Good Friday. For those of you who are believers in Christ, Good Friday is a very important day, right? I mean, everything about the realness of God hinges upon this very tenant of our faith. If Jesus wasn’t crucified, and then resurrected, then it’s all for naught. I mean, really. If this is not true, then nothing else is true. And, oh, do I believe it to be true.
In fact, it gives me goosebumps to think that the God of the universe loves me so much that he went through torture and death for me! To think that he took a punishment meant for me and let his torture be my salvation, my saving grace, puts joy in my heart like nothing else can.
But, man. It was terrible. The way that Romans crucified criminals at that time was pretty savage. Nails ripping through their bodies, legs broken to make death come more quickly and more show us that this was no favorable way to die.
So, why call it good? In Europe, where we spent more than a decade of our lives, it’s said differently in different languages. For example, in Italian, it’s Holy Friday. In German, it’s sorrowful Friday. But, in English, we say Good Friday.
The etymology can be debated – it doesn’t bother me. Some say that good is actually an antiquated way to say holy. Some say good is derived from God. It’s a little here and a little there, if you ask me. What I say is this: Jesus, by his death, became the final sacrifice for my sins. I cannot erase my guilt. I am a sinner through and through. There’s nothing that I can do to change that. My good works don’t override my punishment. I can’t earn his grace. It’s good, to me, because Jesus chose that day – That first GOOD Friday – to cover my sin and gift me eternal life with him.
I gladly take him up on his offer.