When Good Friday Doesn’t Feel Good

I finished the story so I know how it ends.

Jesus, crucified on Friday is resurrected on Sunday.

It’s basic Sunday School 101—flannel graph tomb and all.

But what we often skip over is the interlude between the cross and the empty tomb.

There was a period of time between Friday and Sunday when no one was rejoicing.

It was a dark time, a time of deep sadness, mourning and wailing, doubt and grief.

Scripture recalls that a literal darkness settled over the earth:

 “Around noon the sky turned dark and stayed that way until the middle of the afternoon.”

When death comes unexpectedly, this kind of darkness always accompanies it.

There’s no use reminding people that their loved one has passed on to a better place.

It’s not comforting to know that in 20 or 30 years (or maybe 5 or 10) we’ll be able to see them again.

For the moment all color is drained from life and an enveloping grayness settles in.

Oh, I know that the Apostle said we do not grieve like those who have no hope—but we do grieve!

I’m well versed in the Eschatology that believes the dead in Christ will rise first—but for now they are still dead.

An old camp meeting song even told “There’s going to be a meeting in the air in the sweet, sweet by and by.”

But I also know that when Jesus found out his close friend Lazarus had died, John simply recorded, “Jesus wept.”

Jesus wept…in that moment his divinity was apparently overshadowed by his frail humanity.

Evidently he knew he was going to raise Lazarus from the dead—but in the crises of the moment he still cried.

Maybe this is why he is the great high priest that can and does “sympathize with our weaknesses”—with our humanity.

…Why his great sermon plainly and mater-of-factly states that people who mourn will be comforted.

Losing my brother last week, who was just one year older than me, is beyond sad.

It makes me ache—for his wife and children—for their future events he will miss.

I hurt because the eldest son among my siblings is no longer there for security and counsel.

I am broken and helpless to fight back the tears at the simple thought that he’s really gone…and I’ll never see him this side of eternity.

So this Good Friday, I’m going to join with the first disciples and not gloss over the fact that it doesn’t feel that “good.”

A good man lost his battle with humanity and all who knew him feel the loss deeply and it’s heart-wrenchingly painful.

With the preacher of old I’m going to admit that this is the season for mourning and not dancing.

Good Friday for me this year is a dark Friday…not one for celebrating the resurrection, but for grieving deeply a very personal loss—the resurrection hope will have to wait its turn.

"Rejoice with those who rejoice [sharing other's joy], and weep with those who weep [sharing other's grief]." Romans 12:15