Why this Friday is Good to Me
I imagine Mary.
Mary, holding her baby, nursing her baby, watching Him, the Son of God, grow and toddle. Watching Him fall and stand again, attempting His first words. Then, He grows. He's growing into gangly boy, stinky and all. So wise. So unique. Educating adults and speaking with confidence and wisdom. She had to have been amazed that this little boy, the boy she had raised and fed and bathed and held during sleepless nights of sickness, was really teaching grown men. Then, years later, He is performing miracles. She has always known. She tells the servants at the wedding, "Do whatever He tells you.'' Because she knows. She has spent countless hours with Him. She knows her Son. She knows His capabilities.
I've heard it said that when you look at your children, regardless of age, you see them at all of the ages they've been. This is true in my life... I look at my five year old and can imagine him as a baby, snuggled close to me in the Moby wrap, thumb in his mouth. I remember him toddling around in a diaper and t-shirt, calling out to our dog. Memories flood my mind if I allow them. We are only five years in... only five years of memories and, yet, the Rolodex seems never-ending.
So, I imagine Mary.
I imagine her staring at her son, unrecognizable. Beaten beyond belief. Watching Him hang on the cross as soldiers play games for His clothing at His feet, numb to His suffering, indifferent to His physical and emotional pain. Watching as the criminals hanging by Him mock Him. Finally realizing His purpose and finally realizing what that angel meant, all those years before. And, still, that special Boy looks out and asks for John to take care of Mary... even then, He continues to put others first. He has been betrayed and abandoned by His closest friends, beaten beyond recognition, stripped naked to hang, publicly exposed, robbed of His dignity, and yet He is sure to find someone to care for her, His mother, Mary.
I imagine her... inconsolable. Unable to watch, yet, unable to look away. It's her Son.
I've never lost a child after birth. I have lost two little babies that I wasn't able to meet outside of my body... and I look forward to meeting them someday. I grieve the memories that weren't. The relationships that didn't happen. I grieve the children I did not get to know or disciple or hug and kiss.
And... this was not meant to be. Babies were not supposed to die. Friends and family are not supposed to get sick. Our bodies are not supposed to age. Marriages are not supposed to end. Relationships are not supposed to be strained. Countries are not supposed to go to war. Little girls are not supposed to be sold. The brokenness around us was not supposed to be.
In the garden, it was good. God said so. He has the authority on what is good and what is not. And He said it was.
But, sin.
But then, God... He planned. He wanted it to be good again.
This day, this Friday, this Friday is GOOD. Jesus fulfilled all of the prophecies. He was literally disrobed and mocked and scorned. He was spiritually disrobed and separated from His Father... so that we can wear robes of righteousness. This is Good. This Friday is Good.
The Friday is Good despite babies I'll never hold and nurse. This Friday is Good despite sick children and divorce and war and sex trafficking. Because this Friday is the answer, the answer to the brokenness and injustice. It is the first step to it being right again. To it being Good, again.
This Friday is Good.
Mary, holding her baby, nursing her baby, watching Him, the Son of God, grow and toddle. Watching Him fall and stand again, attempting His first words. Then, He grows. He's growing into gangly boy, stinky and all. So wise. So unique. Educating adults and speaking with confidence and wisdom. She had to have been amazed that this little boy, the boy she had raised and fed and bathed and held during sleepless nights of sickness, was really teaching grown men. Then, years later, He is performing miracles. She has always known. She tells the servants at the wedding, "Do whatever He tells you.'' Because she knows. She has spent countless hours with Him. She knows her Son. She knows His capabilities.
I've heard it said that when you look at your children, regardless of age, you see them at all of the ages they've been. This is true in my life... I look at my five year old and can imagine him as a baby, snuggled close to me in the Moby wrap, thumb in his mouth. I remember him toddling around in a diaper and t-shirt, calling out to our dog. Memories flood my mind if I allow them. We are only five years in... only five years of memories and, yet, the Rolodex seems never-ending.
So, I imagine Mary.
I imagine her staring at her son, unrecognizable. Beaten beyond belief. Watching Him hang on the cross as soldiers play games for His clothing at His feet, numb to His suffering, indifferent to His physical and emotional pain. Watching as the criminals hanging by Him mock Him. Finally realizing His purpose and finally realizing what that angel meant, all those years before. And, still, that special Boy looks out and asks for John to take care of Mary... even then, He continues to put others first. He has been betrayed and abandoned by His closest friends, beaten beyond recognition, stripped naked to hang, publicly exposed, robbed of His dignity, and yet He is sure to find someone to care for her, His mother, Mary.
I imagine her... inconsolable. Unable to watch, yet, unable to look away. It's her Son.
I've never lost a child after birth. I have lost two little babies that I wasn't able to meet outside of my body... and I look forward to meeting them someday. I grieve the memories that weren't. The relationships that didn't happen. I grieve the children I did not get to know or disciple or hug and kiss.
And... this was not meant to be. Babies were not supposed to die. Friends and family are not supposed to get sick. Our bodies are not supposed to age. Marriages are not supposed to end. Relationships are not supposed to be strained. Countries are not supposed to go to war. Little girls are not supposed to be sold. The brokenness around us was not supposed to be.
In the garden, it was good. God said so. He has the authority on what is good and what is not. And He said it was.
But, sin.
But then, God... He planned. He wanted it to be good again.
This day, this Friday, this Friday is GOOD. Jesus fulfilled all of the prophecies. He was literally disrobed and mocked and scorned. He was spiritually disrobed and separated from His Father... so that we can wear robes of righteousness. This is Good. This Friday is Good.
The Friday is Good despite babies I'll never hold and nurse. This Friday is Good despite sick children and divorce and war and sex trafficking. Because this Friday is the answer, the answer to the brokenness and injustice. It is the first step to it being right again. To it being Good, again.
This Friday is Good.
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