It is Good Friday. I
always had trouble with that designation when I was young. Even a degree of theological sophistication
leaves one with mixed emotions when meditating on that title. It is the day Christ died. It sounds like a plug for a Jim Bishop book.
But we carry over some sense of the gravity of this day
year-round. Fridays are fast days in
many denominations. Or, people will
refrain from meat or certain other foods on Friday. It is a regular spiritual discipline, to be sure. But it is also a commemoration that it was on
Friday that Jesus was on his cross. It
is in some ways as if the day has a black mark on it altogether.
That may be a bit harsh, but it is not altogether unfitting. If the church considers each Sunday a “little
Easter” it may be appropriate to regard every Friday as a “little Good Friday,”
a remembrance of the extraordinary event that occurred on this day.
After all, according to the scriptural accounts, the skies
darkened, the earth quaked and even tombs opened up and the dead walked the
earth. It is not a day to take lightly.
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