When Jesus is crucified on Good Friday, it feels final. I know Good Friday isn’t the end of the story. That doesn't stop Jesus' death from feeling like the end, though.
Death is always final. We've never experienced death any other way.
Even more, Good Friday plays into something we already believe. In the back of our minds, even the most optimistic of us are at least partially expecting everything to fall apart at any minute. And on Good Friday it does.
We’re constantly preparing ourselves for our hopes to be dashed. For our fears to be realized. For our nightmares to come true.
So when Good Friday happens, we say, “Yep. Knew that was coming. That’s how it always ends.”
We’ve seen things fall apart too many times before not to expect them to fall apart again.
And when they do, it always feels so final.
When your family moves away and you leave your childhood friends behind, it feels final.
When you look at the roster taped to the wall and see you didn’t make the team, it feels final.
When you ask her to the prom and she says no, it feels final.
When your grades come back and you didn’t pass the class, it feels final.
When the job you were hoping for doesn't come through, it feels final.
When addiction drags you back in one more time, it feels final.
When your boss tells you to clean out your desk, it feels final.
When your spouse asks you to move out of the house, it feels final.
When the bank issues a foreclosure notice, it feels final.
When the doctor says she has some bad news, it feels final.
When another prayer goes unanswered, it feels final.
When they nail your Savior to a cross, it feels final.
Jesus DIES on Good Friday. Hope DIES on Good Friday. Love, too.
Our dreams. Our identity. Our purpose. Our destiny. They all die on Good Friday.
And it feels SO final.
But it isn’t.
See you Sunday.