For Good Friday and Holy Saturday

The men who were guarding Jesus began mocking and beating him. They blindfolded him and demanded, “Prophesy! Who hit you?” And they said many other insulting things to him. (Luke 22:63-65)

I am not a prisoner in my home these days of quarantine. I am free to be with my family; to read; to connect with students, friends, and former parishioners (albeit mostly by video). I am free even if my options may be limited economically and commercially. 

But it’s (Good) Friday, oddly named. Tonight and tomorrow we remember that Jesus Christ lost his freedom and became a prisoner - a prisoner of religious leaders; a prisoner of the State; a prisoner of death. It becomes Good only because we know how it ends. But if we hold this day, this night, and all of tomorrow in Christ and with Christ, we remember the prisoners, the captives, and the ones who remain in bondage. For the many captives, it may simply be Friday.

The Friday captives are on my mind tonight as I watch Shawshank Redemption. In the US alone, more than 2 million people are incarcerated, which equals almost 25% of prisoners worldwide. Of the US population, over 500,000 are imprisoned for non-violent drug possession. Of the US incarcerated population, 40% are black, despite representing only 13% of the US total population. For so many, this is Friday. 

My alma mater, North Park Theological Seminary, hosts a theological school of ministry in prison. My current institution, Western Theological Seminary, is also launching one with Hope College. The former, North Park, is grieving the loss of its student, Rusty,  to COVID-19. He wasn’t  free, and his death was alone. This is and will be similar to so many who have died in this time. It’s Friday for the prisoner and the captive and the dying.

It is Good because Jesus knows death as a prisoner. He knows what it is to be taken captive, mocked, cursed, imprisoned and executed. He knows what it is to die. He knows the 2.3 million; he knows the 500,000; he knows the 40%. He knows them by name and by voice.

He knows the captives in this season. Not simply does he know and hear those in jail, but Christ also knows and hears those imprisoned in their homes. And there are many. The Messiah also knows the victims of domestic violence who suffer imprisonment in their own homes amidst the language of “Stay Home, Stay Safe”. He, with them, finds this irony more than scary. He knows the children who are neglected, underfed, and unable to find a comfortable bed. He knows them by name and by voice. His entire life, death, and resurrection was on their behalf.

Like I said, I am watching Shawshank Redemption as the story of Good Friday is at hand. The Good part of this Friday night emerges at least two times in the movie. The first is following Andy Dufrane's first night in the prison. The guards, who are the supposed agents of justice, beat Mr. Fresh Fish to death with a baton. The following morning Andy and his cellmates arrive to breakfast and recap the nights events. They recall how the guards dragged the man from his cell, beat him, mocked him, and called him, “a fat [effing] barrel of monkey-spunk.” He dies as those words are the last words he hears. In the morning he is dead, and the others remember him in the terms of his last hearing - laughing over their breakfast. Andy interrupts the humorous memory and asks the gospel question, “What was his name? … I was wondering if anyone knew his name.” 

The second moment of Good is when Andy betrays the rules of the powerful and locks out the guard from the Warden’s office. He begins to play Mozart’s, "Le Nozze de Figaro” over the prison sound system. He schedules the needle to his favorite cut, "Deutino: Che soave zeffiretto.” This was a duet sung by Susanna and the Contessa. It overtakes the yard, and the movie script describes It perfectly, "Andy is reclined in the chair, transported, arms fluidly conducting the music. Ecstasy and rapture. Shawshank no longer exists. It has been banished from the mind of men.” If you have seen the movie, you know Andy ends up in solitary confinement for two weeks as a result. He enters the depths of hell. He joins the journey of Jesus. But he emerges unscathed in his person. He reflects to his friends, “There are things in this world not carved out of gray stone. That there's a small place inside of us they can never lock away, and that place is called hope.” This place called hope is why we can call Friday, Good. It is not simply within us, though it is there. It is also beyond us - in the God of the universe, who lived through this week of imprisonment, judgment, and execution. And hope comes in the One who awoke in three days resurrected.

So it is Good Friday. 

And God knows us. God knows us enough to give his own life for us. This is good news. We can hold this hope. Yet on this night, I cannot help but remember the numbers of people who are nameless or misnamed. I grieve with those God knows by name yet who remain unknown and unnamed - who may simply call this Friday. 

And God hears us. God hears us so closely that he hears us as Mozart or Susanna and the Contessa. This is good news. We can hold this hope. Yet I cannot help but remember the numbers of people who cannot sing in their cells or speak freely in their homes. I grieve with those  not heard in their cry - who may simply call this Friday.

I pray tonight for those God knows by name and by voice. And I pray for those who we, in this world, continually forget to remember.

And even so, I pray that Friday is Good, and Saturday is Holy, so that Sunday would be what it promises. This promise is what Andy Dufrane so wisely articulates to his good friend,

        Remember, Red. Hope is a good

          thing, maybe the best of things,

          and no good thing ever dies. I will

          be hoping that this letter finds

          you, and finds you well. Your

          friend. Andy.

It is Good Friday, for this I hope and pray. I pray this not only for me, not only for you, but for all of us, especially for those for whom Friday is too captive to receive as Good. Come, Lord Jesus.