"I had a bad dream that Jesus died and I woke up crying because it makes me so so sad. Good Friday isn't good at all. It's terrible." Ari (almost 5)
I remember the day Ari realized that Jesus died. It was the week before Easter just before her third birthday. By that point in her life, she basically had her Children's Bible memorized. At church, We got to look like those extremely spiritual parents who taught our child to love studying scripture. She could answer every question at Sunday school like a little seminarian. Really she has just always loved her Bible. She knows more details about Bible stories than Jeff and I combined. But for some reason we hadn't spent much time on the page of her Bible with the big-headed, blue-eyed, cartoon Jesus hanging on a t-shaped wood thing. I don't think I was ready to go there. That week before Easter, however, it's what she wanted to read. I read the 3 or 4 simple sentences that described Jesus' death and Ari froze. "You mean Jesus died?!" She was devastated.
I tried to quickly launch into my "yes, but " story of what happened next but she would have none of it. I tried to turn the page to see the picture of the big-headed, blue-eyed dude standing there smiling at his friends again. No way. Ari needed to cry. She cried and cried. And then she asked, "Britta, did his mommy see him died?" And that did it. I cried too. For the sweet innocence of my little girl's heart. For her amazing empathy. For her love of Jesus. For the fact that any mommy ever has to see her child die. For the devastation of death. For the sacrifice my faith is built upon.
After a few days of staying on that page, we were able to move on to the happy ending. And she loved it when she was ready. But she still hates Good Friday, especially because it's called "good." And I am thankful for the reminder that it's okay to hate death. Even though it's lost it's sting. Even though we mourn with hope... it's terrible when someone dies. Especially Ari's Jesus.
