminded that in my dark and heavy times in life I’m not devoid of Him…even when I don’t see Him or sense Him. Doubt doesn’t abolish my faith. Questioning isn’t bad or wrong.
Everything I think my Messiah should be, I need to let die. Because He is so. much. more. than my version of Him…my own image.
He loves. He redeems. He saves me in ways I’d never expect and couldn’t imagine.
My hope is that someday…Someday I may even call my darkest Friday “good”.