Is Good Friday a Thing of the Past?

Well. Historically, yes. It is a thing a couple thousand years in the past.

But that's not my real question. Is Good Friday a church relic? An observation we can tuck away on a dusty shelf along with Advent, Epiphany, Ash Wednesday, Lent, Maundy Thursday, Ascension and Pentecost? Yes, sure, we have them, but they hardly matter to the average church person. Clergy still drag them out and try to explain them each year, but perhaps we are not just post-Christian, but way, way, way post holy days.

At the beginning of Lent I wished my congregation a "Happy Lent!" I was excited to see Lent come around again and to be encouraged/inspired to practice a spiritual discipline. This year, like last year, the discipline I am working on is prayer. Last year introduced me to the power of private prayer and group prayer. Lent is a great opportunity for us to take at least a step forward in our faith journey. I was happy.

Good Friday, though, is not happy. And, for sure, not good. I cannot work my way around to the "We-call-it-'Good-Friday'-because-it-was-good-for-us-that-Jesus-died-on-the-cross" mindset. The violent and humiliating death of any person will never be "good" for me.

I'm looking out my window at a world that displays my emotions surrounding Good Friday. It is dark. Very dark. Too Dark. Eerily dark for 10 am. The silhouette of a tree sways in the gloom. The thunder is ominous. It feels like something bad is about to happen.

Good Friday feels like my front yard looks and sounds.

When the Passion of the Christ by Mel Gibson came out, I went to see it. It was much like other bible-times movies. Brown. Brown desert. Brown sandals. Brown robes. Usually I feel a sense of disconnect and boredom when watching these movies. For most of the Passion of the Christ, I felt the same way. But a few scenes linger and haunt. One scene that I can't seem to shake isn't really about Jesus. It's about the soldiers beating him. They are torturing a man, ripping his flesh with whips that carry metal spikes on the tail, and they are happy.

The looks of laughter and scorn and disregard for this human man in front of them shatters my hope for humanity.

Is it possible for humans to hurt one another with such abandon and joy?

Pictures of American soldiers humiliating prisoners of war at Abu Ghraib assure us we can.

Stories of the human sex trade and the young women being used against their will for sexual pleasure confirms to me we are capable of horror still.

Parents who beat their children. Despots who strike fear. The greed of an industry. Partners unfaithful in marriage. Teenagers shooting each other. The list of the ways we are willing to harm one another seems endless. Who can have hope on a day like this?

The laughter and scorn and disregard on the faces of the soldiers flogging Jesus? Do I look like that as I cheerfully indulge in comfort and entertainment as my lifestyle lashes the hungry, the lonely, the poor with spiked whips?

Perhaps Good Friday is just another Friday. We go to work. We make plans to meet friends for dinner. We watch a T.V. show.

Happy Things. Good Things. Good Friday.

The day my hope is shattered.

(my whiny inner child voice from the back seat of the car "Is it Easter yet?")