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Good Friday is such a dark day.


We mourn. We grieve. We are struck by the intensity of what Jesus went through:

Sweating blood in the garden, betrayed by a friend, abandoned by his crew, arrested, falsely accused, convicted of terrorism and heresy, sentenced to death, beaten, tortured, a lamb led to the slaughter, a man murdered by the government and his colleagues: Jesus was nailed to a Roman cross and slowly suffocated in front of his followers and haters alike.

Good Friday was a dark day.

But perhaps that’s the point.

Darkness gets a bad rap. We fear it. We leave the light on all night long to avoid the shadows, to deny the dark its sinister power.

But we forget that a newborn in the womb knows nothing but darkness, and yet it grows. We forget that a seed is buried in dirt black as night and it's in that place that it shoots forth devoid of witness and light. We forget that in darkness we sleep, and when we sleep, our bodies and hearts are restored to health and vitality. We forget that it's under the darkness and cover of bandages that wounds are healed. We forget that sufferings - the Good Friday’s and crucifixions in our lives - play a transformative role in our human experience.

Joseph Campbell said: “The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.”

The Psalmist wrote (Ps 139:11-12 TPT): "It’s impossible to disappear from you or to ask the darkness to hide me, for your presence is everywhere, bringing light into my night. There is no such thing as darkness with you. The night, to you, is as bright as the day; there’s no difference between the two.”

Jesus said:

"Listen carefully: Unless