Friday: the day the sky turns black.
It’s strange that we call it good, because it doesn’t feel that way standing by the tomb. It doesn’t seem good when the ground splits, or darkness swallows us whole.
But Friday acknowledges our loss of innocence and love and hope. It recognizes the kind of crushing grief that makes breathing unbearable.
I think of it when I’m struggling with the diagnosis.
When he’s on the floor, unable to move.
I remember it when the news leaves me gutted.
As her world comes undone.
And when the thing that happens to other people was done to me.
Friday takes that seriously.
It doesn’t pretend or bypass. Friday looks all of our death in the face. And on Friday, the darkness that was meant to kill became the soil for new life. The goodness of this day speaks to our worst ones.
Darkness is real and deep. And because Jesus entered it first, our darkness is coming undone.
This ending is not the end.
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