“Friday’s here, but Sunday’s coming!”
I can always count on a myriad of my Christian friends to post a sentiment like this on Facebook or Instagram each Good Friday. It’s a beautiful sentiment, and there’s a reason it makes us want to nod in agreement and respond with a hearty “amen!” We cling to the truth it represents—that even in the darkest moment of history, there was hope.
But as I have grown to appreciate the somber, sad, and even gruesome moments of Christ’s sacrifice, I’ve also realized that we don’t need to wait for Sunday to find hope. The phrase itself almost promotes a very human tendency to skip over the bad parts. We know the story of Christ’s death, so it’s tempting to mentally “fast forward” through the depressing and slow-moving part of the narrative to get to our favorite part faster.
The Horror of Good Friday
Good Friday services always felt like a “necesary evil” to me. I grew up attending these somber church services every year and completely despised the part where the pastor told us to leave in silence. What was church for, if not to chit-chat with my friends afterward? I simply did not know how to sit in the tension of suffering with Jesus.
And if Good Friday felt excessive, imagine my dismay when I was introduced to Lent! 40 whole days of sacrifice and somber repentance before we get to party? It all felt rather extreme.
This year, though, I have found the extra time to reflect most refreshing. It has reminded me of the scenes from C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe when Lucy and Susan snuck out to see Aslan, and accidentally witnessed his death at the hands of the White Witch. In chapter 15, it says,
“As soon as the wood was silent again Susan and Lucy crept out onto the open hill-top. The moon was getting low and thin clouds were passing across her, but still they could see the shape of the Lion lying dead in his bonds. And down they both knelt in the wet grass and kissed his cold face and stroked his beautiful fur — what was left of it — and cried till they could cry no more. And then they looked at each other and held each other’s hands for mere loneliness and cried again; and then again were silent. At last Lucy said, ‘I can’t bear to look at that horrible muzzle. I wonder could we take it off?’ So they tried. And after a lot of working at it (for their fingers were cold and it was now the darkest part of the night) they succeeded. And when they saw his face without it they burst out crying again and kissed it and fondled it and wiped away the blood and the foam as well as they could. And it was all more lonely and hopeless and horrid than I know how to describe.”
The Adoration of Christ
This story was no doubt inspired by the women of the gospel story, who remained at Christ’s side when the other disciples had fled and were willing to prepare His dead body for burial with tender affection and loyalty. And it’s their example that has led me to sit in the tension of grief and sadness a little extra before I rush to celebrate the resurrection.
In Lewis’ story, the girls stroke Aslan’s fur with such love and devotion, even after the Lion has died. While this could partially be attributed to their own grieving process or need to self-soothe, I think there’s more to it. Logistically, petting a dead Lion seems pointless. Yet it shows their adoration of him in such a vivid way.
In my church’s Good Friday liturgy, there is a part of a service when the cross is carried into the room and presented to the congregation. Those carrying it in proclaim, “Behold the wood of the Cross, on which was hung the world’s salvation.” You might expect that the congregational response might be about confession or repentance. It is not. The response is, “O come, let us adore Him.”
Even in Christ’s death, our sorrow and repentance should lead us to adore our dear Savior. There is a tenderness and a compassion that swells up in our hearts upon imagining our sweet Jesus suffering so much pain. It’s the same adoration that caused Lucy to stroke Aslan’s fur, and it’s the same adoration that led the women to prepare burial spices for Christ’s corpse.
I think that if we urge our hearts to skip over some of the suffering and fast forward to the celebration, we rob ourselves of these tender moments of adoration. The worship that results from pain often brings deeper intimacy.
The Necessity of Holy Saturday
As we observe the day of silence between Christ’s death and resurrection, we can easily busy ourselves with Easter preparations or treat it as a “day off” between church services, but this day is so much more. It gives us moments to breathe, moments to take it all in, moments to reflect, and moments to adore.
And though the depth of sadness we experience in observing Christ’s death could never eclipse the height of joy we experience in celebrating His resurrection, we don’t need to skip to Sunday to find hope. In fact, the moment of Christ’s death brought a haunting type of hope that we should allow ourselves to sit in.
Matthew 27:45-46 states, “From noon until three in the afternoon darkness came over all the land. About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”).”
John 19:28-30 then fills in the gaps, stating, “Later, knowing that everything had now been finished, and so that Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, ‘I am thirsty.’ A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips. When he had received the drink, Jesus said, ‘It is finished.’ With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.”
Then Mattew 27:51-52 resumes, “At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split and the tombs broke open. The bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life.”
We see here that hope sprung forth the moment Jesus died. At the moment he breathed His last breath, it was finished. All had been accomplished. Christ’s resurrection would later confirm this truth and showcase this new reality, but we don’t need to wait for Sunday to recognize this.
The Triumph of the Torn Temple Curtain
At the moment of Christ’s death, John tells us the temple curtain was torn. Though some pastors and preachers emphasize this well, I still think this is one of the most underrated moments of Good Friday. We don’t talk about it enough! The torn temple curtain shows us that the separation between God and man has been removed. There are now no longer any barriers between us and Him.
Jesus emphasized these themes throughout His last week of his ministry. He spoke frequently of the temple, what it meant, what it was meant to be, and how it had been corrupted. The temple was meant to allow access to God. Yet, just a few days prior to His death, Jesus was in the temple flipping tables because people were using the temple rituals to make a profit, effectively placing extra barriers between the people and their access to God. Later, Jesus pointed to the widow’s mite as a positive example of drawing near to God. It was never meant to feel complicated or elitist like the Pharisees had made it.
Today, we still place extra barriers between ourselves and God, despite having the full gospel at our fingertips. We distance ourselves from God when we feel sinful or unworthy, effectively placing ourselves in “timeout” until we feel we have sufficiently punished ourselves for something Christ already paid for. Though this attitude feels humble, it actually reeks of pride. We have the audacity to think our sin is the exception to the rule, that somehow Christ’s death wasn’t enough. If God the Father says it was sufficient, who are we to say it’s not?
Of course, it feels unnatural to run straight into the arms of the Father after our hearts have strayed from Him, but that’s the beauty of that torn temple curtain. We have unfettered access to the God of the universe and unending forgiveness for every offense. Our simple minds cannot comprehend the extent of God’s love, so we try to prolong what Christ has already said is finished.
So Let Us Marinate
Though Sunday IS coming, and the resurrection IS worthy of celebration, we don’t have to rush ahead. The profundity of this narrative is that each moment carries gospel truth that’s worthy of our time and attention. We would do right to let our hearts marinate in it a little.
So on this beautiful Holy Saturday, as we recover from the grief of Friday and look forward to the joy of Sunday, let us sit with our Savior in his death, in the darkness, and in a deep adoration, grateful that somehow a torn curtain and a broken body made everything else right again.
