An Invitation to Silence
Good Friday and the limits of our humanity
I’ve got a newsletter queued up for tomorrow, but these words came quickly this morning as I considered Good Friday from the vantage point of our troubled days. A blessed Good Friday to you, friends.
I continue to wonder about the Christian obligations during these days of political cruelty and chaos. I find that clarity is hindered by few consistent things: the regular stuff of life, the things which cannot be neglected which compete for prayerful attention; the many sincere Christians whose capacity for seeking wisdom about the present age is limited; and the thorough acceptance of this administration by so many other Christians.
What does Good Friday say about this confusion? The disciples were confused that day– displaying their swords proudly, falling asleep as Jesus prepared for what was to come, violently attacking those who came for their Rabbi before fleeing into the shadows, adamantly denying their Lord. Was there any clarity that day? Any wisdom about God’s purposes?
Though I tell myself that I’ve given up finding direct answers for these troubled days, I continue to seek them. I underline sentences in books. I listen for voices which seem to have something – anything – to offer.
But Good Friday is silence. It is despair. It is defeat, the end of the road. To know Good Friday is to stand helplessly before the symbols of imperial and religious power with no recourse. It is to recognize that the tragedies unfolding so obviously before our eyes cannot be stopped by any well-argued point, any appeal to dignity or justice, any cry to heaven. The evil has been unleashed, inflamed by those who would call idolatry, worship; betrayal, faithfulness; crucifixion, justice. Good Friday is to feel the earth quake, to see the skies darken, and to feel the profound limits of our humanity.
More, to know Good Friday is to shudder at the realization that the wickedness tearing the world apart has corrupted my own heart. That to call down fire from heaven upon the heads of sinful, powerful men is a request for self-immolation.
And so, Good Friday invites my silence. My confession. My repentance. It invites my sober recognition that evil will not be defeated by anything other than the One who allowed it to crush his body. Good Friday is to weep before the wreckage we have unleashed and which we cannot repair. It is to stand in the apocalypse of Golgotha, bearing witness to the very earth rending itself in horror: Surely he was the Son of God!
(Photo credit: Thiago Matos)