Why Good Friday Feels So Uncomfortable — And Why It Matters

It’s Holy Week, the time of year when we remember the death of Jesus, again.

I don’t mean to sound sacrilegious, but I don’t enjoy Easter. I don’t like reading the final chapters of every Gospel, explaining the betrayal, the trial, the crucifixion. It’s a horrific story. The injustice and violence sits heavy on me.

Every year on Good Friday, our church puts together a beautiful service. They find new and creative ways to tell the story. There are songs and vidoes, poems and drama. We take communion together. We worship. We remember. The service is emotive and deeply meaningful. And emotionally exhausting.

The injustice. The violence.

We live in a world of injustice and violence. Have you watched the news lately? They call it ‘doom scrolling’ for a reason. Our feed is a tale of doom. Injustice. Violence.

And then it’s Easter and the lights go dark in our church as well.

Do I enjoy it? No. Is it important? Yes. Because weeping may stay for the night, but joy comes in the morning. Because He endured the cross for the joy that was set before Him. Because without death, there is no life.

Easter reminds us that in order for us to have life, we must first experience death. Our old selves must die, so that we can live for Christ. He is most alive in us when we are most dead to ourselves.

This doesn’t necessarily mean giving up all the best parts of ourselves. On the contrary. Dying to ourselves means giving up the things in our lives that lead to death. We give up our right to be in control, to put ourselves first and devote our lives to our own comfort and pleasure. We give up the right to worry and complain when life doesn’t turn out the way we want. We give up the worship of money, sex, beauty and status. We lay these idols down, and we take up the cross.

The cross that symbolises death and leads to life. Abundant life. A life that is full of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness… You know the list. It’s the list of what our life is full of when we die to our selfishness, when we offer our body as a living sacrifice. It’s the fruit of true life.

So, while half of Australian families go camping this weekend. While the ladies at my gym complain because their regular classes have been cancelled. While parents stash chocolate eggs and bunnies in the back of their linen cupboards, I feel the injustice and violence of it all.

I remember death. I remember the cost that was paid for the incredible life I enjoy.