From The Desk of David

In the heart of Eden’s sanctuary, Adam and Eve were ensnared in shame and took refuge behind a tree. Stripped of their innocence, they stood vulnerable, weighed down by awareness like leaden clouds. But on a distant hill, Jesus hung on a cross, embodying grace and mercy, a beacon of hope in the tempest of human frailty.

The Thief met his end outside the city gates but found redemption in an unexpected twist of fate. Jesus adorned a crown of thorns, a symbol of His unyielding love and the promise of salvation, overcoming the curse of humanity’s fall from grace.

With the utterance of these words, the keys to the Kingdom were placed into the hands of the most undeserving, and humanity was now given access to approach the King with the boldness of a child. These words don’t just mark the death of Jesus. They mark the fulfillment of the promise made in the garden. The promise that death wouldn’t have the final say. And that dear friends, is why it is Good Friday indeed.

But I’ve always wondered why we call it “Good Friday.” I guess I just could never get past the use of such a lighthearted, almost gentle word.” It’s almost as if we wanted to forget the pain and suffering our Lord did that dark Friday.

Would Mary, the mother of Jesus, ever let the word “good” cross her lips as she watched her own son beaten, abused, mocked, and strung up on a Roman cross? Would the friends of Jesus dare call it “good” when the spear was driven into Jesus’ side? Good Friday wasn’t good. So why do we use this lighthearted word to set this Friday apart from all others? What drove the early Church fathers to cement the phrase “good” into Christian orthodoxy and tradition? I think it would’ve been far more appropriate and, dare I say, accurate to call Sunday “good?” Sure, from the vantage point of today, we have the privilege to see this Friday as the embodiment of grace, and that is the reason this Friday is called “good” because Jesus hung on the cross in our place. But from the perspective of that dark day, Friday was far from good. Watching your child be murdered by the government you pay taxes to would not have felt “good.” Watching your friend suffer would not have felt “good.” However, I wonder what waking up on Sunday must have felt like. I’d imagine it felt dark and hopeless. The sting of death would have still been present.

We didn’t name this day based on what happened. We call it good because of the vantage point of Sunday—and it’s because of Sunday that we can call it good. But I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been guilty of mislabeling days. I wonder how many painful and challenging days I’ve labeled wrong because I was too worried about letting the feeling of the day rule me. I wonder if I’ve thrown in the towel before I witnessed the stone of redemption move. Because from the vantage point of heaven, I’d imagine that He would echo the words of the garden— “It is good.” He makes all things good. So even if it still seems dark–even if the taste of defeat is still fresh on your lips, remember–Sunday is on the way. Because, like the cross, He finishes everything He starts. He’s standing back with a smile that has overcome the world and an “it is good” that is louder than all our dark Fridays.