Good Friday

Easter is only as important as you make Good Friday. I'm stunned that the world shuts down for Christmas Day but not for our remembrance of the cataclysmic action by which humankind is redeemed.

Of course, I'm guilty as anyone. Normally I'd go to the Good Friday service at my church (happening as I type), but Peter is napping. And, actually, if he'd been feeling better, we'd be visiting at a friend's farm. So far, my only observance of this holy day has been to read the crucifixion chapter to my child from his Jesus Storybook Bible. Of course, it was only as he brought me the book for our daily reading that I remembered, "Oh, yeah, it's Good Friday."

By what trick of the adversary does this day fall under most radars? I guess it's human nature that we'd rather dwell on the infant Christ-child, apple cheeks and fuzzy head, than meditate on a gruesome execution. I've seen the Passion once, and it was almost more than I could stomach. So I turn my head away, and Hallmark does too. When someone finds a way to bring glitz and glam into the crucifixion, then maybe Good Friday will take off.

I'd planned to do some serious blogging all of Holy Week, and life has interfered. Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.