From Good Friday to Easter Sunday
As I write this article, it’s Good Friday. For several years on the traditional day we commemorate Christ’s death upon the cross, I mentally walk through the crucifixion event. If our Lord was nailed to the cross and lifted in the air at 9:00 a.m., then according to my clock it is a little after 12:00 noon, darkness has just covered the face of the ground and there are approximately three more hours until He cries, “Father, into thine hands I commend my spirit.”
I was thinking of the contrast of that Friday to this Friday, 2003. Today our oldest daughter Heather is in the house with her husband, Jared. Juliana (now “in the family way”) is en-route from Florida with her husband, Joshua. Our future daughter-in-law, Lauren, is also on her way from Florida to stay with my mom. Sean is outside washing the car. I am sitting here in the same room with my grandson, Caleb. He is enjoying the music of Vivaldi while watching his shapes and all manner of designs in “The Baby Einstein Video Series.” This one features Sir Isaac Newton as its inspiration. I marvel at the toys and things the youth of today have to learn and play with. I think I’m going to enjoy learning with them. So many good things await us this Good Friday, yet how well we who have read the Gospel accounts know that the first Good Friday seemed like anything but good.
Our Lord had been up all night and in the wee hours of the morning had been taken before Caiphas, Annas, Pilate, Herod and then back again to Pilate. He had been beaten about the face, the hair from His face had been plucked out, His back was bared to the cat-o-nine tails, he was dressed up as a king in mockery, an un-royal scepter was placed in His hands, and His Divine head had been crowned with long, sharp thorns.
After one more insulting interrogation He was led up the Via Dolorosa (the Way of The Pain). They drove cruel nails into His hands and feet. As the shadow of His cross falls upon that hill as it is lifted high into the air, I hear in my mind those precious words of Jesus as He spoke earlier in His ministry, “And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me” (John 12:32).
What a contrast! Today is a beautiful spring day. I have been admiring the spring flowers that Joel Transeau is so good at arranging and planting. I was making note of the fresh green grass coming up through the winter thatch. The sun is shining and in a little while our family will be around our table in force.
I am aware that this Easter there are over one hundred families that will be reminiscing what Easter was a year ago when their soldier was with them. Even so, with the darkest grief we have, we are reminded by Easter that Jesus said, “…I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live” (John 11:25).
Because of Good Friday, all the joy that we know in this earth is available to us. Easter Sunday, resurrection, and new life is all ours because of Good Friday. Many years ago, I came across this outstanding vignette from an old black preacher from West Philadelphia as told by Tony Campollo, who was in the congregation. It was a Good Friday service, one that was not soon forgotten. The pastor, an older man, got up and began. He stopped them all as he repeated over and over the phrase: “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s comin’.”
“It was Friday, and my Jesus was dead on the tree. But that was Friday, and Sunday’s comin’!”
One of the deacons yelled, “Preach, Brother! Preach!” It was all the encouragement that he needed. He came on louder as he said, “It was Friday, and Mary was cryin’ her eyes out. The disciples were runnin’ in every direction like sheep without a shepherd, but that was Friday and Sunday’s comin’!” People in the congregation were beginning to pick up the message. Women were waving their hands and calling softly, “Well, well.” Some of the men were yelling, “Keep going! Keep going!”
The preacher kept going. He picked up the volume still more and shouted, “It was Friday. The cynics were lookin’ at the world and sayin’, ‘as things have been so they shall be. You can’t change anything in this world, you can’t change anything.’ But those cynics didn’t know that it was only Friday. Sunday’s comin’!”
“It was Friday! And on Friday, those forces that oppress the poor and make the poor to suffer were in control. But that was Friday! Sunday’s comin’!”
“It was Friday, and on Friday Pilate thought he had washed his hands of a lot of trouble. The Pharisees were struttin’ around, laughin’ and pokin’ each other in the ribs. They thought they were back in charge of things, but they didn’t know that it was only Friday! Sunday’s comin’!”
He kept on working that one phrase for a half-hour, then an hour, then an hour and a quarter, then an hour and a half. Over and over he came at us, “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s comin’! It’s Friday, but Sunday’s comin’! It’s Friday, but Sunday’s comin’!”
By the time he had come to the end of the message, I was exhausted. He had me and everybody else so worked up that I don’t think any of us could have stood it much longer. At the end of his message he just yelled at the top of his lungs, “IT’S FRIDAY!” and all five hundred of us in that church yelled back with one accord, “SUNDAY’S COMIN’!”
In light of Easter, the Friday before can be considered, “Good.”
- Pastor Pope -