All these things my hand has made, and so all these things came to be, declares the Lord. But this is the one to whom I will look: he who is humble and contrite in spirit and trembles at my word.
- Isaiah 66:2
I never know quite what I’m supposed to be feeling on Good Friday.
On the one hand, it’s a day of sorrow. It’s on this day that we remember how fallen humanity killed the Son of God, how Jesus suffered, bled, and died for us. We shudder as we’re forced to reckon with our own sinfulness. We remember the agony our Savior endured, the weight he took upon himself, and the price he paid. We weep at the knowledge that Jesus died for us.
But on the other hand, we give thanks today, because by the wounds of Jesus we have been healed. Because of his sacrifice, our salvation was won; because of his death, we are given eternal life. Even on the darkest day in human history, God remained sovereign, and Jesus’s death proved to be the ultimate expression of the Father’s love.
It seems a mistake to spend the day in despair when you know that the cross is the fulfillment of God’s perfect plan, but it also seems too triumphalist to rejoice as though our salvation came without cost. Neither tears nor smiles seem to meet the moment.
Perhaps then the proper response to the cross is something that doesn’t always come naturally: awe. Rather than trying to make sense of the will of God, you can simply marvel at it. Rather than trying to respond, you can pray. Rather than trying to say or do or feel the right thing, you can rest in God.
It
is a day of sadness and salvation, death and victory, brokenness and goodness.
You may not know how to worship. That’s ok. What matters far more is who
you worship.
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