Sobering Thoughts for Good Friday

    This is the first year that I have wanted to attempt to “celebrate” Good Friday as a parent. My daughter, having just reached an age where she has declared she has Jesus in her heart, prompted me to action. My husband picked up some wildflower seeds, and I bought a pot from Goodwill. Those, and my drive-up Target run Miracle Gro purchase, culminated in our Good Friday conversation. We got the pot ready, opened up the seed packets, and dropped them into the Miracle Gro. Being four, my daughter was pretty generous in the number of seeds she placed. So, we’ll see how that turns out. However, the number of seeds was not what stood out the most to me. The thing that struck me as we talked about Jesus needing to die in order for us to have life, was how dead the seeds looked.

    On the front of the seed packet was a picture of a multitude of multi-colored gorgeous blooms. Pinks, reds, yellows, oranges, purples, and even some blues. Just purely stunning life. Yet, when we opened the pouch and looked inside, all that we saw were brown, tiny, dried up, specks against the white paper. Seemingly empty. Seemingly, dead. It struck me, as we held the seeds in our hands that, perhaps, this was how the disciples felt as they gazed upon Christ’s limp body on the cross. Actually emptied of life. Actually dead. 

    How must it have felt for John, having just been told he would be caring for a new mother - Jesus’ mother - to look upon his dead friend?

How must it have felt for Mary, who fed, clothed, weened, housed, and loved her son since being alerted of her teenage pregnancy to look upon her 30-something son and see him limp?
How must it have felt to the guards who pierced him, mocked him, and gambled for his bloodied robe to look upon their prisoner - the King of the Jews hanging upon the cross as the ground shook under their feet upon his last breath? 
How must it have felt to his disciples, who had given up their jobs, livelihoods, and families to follow this man, to look upon him dead before them?

    These seeds hold the promise of beautiful life. They are stunning, bold, colorful, and *hopefully* aromatic. But, the process of getting to this full life seems at best, dismal. Hopeless. As I watched my daughter pat the dirt down on top of these seeds, my thoughts wandered to the disciples gazing upon the sealed tomb. The hope that had altered their pattern of living, as well as their eternity, was dead. Buried. With my “sanctified imagination,” as my pastor would say, I can see sadness so great that tears no longer come. Wells of sorrow ran bone dry under the weight of depravity that has dragged them to the utter end of themselves, reeling in pain and anguish. How could they have even brought themselves to stand at the face of the tomb, knowing full-well that their hope of life everlasting, of freedom from tyrannical Roman rule, and their friend and teacher lay dead on the other side? Not just standing before the face of the tomb, standing in general? How did they even shore up enough strength to get off of their knees as they faced the cross upon which their Savior had suffocated? The story ended as the dark that had fallen at noonday lingered into the evening hours. They went home, heartbroken and battered. Again, using my “sanctified imagination,” I imagine them staggering into their doors, not hungry, not tired, just numbed to their very cores. Clinging to the community of one another as they try to wrap their minds around the idea that their Savior was left to be buried behind a rock. 

    The hope of the seeds that have now spent an entire day bathing in the sun, is that they will spring new life. That when my daughter and I look at them together, even just the sprouts, we will be able to talk about the new life that came forth from the dead-looking and dried up seeds. That life came from death. As a Christian, Good Friday reminds me that there is always a cost to the choices I make that place myself above all others - especially God. Too often in this life and world, we see headlines blasting the news that someone has wronged someone else in some way. This seems like a vague description, but it is simply just another reminder that our innate desire is to think of ourselves first. If I am speaking to anyone, I am speaking to myself here. I like to tell my daughter after she is angry, or disrespectful, or screaming, that there are always consequences to thinking of yourself as more important than others. I don’t want her to be a doormat, or a people pleaser, but I do want her to be someone who sees the needs of others and gives plenty of opportunity to respect and acknowledge that she is not the only one in the room. This was the example of Jesus. 

    When he could have simply said, “no,” he said, “Not my will, but yours be done.” When he could have said, “let’s find someone else,” instead he said, “for I have come not to be served, but to serve.” To lay down his life. The freedom and hope that I have for a better future, and a freedom from sin, is the free gift given to me because of the sacrifice of my Savior. On this side of history, knowing of the resurrection that defeated death, I can cling to the cross of Christ and  proudly claim Jesus as my Savior. For there, my sins - the price of which was separation - are nailed. A balance that has been paid in full, because Jesus paid it in full. 

    Yet, to know that there was a moment in the history of the world, where the disciples who gave every earthly thing to follow Jesus, just stood at the door of a tomb. Staring in heartbreaking silence at the door that sealed the body of their Savior along with the joy and assurance of their hope. Peace stolen, joy erased, hope deferred. Good Friday reminds me that, in order to get to celebrate the life of Jesus on Easter Sunday, there must first be the cost of sin paid - which is death. It is not possible to celebrate a life resurrected, without first enduring the sting of death. There is hope that someday the wildflowers we planted will wield a beautiful bouquet, worthy of display upon our table. Yet, while I wait for that day, let me not forget the buried hope. The seeds that seemingly hold no signs of life, being sealed in a grave - just as it was with Jesus. My hope goes beyond the grave because the power of Jesus goes beyond the grave. Yet, for today, I mourn the high cost that my sins demand.