The land is flat around Joplin, Missouri. Now much of the town has been leveled by an F-5 tornado. So it's just heartbreaking devastation as far as the eye can see.
But there's one thing still standing. A reporter commented on it this morning as the camera scanned across the sea of wreckage. It's a cross. His words went right to my heart –
"The church is gone. But the cross is still standing."
My mind flashed back to a brutally painful funeral I attended years ago in a windswept graveyard on an Indian reservation. The young man we buried died a sudden and violent death. As Indian men filed by the open grave to throw a handful of dirt on the coffin, I watched the young man's brother do something he seldom if ever did. He was weeping.
But there was a simple wooden cross at the head of that open grave. And a grieving brother was holding onto that cross like it was his only hope. His brother was gone. But the cross was still standing - still there for him to hang onto with everything he had.
The cross of Jesus has been, for millions, the only hope still standing after the storm has leveled everything else. I've seen it more times than I can count. The love of your life is gone - but the cross is still there. Your health is gone...your job is gone...your money is gone...your anchor person is gone...all medical hope is gone - but still, there is in Jesus "this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure" (Hebrews 6:19).
The Cross still stands, proclaiming God still loves me when it's too dark to see His face. The Cross is there, assuring me I am forgiven when the guilt and regret try to drag me into their pit. The Cross remains, reminding me that Jesus has beaten death when death seems to be winning. The Cross stands tall, declaring that "this is not the end. There is a future beyond this darkness - and I'll be there to build that future with you."
Yes, life has its nearly unbearable Good Fridays. But Good Friday isn't the end. It's the long night before the blazing sun of Easter.