I’ve talked about the blessing of not knowing. That we think we want to know the future, but we really don’t. If we knew everything that was going to happen and when, we couldn’t live authentic lives. We wouldn’t be able to truly enjoy the good things knowing bad things were also coming. How could a mother whole-heartedly celebrate her daughter’s wedding if she knew that two months later that newlywed would die in a car accident?
But there is one day every year when we have the blessing of knowing. And that’s Good Friday.
Who could have known just a week prior when the streets of Jerusalem were full of cheers and praise for Jesus that things would take a sudden, horrendous turn? The apostles had no idea the meal they shared in recognition of a Holy Day would from then on be referred to as the Last Supper. That one of their own inner circle would betray their Lord, and by extension implicate the rest of them. Think how horrified they were to see their friend and leader suddenly accused of treason and executed as a traitor to Caesar. How terrified they must have been for their own safety. Could they be seen in the streets in mourning garb? Were they next?
And what of Mary? This grief-stricken mother was probably also frightened. We don’t hear anything of Joseph in Jesus’s adult life — perhaps Mary was a widow. Who would protect her? And, God forbid, were her other sons in danger, as well? I imagine, no I KNOW, that Friday to Sunday were the worst three days of that mother’s life.
Because none of them knew then what we know now. We know what happens on Sunday. We have the knowledge – the blessing of knowing – that Jesus arose. That He lives.
Let’s remember to count our blessings.
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