What Makes Good Friday Good?

I was lying in bed several years ago on Good Friday and vividly remember having thoughts about the day. My heart was turned toward Holy Week, and a quiet question stirred in my spirit—What makes this day so good anyway?

It’s a question I would have asked without hesitation when I was younger. Maybe you have too. Growing up, we didn’t talk much about Jesus in my home, not in the way that shapes your worldview or sits you still in awe of the cross. I knew of Him. I even believed in Him. But I didn’t yet understand the weight of what this day meant—or the mercy it carried.

To be honest, in my early adulthood, Good Friday still felt like just another day off work. I was busy, self-focused, chasing things that never could satisfy. The idea of someone dying for me—let alone a Savior—I didn’t think much of it. It felt far off, irrelevant to the chaos I was trying to survive.

But grace has a way of showing up in our disinterest.

Mercy meets us even when we’re distracted.

And the cross waits patiently until we’re ready to look up.

As the years went by, and the weight of my own sin became undeniable, the cross stopped being a distant story. It became personal. I began to understand what Jesus endured—not just for a broken world, but for me. For the parts of me I never told anyone about. For the moments I’ve stood guilty. For the days I didn’t care.

Good Friday is good, not because it feels good—but because it cost everything to make a way for you and me to be made right with God.

On this day, Jesus Christ, the sinless Son of God, was betrayed by a friend, traded for a criminal, mocked by the very mouths He created, and nailed to a wooden cross by hands He came to save. He was beaten, spit on, crowned with thorns, and hung between two thieves. The crowd cried out for His death, and He—full of divine restraint—did not defend Himself.

Why?

Because Love held Him there.

Not nails. Not Roman guards. Not religious hatred.

Love.

Love stronger than shame.

Love deeper than regret.

Love wide enough to carry every sin across every generation—yours and mine included.

It’s easy to forget that what makes this Friday “good” isn’t the pain, but the purpose.

It’s good because through His wounds, we are healed.

It’s good because His blood didn’t just spill, it atoned.

It’s good because on the worst day in history, heaven opened the doorway to redemption.

And here’s what still undoes me every time:

He saw it all coming, and He still chose the cross.

He knew we’d betray Him.

He knew we’d wander.

He knew we’d doubt.

He knew some would never believe.

But He did it anyway.

For the joy set before Him, He endured the cross (Hebrews 12:2, NKJV).

And that joy? It was us.

Today, we remember the brutality of the crucifixion, but we also hold onto the beauty of a Savior who would rather die than live without us. So if you’re still unsure what the fuss is about—if Good Friday has always just been a long weekend or a somber tradition—you’re not alone. I’ve been there.

But I invite you to pause.

To let the weight of this day rest on your heart, not to crush you, but to free you.

Because this day is not the end.

It’s the beginning of resurrection hope. And grace has already made room for you.

It’s Friday, but Sunday is coming.