A painting by German Expressionist Emil Nolde
Good Friday.
The day when we mark the death of Jesus. On the Friday of Passover week, sometime between 26 and 36 AD, the Roman governor of Judea had him executed for crimes against the Roman government. We celebrate his death in many ways; prayer, special church services, processions, Passion plays, fasting …. In the Roman Catholic church, no Mass will be celebrated today, except for special exceptions, such as a funeral. The altars will remain bare, with nothing on them to show joy or happiness. As Tony Campolo said
“It’s Friday. See Him walking to Calvary, the blood dripping from His body. See the cross crashing down on His back as He stumbles beneath the load. It’s Friday; but Sunday’s a coming.
It’s Friday. See those Roman soldiers driving the nails into the feet and hands of my Lord. Hear my Jesus cry, “Father, forgive them.” It’s Friday; but Sunday’s coming.
It’s Friday. Jesus is hanging on the cross, bloody and dying. But Sunday’s coming.
It’s Friday. The sky grows dark, the earth begins to tremble, and He who knew no sin became sin for us. Holy God who will not abide with sin pours out His wrath on that perfect sacrificial lamb who cries out, “My God, My God. Why hast thou forsaken me?” What a horrible cry. But Sunday’s coming.”
It’s Friday, and we should remember that day. Part of the Passover observation is for Jews to identify themselves with the ancient Israelites, once captive in Egypt, now freed by the mighty arm of God. Each person is supposed to put themselves in the place of a slave who has been liberated, who has been set free to journey to the promised land.
It’s Friday, and my sins weigh me down, but they are being lifted by the One who knew no sin. It’s Friday, and I am among those who cry out “Crucify Him! Let his blood be on my head!” It’s Friday, and I must remember how lost I was before I knew Him. Because, on Sunday, I can once again be found. On Sunday, I can be one of His children, raised by the power of His resurrection. On Sunday, His blood will be on my head, not as a punishment but as a payment for all my sin, all the darkness that I have so eagerly embraced and allowed to fill my soul.
But for now, it’s Friday.
