“Dad,” said the child, “why is it called ‘Black Friday’?”
Dad didn’t even look up from his computer.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, why is today called ‘Black Friday’?”
“I don’t know,” said Dad. “I suppose I could Google it.”
“It’s just that, well, ‘Black Friday’ makes it sound like a scary or sad or bad thing,” said the child.
“Hmmmm…” said Dad, clicking on yet another banner that screamed BLACK FRIDAY SALE!!!!
“And it’s not, is it, Dad?”
“No,” said Dad, “it most certainly isn’t scary or sad or bad. It’s fantastic.”
“Can we call it something else then, Dad? Something better?”
Dad stopped his browsing for a moment to scratch his chin.
“What, you mean something like ‘Not Bad Friday’?”
“Something like that, but better,” said the child.
Suddenly inspiration struck.
“Hey! How about ‘Good Friday’, Dad? Could we call it ‘Good Friday’?”
Dad thought for a second. He couldn’t think of a reason why not.
“Yes,OK. That seems like a much better name,” he said, clicking on the button labelled ‘BUY IT NOW’. “It certainly is a Good Friday! I’ve just got a great price on this camera!”
And that is how the tradition of Good Friday began.
Meanwhile, on an insignificant hill somewhere, a man died alone and in agony and no-one cared.
Ooooh, this is a searing one.
I was sat in a coffee bar in the Stratford Shopping Centre a few weeks ago as I waited for the gates to open at the Olympic park (the first Rugby game was about be played there) and it had been a few years since I was last immersed in such a temple to consumerism, and therefore was way, way out of my depth/comfort zone. If you wanted to buy a pair of ripped jeans (the sort that look like a cat has had great fun clawing at the knees) at rip-off prices, you were laughing. If you needed an item of technology that could simultaneously tell you the time in Des Moines, the latest share price of Tesco, and where indeed to buy ripped jeans, you’d cracked it.
How satisfying it is to indulge in a bit of inverted snobbery, as I often do. How I love to inwardly sneer at the plebs buying their flat screen 78 inch microwaves with surround sound wi-fi and built in coffee-makers. ‘Ah, you’ll only experience that buzz of post-purchase pleasure for a brief moment, and then the credit card bill will land on your door mat!’. I bet my inverted snobbery satisfaction lasts longer than their retail therapy buzz. Oh Yes.
And yet whilst I indulge myself in such uncharitable thoughts, I wonder what the Lord would have been doing had he been sat where I was? Not sneering, certainly. He has ‘form’ in terms of having a bash at traders doing their stuff in inappropriate places (I’d have loved to have been at the Temple in Jerusalem when He got them sorted out) but somehow I think he’d watch the folk wandering round and a look of love would be on His face. He’s got even more ‘form’ for that. And then He’d look at me. And I’d feel ashamed.
I know how much He suffered, or at rather I have more understanding than those folk who haven’t encountered Him. And yet still I sneer and wallow in misanthropy, like a third-rate Ebenezer Scrooge. Terrible, really. What an utter failure. The time is coming for a different approach. And to think – the Lord sent James Webb to point this out, and not three spirits. I’m grateful for that.