We call it Good Friday. Two days before Easter Sunday. It seems an odd description for the original day.
Researchers differ about the origin of the term Good Friday. The one that seems most reasonable is that “good” related to “holy.”
It was a Holy Friday.
Mary, the mother of Jesus, would not have thought it a good day as she watched her son suffer an agonizing death, this son proclaimed by an angel to be called the Son of God, an heir to the throne of David.
The disciples would not have called it good since by this time they had scattered like scared rabbits. They were disillusioned, disappointed, fearful, and confused.
How could the people of Jerusalem have thought the events of the day were good? The city was in an uproar. Barabbas, a proclaimed dangerous criminal had been turned loose. Pilate was under pressure from the Jewish leaders and was concerned about his political position.
There was a crucifixion occurring during the week of Passover, the festival of freedom. And the prince of darkness appeared to be on the winning side.
But there was something holy happening.
The plan of redemption was at work on a hill called Calvary. A perfect spotless Lamb offered Himself as the once-and-for-all sacrifice. The sins of the world were being carried to the cross.
Trespasses were forgiven. The debt we owed was paid in full. Spiritual dark rulers were disarmed.
Christ on the cross brought great anguish to those who watched Him suffer, knew Him intimately, had learned to loved Him, and hoped He was their Deliverer.
They could not see any good on a Friday when the sun was darkened.
But there was something holy happening that day, something that would change everything.
It was a good Friday for me.