Are you afraid of the dark? If you’d asked me that particular question last week, I would have pulled a “duh, of course not” face and thought no more of it. But over the past few days during this Holy Week, I’ve been pondering GOOD FRIDAY DARKNESS & LIGHT and I now sheepishly raise my hand and admit that I might keep my upstairs hall light on every night—just in case (even though our kids are adults and all left home years ago) and I might keep the downstairs entrance light on—just in case (for the French bulldog, of course) …




Come to think of it, on the rare occasions when I am in a totally pitch black space (I’m recalling a recent Disney World encounter, but please don’t judge me), I do freak out ever so slightly when I can’t see my actual hand in front of my actual face.

The fear of darkness, sometimes known as nyctophobia, is often considered to be a manifestation of separation anxiety disorder. Makes sense. Remember when you were a wee one and dreaded lights-out time at night because suddenly you were very much alone in the dark, away from the familiar comfort of family, and who knew what might be lurking under your bed?




Back to Good Friday, when Jesus was crucified we know He was in unimaginable physical pain. It was a slow, cruel death. But far worse was the weight He bore upon His beaten, bloodied shoulders, the punishment He took to pay the price for our sins. And for His final 3 hours, something weird and wondrous happened that I’ve often skimmed over in my rush to reach the resurrection:

“At noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon.  

And at three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”)” Mark 15:33-34

The whole land went dark for three hours. At midday. Imagine how eerie that must have been for everyone there. For Jesus, this was a sign that He was very much alone in the darkness. Forsaken, abandoned, separated from His beloved Father—a relationship so precious within the Trinity we cannot begin to comprehend—yet He was willing to endure the deepest, dankest darkness for us.

You may recall another occasion when God caused a great darkness over the land, in the time of Pharaoh and Moses. Darkness was the ninth plague God put on the Egyptians (Exodus 10:21–29).

Paralyzing darkness enveloped Egypt for three terrifying days. It was followed by the final plague—the first Passover, where God took the firstborn sons of the Egyptians to secure the rescue of His people, the Israelites.

On the cross, God accepted the death of His own Son as Rescuer and a “ransom for many”, including you and me (Mark 10:45).




The darkness of Good Friday whispers that the light is coming.

It reminds us that even if we are feeling the weight of darkness in our own lives right now, it has already been defeated by the love and blood and sacrifice of Jesus, and light WILL burst forth in all its glory.

“As soon as the Savior expired, just at the moment when He gave His last triumphant shout, “It is finished,” the sun gleamed forth again and the earth laughed once more in the sunlight—for the great trial of Christ, the great struggle for man’s salvation, was then all over.” C.H. Spurgeon

Yes! The Son of God thwarted death, in all its darkness and finality. On the third day, He rose again and reigns victorious for eternity! Resurrection Sunday’s coming… can I hear a Hallelujah?!

“In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:4-5

Friend, may we live fully and freely in the light of His extravagant love this Easter and always…

Until next time,

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