I have always thought that calling the day my Jesus suffered in unimaginable and humiliating ways GOOD was plainly wrong. There is nothing good about suffering. Not his. Not mine. Not yours.
The more I grow and deal with my own heartache the more that I realize there is a lot of good in suffering. It teaches and shapes us. It helps others. The very hurt I so despise is the same hurt that has given me all the attributes I admire in myself–patience, perseverance, acceptance, HOPE.
But, that is not why I think Good Friday is good. A small bit, maybe. But, not the real reason. Jesus knew what was coming. He knew they would strip him naked, beat him until he could barely walk, whip the skin off his back, and spit in his face. He knew what that was going to feel like. I suspect as the time drew closer he imagined it every time he closed his eyes. He wept out of fear of the upcoming pain and pleaded with God to do something else instead. He was BROKEN. And he would do it again. He would do it again because he did it the first time knowing exactly how much it would hurt. That is LOVE. That is GOOD. Good is a God who presented himself to be tortured because it was the best way He could love me.
That love calls me to be GOOD in my world too. Would I be willing to relive my darkest suffering if it helped someone else? If it helped me? I cannot truthfully answer that question. But, I can say that I hope so. I hope that I am able to die to myself every single day by presenting my whole self for God to use however it will most benefit others–even if that means PAIN. Even if that means loneliness. Even if that means being poor. Even if that means losing people I love. Even if that means being rejected and despised and made fun of. I hope I will do it. I hope I will do it because someone did it for me.
And He did it for me on THIS DAY–GOOD Friday.