To feel the sting of betrayal
at the hands of a friend.

To dodge a thirsty rage spinning
out of control.

To watch a beloved in pain,
with no way to help.

To lose the one
you thought for sure was
the one.

To literally stand there and

Or, worse,

These things were Good Friday.

Before it was Good.



I have always wondered if I could have endured the story of Good Friday. Nevermind as the one on the cross – I can’t even fathom. Could I have endured as a sympathetic witness? A close friend? As Mary? Any one of the Marys?

If I had been there, and if no other days yet existed beyond the darkest one I had ever known, what would I have done? Hid? Cried? Breathed? Prayed? Buried myself in bed?

I don’t know.

But, actually, I do know what it’s like to stand in the place where no other days yet exist beyond the darkest one I have ever known.

And when I have been in that place, I have done most of those things, and not much more until the shock and grief subside.

If I find myself there again—if any of us do—perhaps we can remember that, no matter how impossible it seems at the time, there will be life beyond that moment.

Sometimes, shockingly beautiful life.

Here’s to Good Friday, friends. And to all the rawness it represents.