At the crux1 of the Christian faith is an event that was – as far as the original observers could tell – a complete disaster.
Jesus – this man of peace2 – had annoyed the religious and political leaders of his time to such an extent that they conspired to get him out of the picture… for good.
The night before – when betrayal, arrest and trumped-up charges had been quite the thing – the same crowds who were fighting for front-row seats to the Best Show in Town less than a week before… instead quietly slipped away – preparing stories about how they had “really only been in Jerusalem for the religious Festival“.
Even his closest friends were cowering somewhere.3
None of us can truly empathise with any of the players in this story. But we have all had moments when the world was shaken and the carpet dragged from under our feet – everything we thought we knew thrown wildly into the air and us scrabbling to find something, anything, familiar.4
That first Good Friday didn’t feel good at all.
That first Good Friday was – according to Christian thought – a demonstration about the lengths that the Creator would go to for the created.
We can try to comfort ourselves with glib “it’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming” platitudes – but sometimes it is better to recognise where we are, to perhaps see what we can learn from it.
To embrace the apparent failure.
To let certain hopes and dreams die.
To mourn what we have lost.
It need not define us – but we can’t wish it away or pretend it is not real.
- See what I did there? (Sorry)
- There was that one time, mind you…
- There were some women who heroically stayed and supported him, but for some reason their stories are not frequently told 😦
- If only there was an example of this sort of thing happening recently – perhaps on a global scale – that I could think of…
This post is part of a collaborative project called #LentVoices. For more details of both the project and contributors, see here.