It's funny. I began this blog writing about Good Friday two years ago. The last Good Friday, I also wrote. There's just something about this day that sticks me in the soul.
I forget about Jesus sometimes. I mean, I pray and read the Bible every day. I go to a Christian college. I sing songs and memorize verses. But sometimes, I still forget.
I usually remember His love and His mercy and His grace. I don't forget to praise Him or ignore Him with my choices, but sometimes I forget what He did.
Just yesterday I realized Easter was coming. I knew, of course, already, but I hadn't remembered. Now Good Friday is here, and the reasons I love it so come flooding back into my mind.
Ever since I can remember, my very favoritest part of the Easter story has been what happens when Jesus breathes His last.
Darkness coats the sky and the air and land. The earth shakes. Rocks split. Tombs break open and release their dead. God will not allow the death of His Son to be silent or unnoticed. Pagans exclaim truth and recognize the King. And the curtain of the temple is torn in two.
That curtain. That is my favorite part.
I cannot fathom life without God in me. I cannot fathom being forced to live with the guilt of sin until I could smear bloody sacrifices over my mistakes. I can't imagine not talking to Him any second of every day. I can't imagine living without His constant presence.
Every time the curtain tears in the story, something within me stirs to life. God is here. He's available. He's no longer reserved for the holiest priest once a year. He's for me. In my mind I see something like the fall of the Berlin Wall, with people piling over and pouring in. Rushing into His presence. Finally, finally embracing.
The curtain had to be torn so that our connection to God could be mended. Isn't our faith so full of ironies? Isn't that why we call this Friday good?
