We Call That Friday Good

We Call That Friday Good

We call that Friday "Good",
Though it could not have seemed so then
To His followers who had
a different end for Him in mind,
and a different sort of crown.

We would have been just as
dismayed and confused as they,
Unable to make sense of anything,
with every hope broken,
every dream shattered,
every expectation dashed.

Gripped by horror and disbelief
and chilling fear
as we watched helplessly--
watched him being led away
to a bloody, shameful end.

He tried to warn His disciples;
They refused to listen,
rebuking Him when He
spoke of His impending death.
He could not have meant that.

He did.

He was not surprised by the road
His Father had mapped out for Him
in eternity past.
Not surprised by men´s cruelty,
Not surprised by our ugly sin and lack of faith.
He set His face resolutely toward Golgotha
and never flinched,
except briefly
in the garden of resignation and obedience.
He drained the cup of wrath,
became a curse on that tree,
the weight of sin dragging on His unblemished soul.

It was not pleasant,
not easy,
not even for the Son of God made perfect Man.
By His bruised heel,
Eden´s rift was mended.
But it seemed a crushing waste
On that Friday.
There was nothing good about that Friday
nothing made sense about that Friday--
Until--

Well, who could have guessed
Sunday´s fathomless, inexpressible,
boisterously buoyant joy?
And now we begin to understand
Good Friday.

lori fiechter
march 23, 2005