I’ve always preferred Easter to Christmas. Christmas has grown into something bigger, busier, and more frantic than it ever was when I was a child. Yes, I do realise how old I sound saying that. Easter still feels rooted. It remains focused on why we celebrate, and that grounding means even more to me as I move through the ordination process.
At three o’clock on Good Friday, Jesus dies.
The world stops for a moment.
Heaven holds its breath.
And then… nothing.
No miracles.
No teachings.
No crowds.
No light breaking through.
No longer misunderstood.
No longer crying out in forsakenness.
Just stillness. Jesus is dead.
But Holy Saturday begins.
There is a moment here where everything seems to collapse into darkness. The sky grows dim, the noise fades, and Jesus cries out with words that have echoed through centuries: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
It is one of the most unsettling sentences in Scripture. Yet it can be painfully familiar.
