There doesn’t seem to be anything good about Good Friday. The streets were lined with an angry mob demanding the death of three men. Two deserved to die, the other didn’t. Hidden in that crowd were a few of Jesus’ followers, anguishing over their failure to defend their Messiah. Tears flowed as the King of the Jews was led to the slaughter.

They beat Him mercilessly, cutting into His flesh, exposing muscle and sinew to the elements. His hair was matted with the spit of the condescending mockers who lined the street. Birds of prey circled above. He was nothing but a bloody mass – unrecognizable – a disgusting sight to say the least. The smell of death permeated the air.

As they reached the site of the crucifixion, very few of them remained – some women, the Roman soldiers in charge of carrying out the job and one of His disciples. Some of those who demanded His death stayed to make sure the deed was done. A few interested bystanders continued to watch as they nailed the three to their crosses, but soon their fascination faded and they left.

He complained not – yet His twisted, brutalized body gasped for air as He suffered the torturous cross – designed to cause asphyxiation and eventual death. His words carried power, even though His frame had suffered continuous beatings and humiliation. Until the moment that He commended His body into the hands of His Father and died, He remained faithful to His earthly mission.

The sinless lamb of God died on the cross at the hour of the evening sacrifice. The final Passover lamb had paid the ultimate price. Our sins are forgiven through Him. That’s what makes this Friday good.

It is finished. My Savior, Jesus, carried my sins to the cross.  The sins of all humanity lay on His shoulders.  He went uncomplaining forth so that we could live forever. But it didn’t end there.