(A not so very) Good Friday

Two days away will be Good Friday. Never have understood why we will ever remember the day as good. Friday of Holy Week was not TGIF but OHIF (Oh Hell, it’s Friday). It was not pretty at all that final Friday of our Lord’s earthly life. It started ugly and ended ugly.

Maybe, just maybe, we’ve thrown Crucifixion Friday (also known as Hangman’s Friday) out the window in preference for bunnies, and Easter baskets, and new outfits, and Easter Egg Hunts. Maybe we don’t want to visit the real Friday with all its blood and pain and suffering. Maybe we should call it Blood Friday. Maybe Good Friday was a spin on that horrible day — a spin much like today’s political spins.

One of the complaints of Mel Gibson’s movie, “The Passion of Christ,” was that it portrayed that Friday too much like it was. Too much with the cat of nine tails. Too much with the carrying of the heavy cross. Too much of reality. Far too, too much blood.

I believe what has happened is that Easter Sunday with its glory and its triumphant has just about overshadowed the Cross.

This past Friday I was pleased to see the presentation of the Fourteen Stations of the Cross by the drama department of Our Lady of Mercy Catholic High School. Catholics are encouraged to meditate on the Stations of the Cross. For some reason, my faith tradition has never made that much of the cross, only through our hymnody and perhaps a play now and then. No, we have rushed to Easter Sunday.

But our collective Christian faith is clear at this point: without the shedding of blood, there is no remission of sin. It was the cross that made possible the forgiveness of our sins. It was the cross event by which Jesus himself proved his worthiness of his reign. In fact, Jesus truly reigned from the cross. The cross was his seat of power. His own words witness that he didn’t want to go through with death on the cross, but again, his own words show he did not permit his own flesh to stand in his way: “Not my will, but yours be done.”

There are a lot of people who find themselves this Holy Week not exactly ready to hunt eggs, buy a new dress, or even attend an Easter worship service. They feel like hell. They sense their lives falling apart. Family is a relational crisis. And on and on.

For them I point to the cross. There you can find identity. You can hear the screams of the Holy One as he protests his circumstances, family, and hand he had been dealt: “My God, My God! Why have you forsaken me?”

Perhaps it’s the abandoned Jesus with whom you can identify this Easter. He is there for you. His hands still evidence the bloody nailing to the cross. His side still has the scar from the soldier’s sword. He may be the one you can get with this Easter. He understands the hell you’re living in.

Happy Bad Friday!