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It’s been Friday a lot for me lately.

Not the just got paid, time for happy hour and margs Friday. It’s been Good Friday. The ironically named day of desperation and grief.
I imagine on the first good Friday thousands of years ago, hopelessness reigned. I imagine it was the darkest, scariest day to be a follower of Jesus. I imagine confusion and unspeakable pain. I imagine shame and conviction, doubt and some self-loathing sprinkled in there (I’m looking at you, Peter). I imagine that was a heavy Friday.
It’s been a heavy season lately. While I cannot directly compare the world we live in today with arguably the darkest day in history, I’ve felt heavy. I’ve watched friends and family suffer. I’ve felt lonely, confused and scared. I’ve felt a weight of hopelessness when I’ve sat across friends at coffee shops. It’s been a sorrowful few weeks in ministry. There are a lot of people hurting and suffering.
It’s felt like Good Friday.
Sometimes in the midst of that pain and confusion I forget that it’s Friday. It’s only Friday.
Sunday comes and with it the most glorious day in all of history. A day of freedom, hope, and redemption. The day that changed everything. A day that grace reigned and death died.
I live a lot like it’s Friday. I’m tempted to sit in the weight of shame and pain. I’m tempted to revert to old habits and give up on myself. But today I remember, it’s Friday. It’s only Friday.
Sunday will come.