“Bad Friday” Thoughts
I’m beginning to think there really are two kinds of people in the world: those who are discomforted by the misfortunes of others, and those who are comforted by them.
I don’t know that there are a larger number of the latter, but they seem to talk to me more often. They are feeling bad or blue or completely bollixed; then they read or hear about someone who is in even worse shape or bluer or more confused; and they perk right up. “When I think of how awful it is for her,” they tell me, “I realize how fortunate I really am.”
Good Friday must be a real holiday for these folks, if they’re religious. All the day long, they can contemplate the crucified Christ. How fortunate they are that they’re not hanging there—battered, beaten, bruised, blue, and more than completely—utterly!—bollixed.
Does that sound judgmental? I suspect it does, but I’m not entirely sure I mean it to be, though I do belong myself to the discomforted group. But how much better is that? Every time you read or hear bad news—and how much good news do you get on NPR or in the Washington Post or New York Times?—you feel the weight of the world a little heavier. The mood of your sadness becomes a deeper wallow.
And how do you “celebrate” Good Friday? Chances are you’re out—intentionally or not—you’re out to oujesus Jesus. He’s just hanging there, but you’re feeling his pain, in addition to your own, not to mention Sudan’s, Chad’s, Thailand’s, and Iran’s.
If there are only two kinds of people, which was Jesus? If he was this day some 1,970 years ago taking onto himself the sins of the world, he must have been one of the discomforted. Like me! On the other hand, he could always have been thinking, “It could be worse. Bursting open, guts everywhere: poor old Judas!” (See Acts 1:17.)
Of course, that was before Judas got his publishing deal. National Geographic must be paying him big time.
- Rick
I don’t know that there are a larger number of the latter, but they seem to talk to me more often. They are feeling bad or blue or completely bollixed; then they read or hear about someone who is in even worse shape or bluer or more confused; and they perk right up. “When I think of how awful it is for her,” they tell me, “I realize how fortunate I really am.”
Good Friday must be a real holiday for these folks, if they’re religious. All the day long, they can contemplate the crucified Christ. How fortunate they are that they’re not hanging there—battered, beaten, bruised, blue, and more than completely—utterly!—bollixed.
Does that sound judgmental? I suspect it does, but I’m not entirely sure I mean it to be, though I do belong myself to the discomforted group. But how much better is that? Every time you read or hear bad news—and how much good news do you get on NPR or in the Washington Post or New York Times?—you feel the weight of the world a little heavier. The mood of your sadness becomes a deeper wallow.
And how do you “celebrate” Good Friday? Chances are you’re out—intentionally or not—you’re out to oujesus Jesus. He’s just hanging there, but you’re feeling his pain, in addition to your own, not to mention Sudan’s, Chad’s, Thailand’s, and Iran’s.
If there are only two kinds of people, which was Jesus? If he was this day some 1,970 years ago taking onto himself the sins of the world, he must have been one of the discomforted. Like me! On the other hand, he could always have been thinking, “It could be worse. Bursting open, guts everywhere: poor old Judas!” (See Acts 1:17.)
Of course, that was before Judas got his publishing deal. National Geographic must be paying him big time.
- Rick
posted by Rick at 10:27 AM
1 Comments:
Or: he could have said, "It could be worse. The centurions might be listening to 'All Things Considered.'"
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