Why This Friday is So Good

There are things in this world we call good.

A ribeye cooked just right—charred on the outside, pink in the center.
A slow Saturday morning and a cup of coffee.
A baby’s first laugh.
A walk-off home run.
A summer evening on a porch with old friends.

These things are good.
They’re gifts. Tiny foretastes of a better world. They make us exhale. They remind us life isn’t all emails and deadlines and gas prices.

But none of them can hold a candle to this Friday.

Because Good Friday is good in a different way.
It’s good in the way thunderstorms are good—violent, cleansing, unforgettable.
It’s good in the way surgery is good—bloody, painful, but life-saving.
It’s not the kind of good that makes you simply smile.
It’s the kind that makes you weep. Then kneel. Then worship.

This should have been the worst day in history. And for a moment, it was.

The sun refused to shine.
The sky dressed itself in mourning.
The temple veil tore down the middle like the earth itself was coming undone.
The Son of God hung limp on a cross, bloodied and betrayed, heaven’s champion left alone in the dark.

To anyone watching, it looked like loss.
Like maybe hope was a scam.
Like maybe the Pharisees were right all along.
Like maybe death wins.

But that’s the thing with God.
He doesn’t write according to our plotlines, but his.

He writes resurrection in the rubble.

And that’s why this Friday is so good.

Because it’s not the end.

We know what they didn’t.
We’ve read the last chapter.
Spoiler alert: the tomb is empty.

So, yes.
That meal with friends is good.
That job promotion is good.
That vacation to the mountains is good.
But this—this is the kind of good that flips the universe upside down.
The kind of good that calls dead men out of tombs.
The kind of good that stares down sin and doesn’t blink.

Good Friday is good because…

Jesus didn’t tap out.
He drank the cup of wrath to the bottom, until judgment was dry and mercy was pouring.

He didn’t flinch.
He marched to Golgotha like a warrior headed to battle. Crowned in thorns, robed in mockery, carrying a cross that would become a throne.

He didn’t just die.
He conquered—in the most unexpected way.

And He didn’t stay dead.

He got up.
Breathing.
Walking.
Wounded, but undefeated.

He appeared to disciples with tear-stained faces and shattered dreams, and He gave them peace.

He met Thomas in the wreckage of his doubt and let him touch the truth.

He restored Peter’s shame with a charcoal fire and a few words that tasted like forgiveness.

He stood on a mountain and sent His people into the world—not with swords, but with news. Good News.

He sent the Spirit like wildfire.
He turned cowards into preachers, enemies into brothers, pagans into pastors.
He knocked Saul off his horse and planted churches in places where no one knew His name.

He didn’t stop then, and He hasn’t stopped now.

And that’s why Good Friday is good.

Because sin doesn’t get the final word.
Shame doesn’t get the microphone.
Death doesn’t get to define you.
Jesus does.

It’s good because, for those who are tired of pretending, the cross is real hope.
It’s good because, for those haunted by failure, the cross doesn’t whisper try harder—it thunders “It is finished.”
It’s good because it means love wins—not the soft, sentimental kind, but the kind that bleeds.

It’s good because it’s proof—undeniable, unforgettable, unshakable proof—that God is madly in love with you.
Not the future version of you.
Not the cleaned-up, always-on-time, never-doubting version.
You.
Right here. Right now.
Loved enough to die for.
Valued enough to rescue.
Wanted enough to come back for.

So yes, there are good things in life.
Tacos after church on Sunday. A Buckeyes victory. The laughter of your kids from the other room.

But this Friday?
This blood-stained, curtain-tearing, grave-robbing Friday?

It’s the best kind of good.
Because it reaches deeper than your pain,
It runs stronger than your shame,
And it ends in resurrection.

Because Sunday is coming.

The tomb is still empty.

Jesus is King.