I pray you take a few moments to reflect not on what Good Friday means to you, because we can all spin some pretty words when the question is posed like that, but on how you spend Good Friday.
I’ve been doing Good Friday wrong for quite some time. In fact, I’m certain I’ve never done it right, done it justice, done it intentionally. The holiday has been watered down to an extra eight hours I get off in the name of religion. Don’t ask if I truly observe what it means.
I’m only being honest because I’ve learned my faith gets murky, even stifled, when I dance around my willingness to disconnect from the hard parts of belief, the parts that would nudge me towards repentance and change.
I hope you’re honest with yourself, too. I pray you take a few moments to reflect not on what Good Friday means to you, because we can all spin some pretty words when the question is posed like that, but on how you spend Good Friday. Your actions won’t lie. They act as an antiseptic poured on your heart so all the unhealthy spots bubble and scream til you clean things up.
Why This Friday Sets Us Free
This year, Good Friday came early, at least in my head and heart, because I've been wrestling with whether or not goodness is sustainable, enough for me to keep pursuing my faith. In truth, I’ve never doubted the goodness of God quite as I’ve done this past year, as I’ve seen tragedy after tragedy leaving me with the timeless question, “Why, God, do you let bad things happen to good people?”
Granted, I know the theological answers:
Left to our own devices, we aren’t good at our core.
Bad things happen because of sin, not because God is happily dishing out tragedies to the world.
Bad things can be God’s way of shaping and molding us.
I know.
I know.
I know.
But I still don’t fully understand who God is amid all the bad things and how His goodness interacts with fallen man.
His character remains a mystery.
And maybe that’s not a bad thing. After all, once something is no longer mystical, magical, or mysterious, we tend to lose interest. We get bored with what’s predictable and mundane. That’s why safe living often feels more like existing. It’s not pushing us to be anything other than machines.
Despite my doubts, there is one truth I cling to: God’s goodness isn’t negated because bad things exist. In a world where gray certainly exists and right and wrong can be hard to decipher, this is a black-and-white truth. God’s goodness and the good things He provides aren’t hindered, dampened, or sullied by bad things. While this reality doesn’t make my heart mushy-gushy or fix hard situations, it’s the truth.
And truth sets us free from living lies, from being crushed by their shifting expectations. Truth sets a bar and provides grace when we miss the mark. Truth recognizes the bad things, even going so far as to provide empathy, but it still calls us to goodness. Truth doesn’t let bad win. Truth forces goodness to show up and push back, to take up space, to be louder, to claim victory in the end.
Why This Friday Is, Indeed, Good
I’m not sure where you are today, whether you’re battling a physical illness with little hope, picking up the shattered pieces of a broken relationship, or wondering how you’ll pay this month’s mortgage. But I have no doubt that something in your life is hard. Maybe it’s something embarrassing that the entire internet knows about. Maybe it’s something that is truly a secret between you and God. And whether you brought it upon yourself or not, it’s still a hard pill to swallow. You’ll still question God’s goodness. You’ll still wonder if goodness has the final say, even while bad things continue to happen all around us.
And I’m here to tell you that’s why this Friday is, indeed, good.
I’d like to share an excerpt from my latest book, Tired, Hungry, & Kinda Faithful. It’s a piece of my heart that was scratching the surface of what makes Good Friday so good, and I think I just now see the fuller picture of what God was saying through me:
After we experience enough life to make a wrong turn, countless times, we let shame coast us down a dreary memory lane. It makes pit stops, forces us to open the car’s squeaky, rusty door, and gawk at the worst parts of us plastered across a tattered, eyesore billboard.
This unending trip drowns out any notion that a good God took the time to delicately create our innocence in the womb. Shame blocks out this beautiful picture, and after we consistently cave to sin and selfishness, shame hopes we forget that this same God invites us to repentance. Here, we can find not only forgiveness but a Spirit who will walk and talk with us and guide us through both mistakes and miracles. This God, this Spirit, calls us good, beloved, chosen, set apart, worthy, safe, “the apple of [his] eye” (Ps 17:8).
So, what happens when we don’t ask for forgiveness? Where does fate leave us if we don’t take a chance on God’s grace? What happens when we don’t tap into a freedom that releases our captive definition of our goodness? We can’t accept goodness in its most honest forms; no applause is allowed for baby steps, minor victories, or any raw and natural element of life that includes massive grace yet a meager ounce of imperfection.
What happens when we stay on this gloomy tunnel’s train tracks? We throw a blinder on the train’s big front light, covering up the freedom that two things can be true at once:
Our bodies are both sinful and restored.
Selfish and selfless.
Scared and brave.
Scarred and healed.
Rocky and steady.
Ignorant and intelligent.
Bound and free.
Our past can be full of shame, hurt, and fear, while our future is full of grace, healing, and freedom. Our present can be all of these things at once. And such is progress. This is moving forward, accepting God’s grace, and extending it to others. This is failing at giving God’s grace to self and others on hard days, only for God to offer bountiful forgiveness, restoring our faith in his grace day after day.
Why is this acceptable? Because two things were true for Jesus at once too. While on earth, he was both:
Student and teacher.
Angry and righteous.
Anxious and brave.
Tired and empowered.
Starving and fulfilled.
Son and God.
Son and Spirit.
Unlike our walk on earth, his balancing act was never interrupted by sin, but he made way for two things to cohabitate in an unlikely fashion. He could flip tables with this wild, infatuating anger that was beautiful, holy, and soul-piercing. He could sweat drops of fear as he anticipated nails ramming through his body while boldly promising, “Nevertheless, not my will, but Thy will be done” (Luke 22:42 [KJV]). He could feel the weight and drain of forty days without food and still tell Satan to go to hell.
He was God and Spirit. Is God and Spirit. It is vital to this intrinsic Trinity that inhabits all spaces on both sides of eternity, ensuring that there isn’t a crack or cranny that we could fall into that he hasn’t already filled.
Why This Friday Can Lead You Home
As my husband says, you can't put lipstick on a pig. I won't try to pretty up the hard season you're walking through. And I can’t tell you how to spend your Good Friday. Many of you still have to manage work, physical ailments, juggling the kids, paying bills, and dealing with dreaded relatives for the holiday weekend. But I can tell you if you spend the day recognizing that goodness exists despite the bad, that God’s character, His very soul, wins in the end, you’ll spot life’s beauty a bit easier, and His grace will become your lifeline, what truly leads you home.
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