This Good Friday, I was painfully aware of the lack of good in me. Harsh words. Cynicism instead of hope. Frustration instead of patience. Maybe I’m alone in having these days. But, frustrated, I found myself at the end of my day, with the moon and my God, reaching for the only Good that I know.
The Good that hung on that cross.
I have a feeling we simplify the days in between. We gather to remember the suffering, and the cost, and we slip through the weekend until we gather again to celebrate. We know what will happen: we know that there will be a resurrection, and death will be defeated, and the darkness that hung will now be replaced with light.
But I think of the ones who stood by as He died and did not know.
The lack of good in their hearts –
had no solution.
For three days – darkness remained – and I wonder, what did they do? Did they sink in despair? Did they weep? Were they able to sleep? How did they grapple
with the lack of good in their hearts? How did they understand the loss of the One who hung on the cross?
I think that we do not spend enough time reflecting on those three days –
just like the three days Abraham spent on the mountain going to sacrifice his beloved son. Or the three days Jesus’ waited to raise Lazarus from the dead.
Because those three days, waiting –
sums up so much of life. Waiting for God to show up. Waiting for God to answer. Waiting for God to redeem.
And because we know the ending to the story, we skip over the part that talks about waiting. We skip over the darkness that hung in the air, and the lack of breath in His lungs. But when we do, I think we do a disservice to the God who teaches us to wait. Who builds into our lives and our stories seasons of three.
Seasons of waiting.
And so, as the minutes bring us closer to the moment of celebration – I rest in the waiting, too. I savour the minutes – the loneliness, the heaviness –
knowing the celebration will be that much sweeter because of the season that was before it.