Good Friday

It was a bad day for the disciples. Startled out of their slumber in the garden, they ran away scattering to avoid being arrested. They watch from a distance as in the early morning light, Jesus is led away to face Pilate and the Roman government. They anxiously huddle in the shadows while an angry mob cries out for Jesus' crucifixion. They follow at a distance as Jesus emerges from the courtyard of the guard, beaten, bloody an weakened. They can barely recognize the man they have spent three years following. He collapses. A man is pulled from the crowd to carry the cross. He is led outside the city gates. He is stripped naked. He is nailed to the cross. He is mocked. He cries out quoting the 22nd Psalm. It is so dark that it is hard to see him in the gloom.

He says, It is finished! He breathes his last. He is not a martyr. He is not a victim. He is a warrior king, and He has won the greatest victory ever won! But if you are His disciple, you do not know that fact. You watch as the executioner pierces his side. The earth itself seems to shake. You watch carefully as Joseph and Nicodemus take his body from the cross. You follow them to the tomb. You retreat to a room with the others. Numb with grief you lock all the doors. What has happened? What do you do now?

Sin, Satan, death and hell have been defeated. The disciples do not know it yet. It is Friday. But Sunday is coming.