On Good Friday our Lord was crucified, just as He and the Scriptures foretold. We call it Good Friday, because had Jesus not been sacrificed we could not be saved, so it was a good day for us, but being wrongfully accused and killed by jealous men does not usually make for a “good day.” Then on the third day, Easter, Jesus rose from the dead, concurring, Satan, death and sin forever, just as He promised He would do.
The Easter weekend is arguably the most important period in a Christian’s life, because it is the culmination of promises made by God to his people throughout history. It is the victory of good over evil, forever. Yet for all of its importance, only Friday and Sunday are celebrated or written about in the Bible. Saturday is left out of the story completely. Is this because Saturday was not important; nothing big happened so why write about it? No, I believe Saturday is as important to understanding the mercy and salvation available from God as the death or resurrection. Saturday teaches us patience; to wait for God’s timing and not ours.
It appears to me that life, nature, and dice always arrive in polar opposite pairs; not always, but often enough. If I throw a pair of dice, I invariably get a six and a one. If I get a raise at work, the transmission in my car blows up, thus nullifying any potential extra money I may have planned on. Often the opposites are not equal in strength; a big positive is only partially offset by a minor negative, or vice versa – so equality in a specific event is not a given. This concept helps me understand the optimists and pessimists of this world; optimists believe life will be driven by more wining pairs than losers, and pessimists favor the opposite. However you view the world, your glass is rarely empty or completely full, it is somewhere in between. The trick to living a happy and fulfilling life then, is to manage the level in the glass.
The first thing that I noticed was his eyes; piercingly intense, visible even through the thick brown hair that was wet with sweat and had intermingled stains of red. Those eyes could have been wild with anger, or hate, we would have understood, but instead they were sincere, full of compassion and knowing. His eyes were kind – even today.
He was kneeling in thick dirt, dried mud from sweat and blood covered his hands to the elbow; his feet and calves were equally stained. The crowd roared with approval when the soldier raised the whip high to the sky. He yelled for the beaten man to “get up now.” Idiot. Didn’t he know that whipping a hurt man will not make him move any faster? I wanted to look away because he was my friend, my master, but I could not. The whip came down hard; his cry was muted by the force of the approving mob. He had been beaten, but he wasn’t beat. He moved his right foot slowly, dragging upward to a kneeling position. The cross was balanced on his right shoulder, with the cross member in front just past his knee and the end reaching ten feet behind. Weighing 200 pounds, it was a massive killing staff designed with only one purpose. The crowd continued screaming for more, hoping for another blow from the guard. But the guard was tired from a long night, so he rested, hoping for selfish reasons that the prisoner would stand up soon.