Is it really a GOOD Friday?

1 Peter 2:24 ESV
He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed. 

Easter is coming soon. With it comes Good Friday.

There was a time when I did not understand why we call this day--the anniversary of our Lord's suffering and death--GOOD Friday.

It is a term that calls to mind (at least for me) the oxymora of contradiction. How can bitter be sweet? How can hell be holy? How can fresh be frozen? And, how can this day... a day of sorrow and shame, and pain and death be good?

I used to mourn, each year, on this day; wrapping myself in an invisible shroud of sorrow whilst mentally scourging myself because of my sins. I'd carry that tonnage of guilt and disgrace in an emotional basket of glass for all the world to see, crying out in despair: "Look at the things I've done of which I need to be ashamed! Jesus died for me! He suffered for me! And I can't stop sinning! I'm covered in the blood of Jesus because I'm a horrible person!"

Like Lady Macbeth I found there was no amount of soap I could employ to clean me of my regret.

Good Friday was never good for me.

Then, one day a few years back, as I was leaving the line at Albertson's with my handful of change and a plastic bag of sundries the cashier said to me, "It's Good Friday! Have a good day!" I shrugged and muttered, "What's good about it? He died because of me!"

"I KNOW!" she cried out happily with a grin on her face that split her head from ear to ear. "Isn't it wonderful?! He died for us! For you and for me! He died to pay our way into heaven. We're on the short list honey! Isn't that great!?" 

I stared at her ...almost with contempt. "I'm not sure that's reason for celebration. The point is, He died--He suffered and died a horrible death--and I might as well have been the one to flick the whip and hammer the nails."

Without skipping a beat or dropping a fraction of her smile she replied, "And he forgives you anyway! This is the day to celebrate ...not His suffering, not His shame, not even His death. Today is the day to celebrate His GOOD offering to save your eternity. Don't sully it with mourning. Celebrate it with joy!"

I stood there, staring at her, my mouth agape...I glanced at the people in line behind me--expecting them to be as appalled as I was at her glibness. Instead, each of them...the older woman with her granny glasses and two small grand-kids each holding a box of cereal, the businessman in his suit palming his orange juice, and the young man with dreadlocks holding bunches of bananas..each of them was smiling and nodding in agreement. 

The young man at the back of the line spoke, "Yeah Sis...think of it this way. Jesus was like a quarter on a string. Death pushed him into the slot of the game...and God yanked him right back out again. Do you know what I mean?"

I nodded in agreement although in truth I had no idea what he was talking about...and yet....I did. Somewhere deep inside of me I did. I looked at each of them...strangers who loved me and I loved them right back. Suddenly, my gloominess began to drift away. 

It WAS a Good Friday.

I can never erase the things Jesus had to suffer for me. Every day of my life--not just at Easter or Christmas--I will work to make myself worthy of that sacrifice. But I will no long mourn on Good Friday. I will celebrate His choice to put me...ME...on the short list, to save my eternity! I am His. And, ...He is mine.

It will be a Good Friday.