Between the Poles of Human Experience (Between Good Friday & Easter)

Some time back I had the thought that life, the Christian life, can be looked at through the two poles of Good Friday and Easter. While, of course, we would prefer to always be living an "Easter" existence, there are times when the best we can do is look to Jesus and pray, "Lord have mercy on me, a sinner."

Or, perhaps when the pain and feelings of abandonment are greatest, we might repeat Jesus' words on the cross from Psalm 22: "eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani?"

Then, there are those Easter moments: of sheer joy, of healing and health, of happiness and transformation, where we experience the assurance of God's presence. 

But, some days, most days, we are firmly between the two: neither overwhelmed by sorrow, nor living on cloud nine.

Holy week, when you think about it, includes both the extremes and ordinariness of human experience: there's the preview of Jesus' kingship on Palm Sunday (the desire for justice and righteous leadership), the fickleness of the crowds from Sunday to Friday. On Maundy Thursday, there's the dear fellowship of close friends followed by betrayal. On Good Friday, there is one of the most profound experiences of human life: death.

And then, of course, there is Easter Sunday: Resurrection. That most important hope, that leads us to believe that no matter the wounds, no matter the pain, that God is able to take all of it to redeem and restore us.

It all belongs.

That inclusion is fundamental to Christianity. Evil is not dealt with by denying its reality. The blow is never softened, nor is the sufferer told that their suffering isn't actually that bad. Instead, God joins us in the suffering and transforms it. All suffering now has hope.

Moreover, even the joy along the way receives greater meaning. The triumphal entry, the last supper, the teaching in the temple, they are moments of great meaning and purpose that are part of the larger picture.

But Holy Week always has one ending — resurrection. It puts all the pieces we were struggling to fit together into a picture. No matter how bad it gets, Jesus stands at the end of it with pierced hands outstretched to greet us.

I'd like to close with an excerpt by the poet Mary Oliver, who grasps this quite well in her poem "The Uses of Sorrow:"

Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.

Happy Holy Week, where we get to remember the very extremes of the human experience through Jesus Christ our Lord,

Stu

(Edited Feb 24, 2026)