A Prayer for Good Friday

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Dearest Lord,

What a dark, dark, day this was, all those years ago. Words cannot capture it.

I am feel as though, oh Lord, that my cynicism isolates me from other believers. I think this is a product of too much life lived within the bubble of Christian education. And I know my cynicism is a cover for a deep, pervading loneliness (“does anyone struggle the way I do?”) and doubt (“am I really one of yours, oh Jesus? Or is all this cynicism indicative of an unalterable pride within me?”). I want to change; I want the faith of a child. But I do not know if this is even possible. There’s that cynicism again.

When I look to Good Friday I -no surprise- snort indignatiously: “‘Good?’ How human of us to look to the cross and say ‘welp! Now we’re free and clear. Alleluia!'” And isolated from your grace I remain.

But then I hear the call, oh Lord: “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” A call of doubt and despair, that evolves around the thought: “are you really gonna pull this off? Why do I call to you and my call carries into the void?!” Your son said this. Your son despaired in the emptiness of your presence. I think this means, I hope this means, that there’s grace for me when I do the same.

So drown my cynical heart in the baptismal waters of your grace. Raise me afresh and renewed. Until then, allow me to rest in the knowledge that your silence is not the void of your grace departed. Help me to trust that the darkest, most cynical heart can still be raised from the grave and into new life.

Thank you for loving me, cynical as I may be. Thank you for loving this world, broken as it may be. Thank you for loving all things, all of the heavens and earth and peoples and tribes, sinful as we may be. 

On a lighter note: my March Madness bracket could use a little bit of your resurrection power. If you don’t mind. I ask because I know that there’s always some to spare, infinite grace and all.

Amen.

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