Why Mourn on Good Friday When Easter is Coming? 

One of my close friends has a unique skill that’s borderline supernatural. It’s amazing, as long as you’re not on the receiving end.

It seems simple, but I’ve never seen anybody else replicate it—and not for lack of trying. He asks the most mundane question, and somehow you feel like he truly knows you—the deep, hidden parts of you. You spend a couple of minutes with him and feel like you’ve been audited by the IRS. On several occasions, I’ve witnessed people crying—bawling in the middle of dinner or a get-together—after he asks them just one thing: “How are you?”

My friend’s superpower lies in his empathy. He’s very attuned to listening to other people’s emotions, and he experiences others’ sufferings as his own. In other words, he’s really good at Romans 12:15: “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” When someone feels that in him, they connect really quickly.

Perhaps it’s because I live in the land of beaches, baseball, and bachata, but I’ve found it much easier to walk with those rejoicing than those who are weeping. We avoid thinking about pain, but we live in a world filled with suffering and yearning. As soon as we talk about the storms of life, we want to rush to the hope that gets us through.

But that’s not how Jesus lived. His glorious resurrection on Easter Sunday was preceded by a life of sorrows that culminated in his indescribable suffering on Good Friday.

The good news is that those of us who trust in Christ await our own resurrection day. But we still have a life of our own sorrows to endure before we get there. 

As we mediate on Good Friday, I want to encourage us to experience our storms and spend our due time in them. Let me offer three reasons why it’s worth mourning and yearning and going through our suffering, even while we have the certain hope of the resurrection.

WE ARE NOT ONLY RATIONAL

We tend to go through daily life thinking that we’re basically thinking machines. That if we tell our brains “do this,” it’ll oblige. Yet one of the blessings of practicing sports is the humbling reminder that you and I simply don’t work that way. Telling yourself you’ll make that shot doesn’t mean you will.

In that same manner, the hope of the resurrection—the understanding that Christ rose from the dead and, because he lives, we will reign with him forever—is the most profound truth in history. But just knowing that truth won’t in and of itself eliminate our present experience of suffering. That mental knowledge needs to take root in us to transform and make sense of whatever we’re experiencing in order to shape it into something useful. 

And that usually takes time.

WE ARE TEMPORAL

Have you ever found yourself going to bed absolutely convinced of something only to do a complete 180 the next morning? Or how many times have we felt anger in our bones in the middle of an argument, only to cool off in just a matter of minutes? Have you noticed how the thing that you feared the most turned out to be much smaller than you thought?

These are all consequences of our finiteness, of being limited to the tides of time. Things happen to us, and we experience them as they come into our life. We are affected by our surroundings and we experience it through our limited sensory abilities. We need our daily bread, and we need to ask for it every day.

This is of particular importance as we’re thinking about introspection and reflection in light of the resurrection. Christ has come, Christ has risen, Christ will come again. These are all real truths in time, and they affect our present reality, but on Good Friday we remember the pressing reality of death. Even if we know we’ll be better tomorrow, we’re still feeling sick now, and recognizing our smallness is not only helpful but holy. It’s the stepping stone into worship of our eternal Creator and Redeemer.

WE ARE IMITATORS OF CHRIST

Christ our Savior has given us an example of a full life in obedience to the Spirit. The gospels are clear on the agony he felt in his last moments before the crucifixion (Luke 22:39–46). He knew and had repeatedly prophesied that he would rise again on the third day. But he was fully aware of what he would experience for our transgressions and to accomplish the salvation of all who would believe in his name, near and far.

Christ is our example that knowing the victorious ending doesn’t eliminate the painful road. Just as Passover served as a memorial (Exodus 12:14), Good Friday serves as a reminder of the weightiness of sin and death. Even though we don’t like talking or even thinking about our brokenness, we can’t just skip to the hope, lest we end up crying at parties when someone asks us: “How are you?”

In our hard conversations, in our evangelism, in our counseling, there’s no need to rush to: “It’ll all be ok.” We can grieve and suffer. But “we may not grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13). We know Sunday is coming. May that hope take root in our hearts and minds, transform our days and nights, and shape our souls into Christlikeness. And let’s tell everyone we know.