Growing up, my church didn’t make a big deal about Good Friday. It always seemed like something only my Catholic friends talked about. The best of my recollection, my opinion of it was that it probably had the worst name of all time. It’s almost like “half marathon.” The name doesn’t really capture the pain of the moment.
I’ve been slogging through earthly matters the last few weeks and haven’t had much time to engage in Lent or even Holy Week. A couple of thoughts hit me this morning while driving my son to school.
Now that I’m older — much, much older — I understand the importance of Good Friday. While I love Easter with its hope and promise, I know that without the tragedy of Friday, Sunday’s meaning would ring hollow. For many years, I spent much of my life trying to avoid pain. And while I don’t seek it, I now know that embracing and working through it provides context to joy. You can’t self-medicate yourself to happiness. Fear, sadness and hopelessness have to be confronted head-on with love. That’s what Jesus did on Friday. And Sunday was the result.
Go forward today and tack into the wind. Live in the moment and face your fears head on with love. And may you and your family have a blessed Easter weekend.
