“You can’t have resurrection on Sunday without crucifixion on Friday,” said one of my teachers, Arthur Henry King, years ago. I believe the thought behind this and have tried not to gloss over the meaning of Good Friday, not to gloss over the negative to get too quickly to the triumph (which, without real suffering and real death, is a triumph over a straw man).
I was looking for something to read for Good Friday, some Christian thinker who could help me reflect and reconsider Christ’s time upon the cross—the meaning of it all. Ready to go, once again, and plumb the depths of his suffering and, by extension, the implication of that for our own suffering in general, and for my personal state and the state of the world around me. I had only searched my bookshelves for a moment when, out of a kind of despair, sadness, laziness (not certain what to call it), I realized I’m truly not willing or ready to go there. Not now. Maybe later. That this would happen on this day of all days. On the day when I should remember.
Let this cup pass from me.
Nevertheless. Thank God for Christ’s nevertheless and its meaning for me and for those times when I’m not willing to say the same.