Meditations on a Good Friday

More so than any other day, the humanity in the suffering of Jesus should speak volumes to us today. The death of the divine Christ was to reconcile us to God, His blood paving the way to the throne of God. The church teaches this well.

But the suffering... the angst laced with blood that soaked the dirt of the garden, as much as the church stresses the divinity of Christ (and rightfully so), that was the blood of a man crushed by the will of the Father. Here was a man who wished his friends to at least keep him company as he struggled to stand underneath the burden. Here was a man who wished desperately to drink from a less painful cup.

And so Jesus, the Son of God, yet in every sense of the word, the Son of (hu)Man(ity), bones of my bones and flesh of my flesh, suffered. He hungered, he wept, he ran his fingers through children's hair, felt the coolness of wine run down his throat, reclined and treasured the presence of his friends, and here, his sympathetic nervous system threw itself into high gear knowing that every second brought him further suffering.

The humanity of Jesus suffered. Like us, he suffered. In Scripture, the Passion happens in a few chapters. It is read within the matter of minutes. In the reality of time and space, it took hours. Days.

And for three days, God himself was silent in the grave, giving no answers to those who wept or those who now huddled themselves, locked with fear and confusion as their companions. They themselves must have cried, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani??"

If God did not spare his son... then... how about us?

It is the divinity of Christ that validates and vindicates suffering of his humanity. It is the status of "Son" that reminds the rest of his very human adopted brothers and sisters that silence and darkness in a grave is not a sin, but the path taken by Christ himself. From the smiles that creased the corners of his eyes, to the unrestrained sobs at Lazarus' grave, our broken humanity was vindicated by God himself.

And on the road into Jerusalem upon a donkey, to the road he stumbled through towards Golgotha, to the road headed towards Emmaus, both his divinity and his humanity remind us that we are to live our lives as journeys, never static, never certain of what praise, suffering, or surprises might meet us along the way.

But one thing we know. Jesus, the one who has both suffered and rejoiced, walks beside us. And as he runs or crawls with us, he reminds us that though three days of silence and darkness felt like a lifetime, a Good Sunday is on its way.