Friday Came First

I love the Easter season and the symbolism in it.  The three days that changed everything.  How each of them have a purpose.

The despair of Friday.

The emptiness of Saturday.

The joy of Sunday!!    

There's a popular phrase:  "Sunday's coming!"  Everything about that short sentence and what it represents makes me so hopeful.  While that phrase is true and I love it so much, I think focusing on the approaching Sunday can rob Easter of its depth.  There were other days leading up to it.  Friday and Saturday didn't know about Sunday.

There is something important about each one of those three days.  I could talk about Saturday because it's full of waiting, and I feel like I'm doing a lot of waiting these days.  I could talk about Sunday because it changed everything, and it's in Sunday that hope is found.  But let's talk about Friday.  Friday is so important.

When I was a junior in high school, the leaders in my youth group at church did an Easter series that changed my perspective of Easter.   They did everything they could to make it real and tangible, not the routine feel-good Easter story.  I think the way they accomplished that was how they treated Good Friday.  

We pretended the Wednesday night before Easter was Good Friday, since we weren't actually going to be around each other on Good Friday.  I remember them turning off the lights in the youth room and we sat in the dark while each of them shared a story from their life that didn't resolve.  A friend that committed suicide, depression they struggled with every day, parents divorcing, etc.  They were sad and depressing stories and they were real.  They were living them, right in the middle of them.  Some of them cried while sharing their stories.  You could feel the weight in the room.  One of the youth leaders did a monologue from the perspective of a disciple.  He was sad and confused, wondering how Jesus could have died when he was supposed to save us all.  It was beautifully honest and heavy and real.  

And then the night ended.  Just like that.  There was no "but then it all worked out," no "Sunday is coming!" no lights turning on, no slow and peaceful worship music.  It just ended, and I felt depressed and uncomfortable.  I remember leaving that night thinking, "...what?" 

But they gave me the greatest gift that night.  They gave me the gift of contrast.  The depression of that Good Friday made the Sunday so much sweeter.  There is hope that we will have resolution one day with Christ, even if we don't have resolution with anything else on this Earth.  Jesus trumps every heartache and every single thing we don't understand.  One day we will have Heaven and hope will be the only thing left.  No more Fridays or Saturdays.  Sundays all around.  Every day.  Forever.     

Ever since that year, I've always approached Good Friday differently.   It's like the anniversary of a death, when you think about that person more that day and you relive that day in your mind.  On Good Friday I allow myself to dwell on the heavy things.  The things in my life that don't resolve.  Things that make me feel like I'm going to fold in on myself because they hurt so bad.  Things I usually try not to dwell on, that I let cross my mind and try to deal with...but then take a break, clench my jaw, and soldier on because you have to keep going.  Things that make me sad and angry.  Things I will never understand on this side of Heaven no matter how hard I try. 

Do you know that Sunday would have been void of meaning without Friday?  Jesus could have never risen from a death he didn't die, and—as elementary as that sounds—I think it's something we don't really think about.  Because Sunday is so sweet and so good, it's easy to mention Friday and Saturday but water them down with the knowledge of Sunday.  We treat them like extras in the production instead of one of the main characters.

I always think about Friday from the perspective of the people in Jesus' day; they didn't know about Sunday yet, they didn't have the hindsight.  It wasn't a holiday for them; it was their reality.  I try to let hope come on Sunday, after Friday and Saturday have done their work. 

Good Friday reminds me of the importance of opposites, of being able to know B because I've known A.  I am so thankful for the 3rd day when Jesus rose, but I can't forget the day he died when hope had not yet come. I feel bad for Good Friday, like people forget about it because they're afraid to sit too long with the sadness of His death and the weight of things we don't understand in our lives.    

Please don't forget about Friday.  Don't miss this.   

Yes, Sunday is coming!  But Friday came first.  

We all have them, the things Friday reminds us of.  I don't know what Friday looks like for you, what things you've walked through on this Earth that you will never understand.  Things that make it hard to get out of bed some mornings or every morning.  Things that were taken from you, or things you've had to carry that no one should ever have to hold—the death of a child, a failed marriage or relationship, an addiction, depression, the wedding dress you never got to wear, the man she married instead of you, the dog tags that hang from your dresser instead of his neck, the loss of your mama too soon from this place, the baby you never got to have, the dream that didn't work out, the gravestone you visit instead of hugging them one more time, the homelessness you wish you could eradicate, the people who didn't want you, the night you wish you could forget when he took something from you.  Whatever parts of your story you wish you could forget, whatever things make you question everything about this place, whatever makes you feel empty:  remember them more than ever on Friday.

I know there is hope on Sunday, but Friday is for you, too.  There is purpose in its pain.  It might seem counterintuitive and uncomfortable to face the things that break you in to a million little pieces, but I hope you do.  I hope you sit with those things that break your heart and ache your bones and steal your breath.  Let yourself feel it.  It is because of Friday (and Saturday) that we can walk in to Sunday, so please don't wait on Sunday and leave Friday behind.  It's part of the story in its own heartbreaking, beautiful way.  

On Friday I despair and think about all the things this Earth has given me that are empty and sad.  On Saturday I feel the emptiness that comes when your Hope is lying in a grave.  And on Sunday, I remember that He rose; there is hope and joy, and that Friday and Saturday weren't the whole story—even though they were important.  By allowing myself to feel the despair of Friday, how much sweeter Sunday is, how much brighter it is because of the darkness that preceded it.

You might feel like you're drowning in perpetual Fridays...but if you know Jesus, one day there will be another Sunday, and Heaven will heal any wound left from Earth.  And that is worth every Friday I could ever know. 

So while you have hope, don't forget it's because you've known despair.  Sunday only means something if you've known Friday, so I hope you feel Friday and let it do its work.        

Sunday is coming, it's true.  But Friday came first.