Good Friday is not a distant echo of tragedy. It’s the beating heart of one of history’s most astonishing days.

On this day, we stand in awe at the foot of the cross — where the sinless Son of God, the radiant Morning Star, was betrayed with a kiss, falsely condemned by the guardians of religion, abandoned by the very ones He came to save, and lifted up between heaven and earth under the cold gaze of empire. The powers of this age watched in indifferent silence. Religious leaders schemed in shadowed chambers. Pilate washed his hands in water that could never cleanse his guilt. And there, in the gathering darkness, the Light of the World cried out: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

It sounds like the deepest sorrow ever uttered. And yet we dare to call this day Good. Why? Because Christ’s suffering was not pointless. Rather, it was the deliberate, costly price of our redemption. Before the foundation of the world, when no eye had yet seen, the Triune God already knew His creation would shatter the perfect harmony. Sin would invade, corruption would spread, and all that was good, true, and beautiful would groan under its weight.

Yet before the foundation of the world, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit had already woven a plan of redemption so glorious it would turn the greatest evil ever committed — the murder of the perfect, innocent Lamb — into the greatest victory heaven and earth have ever known: forgiveness for the guilty, reconciliation for the estranged, and the crushing defeat of sin, death, and the grave.

And yet, Christ’s death was agonizing. In fact, the agony was unconscionable. Jesus endured the most brutal death devised by human cruelty — nails driven through flesh and bone, slow suffocation beneath the weight of His own body, burning thirst, mocking laughter, and the scornful crown of thorns. The crowd that could have chosen mercy screamed instead for His blood, their voices rising like a storm until reason itself drowned in the roar. He did not merely die. The Lamb of God was slain.

Even now, the shadow of innocent suffering stretches across our broken world. In Nigeria, for example, our brothers and sisters in Christ walk daily in the valley of the shadow of death, where radical Islamist jihadist violence burns villages, slaughters pastors and their families, kidnaps the faithful, and reduces sanctuaries to ash — all while the watching world too often turns its gaze away. And that’s just in one country.

The truth is, Christians all around the world suffer for the sake of Christ each day. In North Korea, believers risk everything to hide a single page of Scripture beneath their floorboards. In the Middle East, many are beheaded for refusing to deny the Name above every name. And even in lands of relative comfort, such as America, the principalities and powers of darkness still rage, seeking to steal, kill, and destroy all that reflects the beauty of Christ.

Scripture doesn’t sugarcoat this reality. We are called to suffer with Him. The world will hate us because it first hated Him. Yet James invites us to a strange and holy posture: “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness” (James 1:2-3). Many of our persecuted family will be the first to tell you — through tears and with radiant faces — that the fellowship of His sufferings is worth it all for the sake of knowing Christ and being one with Him.

This is part of why Good Friday matters so deeply. Because the cross declares that God is no stranger to pain — to our pain. Jesus Himself was the Man of Sorrows, acquainted with grief, rejected, mocked, and executed. Yet even as nails held Him fast and darkness swallowed the sun, He did not curse His tormentors. Instead, He prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” In that moment of infinite suffering, He purchased infinite grace — forgiveness, hope, and everlasting life for every soul who turns to Him in faith, including our suffering brothers and sisters around the globe.

When I think of the global church enduring flame and blade, I am struck by their faith. Their endurance is a strong, living testimony to the power of the cross. The pain of earthly torment is real — just as the nails that pierced our Savior’s hands and feet were real. But so is the hope — blessed, eternal hope. We hope in the breathtaking reality that the same God who raised Jesus from the tomb sees every tear shed in secret, every act of violence, and every quiet “Yes, Lord” whispered in the face of terror. And one day soon, He’ll wipe away every one of our tears. He will make all things new.

Good Friday challenges every one of us: Will we look away from the suffering of our family in Christ, or will we fix our eyes on the cross and respond with compassion, courage, and faith? Let us choose the latter. Let us remember the persecuted church in our prayers, our advocacy, and our generosity. Let us face our own trials with hope and joy, knowing that Good Friday was never meant to be the end of the story. In three days’ time, the stone was rolled away, resurrection light shattered the darkness, and eternity was forever sealed with this unbreakable promise: darkness does not — and never will — have the final word. Hallelujah!