Forgetting Good Friday

by Colonel Christine J. Rock 

Did you ever “forget” Good Friday? I have. Sort of …  

When I was young, I struggled to see the “good” in Good Friday. I was a sensitive child. I knew fiction from reality. But I wept when Frosty melted and hid behind the couch when the Wicked Witch of the West cackled. How could I manage my emotions when Jesus, whom I knew to be as real as any member of my family, was beaten, whipped, and worse, nailed to a cross? I couldn’t. The emotional torment was too much. 

But the horror I felt on Good Friday could not compare with the sense of guilt and shame I felt during Holy Week. I knew that Jesus died not only for the sins of the world — but for MY sin. And I couldn’t help but think that all His suffering could have been avoided if only I behaved the way I was taught in Sunday school. If only I hadn’t swiped my sister’s quarters from her stash. Or fibbed to my teacher about how many questions I got right. Or kept my fingers out of the cookie jar … maybe THEN Jesus would not have suffered as He did. 

It was unbearable. 

I started to envy the other kids in my neighborhood. They seemed just fine counting down the days until the Easter Bunny came to fill their baskets with chocolate eggs and Peeps. No Holy Week dread. No Good Friday angst. Just happy thoughts of a lovely rabbit hippity-hopping on its way to load them up with sugar and happiness. 

What if I just “forgot” about Good Friday? I wondered. What would it be like to skip over those three hours at the Cross and jump right to the part of the story when Jesus was risen?  

So, I tried it. I skipped the Good Friday worship service, left my Bible unopened, and distracted myself with play and television all weekend. 

And Easter Sunday morning came just the same. Jesus was alive. The tomb was empty. My sins were forgiven. Death was defeated. 

But something was missing. I felt disconnected from the joy, the celebration, the triumph over death. In “forgetting” Good Friday, I had somehow lost my deep appreciation for the Resurrection. It was like feeding a holiday feast to a child who had already binged on jelly beans and chocolate bunnies. My “hunger” to see Jesus, dead and buried, and now alive, was lacking. I had no appetite for the Good News. 

We need to stay at the foot of the Cross. It is a dreadful, painful experience. It is hard to imagine and nearly impossible to watch. But it is also “good,” meaning holy, sacred, and vital to our spiritual well-being. We need to gaze upon Jesus and witness His obedience, His humility, His sacrifice. We need to watch Him surrender His will to the Father in Gethsemane and His body to death at Calvary. We need to experience the utter devastation of those who lost Jesus to appreciate the overwhelming joy of seeing Him radiant with the same life and hope and joy He gives those who believe in Him. We need to remember the Cross. 

Lest I forget Gethsemane,
Lest I forget Thine agony;
Lest I forget Thy love for me,
Lead me to Calvary.