One Friday afternoon in spring, a young man went out in search of his father. He found him in the backyard, working away in the garden under a sunny, cloudless blue sky. His dad glanced up as the son approached. The young man looked to be deep in thought, confusion written across his face. He stopped in front of his dad and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Dad?” asked his son. “Why do they call it ‘Good’ Friday?” His father paused his work and wiped his arm across his brow. “What do you mean?” “Well,” the young man replied, “It just doesn’t make any sense. Today’s ‘Good Friday’. The day we remember Jesus’ death. People nailed Him to a cross. They jammed thorns into His head and pierced His side with a spear. They laughed and pointed at Him as He hung there dying a slow, agonizing death. But He had done nothing wrong. It had to have been horrific. Shouldn’t it be called ‘Bad Friday’ or ‘Awful Friday’ or ‘The Worst Friday In History’? I mean, look at the weather today. It’s beautiful outside, and all I can think is how it should be cloudy, and dreary, and miserable, the way that Friday must have been for Jesus.”
His father slowly rose to his feet and brushed the dirt off his hands. He gently put a palm on his son’s shoulder and looked at him with kindness in his eyes. “Son, can I ask you something?” His boy shrugged. “I guess so.” “If today you were sent to be nailed to a cross,” his father began slowly, “and you were going to have thorns jammed into your head and have your side pierced with a spear; if you were going to be laughed at and pointed at while you died a slow, agonizing death; and if you were hanging there not because you were innocent, but because you were guilty,” he squeezed his son’s shoulder gently. “If all of those things were true, and Someone stepped up and declared that they were going to take your place on that cross today…how would you feel?”
The young man thought for a moment. “I think I’d feel shocked, grateful, amazed that when I didn’t even deserve it, Someone would offer to do something so pure and good for me.” His dad smiled. “THAT’S why we call it ‘Good’ Friday.”
This story, while simplified in nature, is a beautiful reminder to me that even as we mourn the death of our Savior, we do not mourn “as people without hope” (1 Thessalonians 4). In just a few days, we’ll rejoice over the greatest comeback in history – the day death was defeated forever. So on this Good Friday, as you remember the price that Jesus Christ paid to save you personally, may you experience gratitude anew at His sacrifice on your behalf – a sacrifice that would become the greatest act of love this world has ever known.
