Today is Good Friday.
What a strange thing to call the day You died. It wasn’t good for You. Not at all. It was Your worst day ever. But Your worst day was my best day. Because of what You did for me, I have hope. And hope is good.
I often wonder what You thought about that night in Gethsemane. I know you prayed for us, Your followers who live now, who have never met You face to face. But did You realize how we would screw up? Did You know how many times we would disappoint you?
Of course, You knew. Nothing we have done since the day we were born surprised You. You are God. You are eternal and forever, and You know everything–all that is and what and will be. So if You knew what screw-ups we were, why did You give Your life for us?
I come from a generation of Americans that have turned their backs on you. After all You have done for us, we have no excuse for it. We want our own way. We want to live without accountability, and my generation (and others) find it better to believe that we are happy accidents rather than to see purpose in our lives.
Ironic, because my generation is desperate for purpose. They just don’t want Your purpose.
But it’s not about them. It’s not about my parents’ generation or my grandparents’ generation or the younger generations that have come after me. It’s not even about me.
Today is about You. Every day should be about you, but today especially. We set it aside to remember the crucifixion. We remember what our salvation cost You.
How could You do it? How could you leave the perfection that is heaven and come down to this dirty world when You knew you would be hated? How could you agree to let Your Father sacrifice You for me? What good thing have I done to merit the shedding of Your blood?
That’s love beyond what I know.
I don’t understand how You can love me so much, especially when You knew that I would fail, but I’m thankful I don’t have to understand it to believe it. I’m thankful You loved me that much. I’m thankful You loved the world that much.
You didn’t have to. You could have wiped the slate clean, started from scratch, snuffed us all out. We deserve it. But You didn’t. You allowed Yourself to be torn apart for us, to suffer unimaginable torment of body, soul, and spirit.
Good Friday was a bad day for You, but it was the day You opened the doors for us to enter the throne room of God. It was the day that hope became more than a thread in all our lives.
May I never forget what You have done for me. May I never neglect to thank You and praise You with every ounce of strength in my life. May I never hesitate to give the reason for my hope when the world asks how I can keep going when nothing goes right.
How can I thank You enough for loving me when I don’t deserve it? There aren’t enough words in all the languages in all the world, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try anyway.
Words aren’t enough, but they come from my heart.
Two simple words to convey how it feels to have a lifetime of anxiety, insecurity, loneliness, and hurt taken away in a moment. Two simple words in response to new life, new hope, new dreams, new me.
You suffered. You died. And then You got up again.
Religion couldn’t hold You. Sin didn’t scare You. Death couldn’t stop You. And now, thanks to You, the same is true for me.
Happy Easter, brothers and sisters. Christ is risen.