On Good Friday


This is the Friday which retrospectively we call Good, but which was Black to those who went through it.  To the men and women in the wake of Jesus’ brutal death on a cross, it was as if the world had slammed the door shut in the face of their hopes for a Messiah–on hopes of a kingdom of joy and the fulfillment of the prophesies throughout the centuries.  Now they were in the pitch black, without any knowledge of what came next.

They could not see what we (we who know the story and who can look back, centuries later) see.  They could not see that the door which had seemed to so cruelly shut out their hope was fringed in light–a light that would burst forth as gloriously and quietly as the dawn on the third day, when Jesus rose from the dead.  They could not know that in this light they would not see a corpse, nor even a man’s mangled form, lately awoken from a coma, struggling with the weakness of such an ordeal, but that they would see the strong, risen body of a Savior.  A Savior whose triumph over death we will celebrate in two days time, with deep, reverent thankfulness.

But for now, we wait, remembering the darkness that closed upon the disciples–remembering that in our own darkness, a light glimmers upon the edges because of the Resurrection which came and is to come.

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