Good Friday Connections
Good Friday meanings flood my mind and heart. My mom had such a deep connection with this day; so much so, she commanded my siblings and I to be silent between noon and 3 pm, the hours marking Jesus’ journey towards death. The Passion of Christ is a lot for little kids to really comprehend. My brothers, sister and I played Monopoly in our rooms as my mom engaged in her own personal silent retreat. To this day, we call one another at noon on today. Maybe my mom’s intention for us to be mindful paid off.
More profound however, are the broader reminders of Good Friday. Today marks the darkest of days, when pain and heartache reigned. We all know such darkness. Diagnosis of terminal illness, devastating fire or tornado, chronic struggle with mental illness, debilitating loss or any version of heartache are all byproducts of life. Immunity from sorrow just isn’t possible. Drowning in anguish is something many of us can relate to. Sometimes, hurt is so stifling it’s hard to know how anything for sure.
Every Good Friday, I remind myself that darkness doesn’t have to have the last word. Having known those who’ve experienced those moments of “no return,” I’ve come to understand that Good Friday offers a conduit. Uninvited journeys come with a painful price; therefore, hope is the only way to move forward. Hope lives in the neighbor who brings yet another pasta casserole. Hope lives in the stranger who smiles with eye contact that pierces your private pain. Hope lives in the morning cup of coffee that offers a new perspective for the day. Hope lives in the rubble; it’s where sprouts of new growth begin.
Sometimes, new life and the possibility for regained joy feel fleeing. Pain is blinding and contracting. Even now, with as many lessons of hope I’ve been given in my 61 years, I still doubt the guarantee of trust. And this is why Good Friday is good. It’s a reminder. Trust lives just around the bend of despair. Those with deep heart scars know this. Good Friday could not exist without Easter, and Easter could not exist without Good Friday. It’s just the way life works.
I think my mom had it right. Sentencing my siblings and I to our rooms to navigate a not-yet-understood but sure-to-come personal Good Friday experience was ingenious. She didn’t know it at the time, but she was arming us with the wings of hope. In our case, it all began with a Monopoly board.