Good Fridays of Our Lives

Not to be flip, but Good Friday's services are like the church's version of a marathon. The readings and rituals are rich—and long. Rather than delve too deeply in the gospel's comprehensive narration of Jesus' agony, trial and crucifixion, I'll simply highlight a few lines from today's second reading, from Hebrews:

We do not have a high priest
who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses,
but one who has similarly been tested in every way ...

For me, this is the great comfort of our faith. Jesus gives a model to follow, a companion in our brokenness, and a friend who has walked the same road. His example can bring us solace and—when we consider the ultimate outcome—hope, even in our darkest moments, when we feel there is none.

I say this with a sense of embarrassment, knowing that the trials I've gone through don't compare to what Jesus endured—the beatings, the mockery, the feeling of utter abandonment and, of course, his death. But I'm not convinced that Jesus would want me to feel that way. God became man, I believe, precisely so that we could find this comfort and solace.

We await Easter now, and the glory of the resurrection, along with the chocolate and jelly beans and egg hunts that are part of our celebrations. But on the lesser "good Fridays" of our lives, we remember this day and know that the God we turn to in prayer knows what it is to suffer—and to emerge victorious.