During Easter and throughout each year, Christians abide in the resurrection and the freedom and hope it has given all believers. On Good Friday, we also remember the awful necessity of the crucifixion. In terms of the latter, what I haven’t heard spoken about much is the agony of that hour, not for Jesus, but for his people. Imagine their confusion and horror! These men and women had traveled with Jesus, eaten with him, rejoiced, and even mourned with him. They had seen wondrous signs and miracles and had witnessed their holy Scriptures being fulfilled. They believed, as Peter told Jesus, that he was the Messiah and that their time of waiting was over.

So, if Christ’s followers, especially the twelve, heard him speak and teach daily for years, why weren’t they in the streets reassuring and teaching all those who were in turmoil? Why weren’t they preparing for Jesus’ triumphant resurrection? Mark sums up a big part of the answer in his gospel, chapter 9, verses 30-32:

They went on from there and passed through Galilee. And he did not want anyone to know, for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him. And when he is killed, after three days he will rise.” But they did not understand the saying, and were afraid to ask him.

They didn’t know. Jesus had been trying to prepare them for the darkness of that hour, but they didn’t get it. Peter even tried to give him a little “talk” about it. So, here you have a group of people who have invested their lives and souls in one man because they believed him to be the Son of God, and they have just watched him die a terrible, shameful death at the hands of their fellow Jews. What a tempest of emotions must have filled the places they gathered so many Fridays ago. Mainly, I think, that night was one of deepest mourning. Their friend, confidant, and teacher was gone. Leading up to Good Friday, I remind myself of the terrible grief of Jesus’ companions the day they watched their Savior die.

The followers of Jesus must also have been doing their mourning in great fear. Not only had the Jewish leaders showed their hand, it appeared like they had prevailed. This surely emboldened them to visit the same fate upon Jesus’ followers. My guess is that the streets of the city were not a safe place for the associates of Jesus that night.

I wonder, considering all this, if the first Good Friday was actually a Friday of despair. The disciples believed, absolutely. They didn’t understand everything, they didn’t do everything right, but their faith was true. My question is, what would you feel if you watched simple men kill your God? My mind can’t even comprehend it and I doubt theirs could’ve either. But did their hope remain?

How can someone process the idea of God dying? And is it harder or easier to imagine that he did so to save my life, before I even knew who he was? For a long time, I have been afraid to admit what a tangled mess my thoughts about the death and resurrection of Christ are. It is, after all, the cornerstone of a Christian’s faith. Praying the other day, though, I realized that it’s not all about my head. My heart, for now, is what understands. My emotions surrounding the crucifixion betray a deep connection and commitment to Christ the Risen Lord. I’m no apologist, that’s for sure, but I don’t think the disciples were on that first Good Friday, either. Still, despite their disorientation, disappointment, and fear, they never stopped loving Jesus as their Lord.

So, this coming Friday, consider the confusion and sorrow of Christ’s disciples on the day he died. They didn’t understand what was going on and the mingling of their distress and grief must have been agonizing. In only three days, though, their Savior returned and made everything clear to them. I am grateful for the very human struggle of the disciples during the time between the crucifixion and the resurrection. Thanks to them, I can take a breath and step back when I worry that I don’t fully understand what I believe.

I know that on a Friday 2000 years ago, the Son of God died on a cross, and I know why. I know that his self-sacrifice wiped my slate clean of all sin and I can now live in the presence of God, forever. I know that the joy, freedom, and hope that now fill my heart are real. For right now, that’s enough. One day, Jesus himself will reveal everything, just as he did to the twelve. What a comfort and a gift it is that whoever seeks the Lord in faith and truth will find an open door.