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How Bitter Turned Sweet & Good Friday Turned Great

Cross Good Friday

Good Friday turned great just before midnight. That’s when my pride died.

Again. This side of heaven, it won’t stay dead.

I can’t tell you the details. It would not be right. But I can tell you that it happened after a good friend confronted me about my wounding words.

Before Pride Died

But before pride died. I want you to know that the words I write do rattle around in my head. By them, I will be justified, or condemned. If I know the truth and ignore it, I’m worse than hot air. I’m a hypocrite.

So I tried to look for the kernel of truth in criticism that mostly seemed off- Assume you are guilty when a fellow believer confronts you about your life. And I tried to apply the cure for passive-aggressivetrust that God means good, leave him your hurt, and do good. By grace, I try to take my advice.

Maybe especially last night, because Good Friday is so good.

Why Good Friday Is Good

Good Friday is good because “Christ died for our sins” (1 Cor. 15:3), and because, “He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree” (1 Peter 2:24). And it’s good because “The punishment that brought us peace was upon him” (Isaiah 53:5-6).

Good Friday is good because by Christ’s death, we are freed from the penalty of sin and the guilt of sin. Because he bore our sins.

That is why Good Friday is good.

Marahs Made Sweet

I read and re-read my friend’s words. They stung. But I knew there was a kernel of truth in them, because I know there is sin in me. So I confessed, not was she accused, but what I knew was true.

That layer removed, I thought of other sins of which my friend had no clue. And just before midnight, I went to bed and paged to the prayer called “The Grace of the Cross.”

O My Saviour,

I thank thee from the depths of my being

    for thy wondrous grace and love

  in bearing my sin in thine own body on the tree.

May thy cross be to me

  as the tree that sweetens my bitter Marahs…

I got that far before the bitter tears began to flow. Bitter, in Hebrew, is marah. The Israelites found water too bitter to drink and called the place Marah (Exodus 15:22-27). Then the Lord showed Moses “a piece of wood.” He threw it in the water and the water turned sweet.

Wood turned bitter water sweet. I remember when I taught the story to my Sunday school class. Millie and Michaela and Audrie got it. They saw the cross of Christ.

They understood it was wood that makes our bitter water sweet.

How Good Friday Turned Great

Last night I tasted both. Bitterness first- It was my sin that held him there.

But then sobbing like a hot mess in bed, the bitterness became sweet. I knew I was forgiven by my crucified King.

Christ died for this.

Feeling that was how Good Friday turned great. The cross makes our confessed sins, even our most embarrassing and ugly and bitter sins, sweet. Because, Who confesses and forsakes finds mercy (Prov. 28:13).

That is when bitter turns sweet, and good becomes great. We stand forgiven at the cross. We remember and we celebrate:

Christ died for this.

I saw my sin loud and clear last night. But I also saw the cross and confessed and found mercy and grace.

And that is how Marah became sweet and Good Friday turned great.

In confession we break through to the true fellowship of the Cross of Jesus Christ, in confession we affirm and accept our cross…

The old man dies, but it is God who has conquered him. Now we share in the resurrection of Christ and eternal life. 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together

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Taking Wounds

Faithful are the wounds of a friend; profuse are the kisses of an enemy.  Proverbs 27:6


You wore that? To work, Hon? Those stripes with that plaid? 
I did, he said, calm as a clam. And no one said a thing. None of my patients. None of the staff. 
But, Honey, they’re not married to you, I reasoned. They’re not vested. I would never tell my doctor or my boss that his clothes clashed. Not my place.

*   *   *   *   *

Some faithful, friendly readers have told me, Get to the point. Sooner. And, A bit long-winded.

So, here she is: The rare times a trusted friend is gutsy enough to confront you in love, take it. Don’t rationalize and rebuff or get hyper-sensitive and turn to mush. Hard as it is to do, if it came from a faithful friend, you’d best listen.

(Back to the point. Sooner.)
The point here is not how to confront, when to confront or why to confront. The point is when you are the one confronted-wounded-as it were, by a faithful friend, to take it as God’s gift to you .

But I cringe, too. When my lovingly bold friends have cared enough to ask, “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I cringe. I dread. I admit I worry a while, too, because nobody wants wounds. 

(But keep this simple, to the point.)

Let’s assume the “confronter” has already done his hard work before he comes. He’s overlooked what he could (Proverbs 19:11), covered more in love (1 Peter 4:8) and then removed the log from his own eye (Matthew 7:5). And he’s gotten over his cowardice.

Now he comes. Bearing a precious gift that only a friend can rightly bring. He tells you what some others see, but don’t care enough to say. He tells you that tie, that plaid-they clash. The Christ you claim, those words you say-they clash. The disciple thing, the greedy weed he sees-they clash. 


Faithful are the wounds of a friend. It’s enemies, like Judas, that multiply kisses. And Peter was one of Jesus’ three besties. How much do you think “Get behind me, Satan” cut?  The penultimate Faithful Friend delivered that blow.  
(Short-winded. To the point.)

Now he comes to you. A trusted friend has said it. He’s said your fly’s down and there’s spinach between your teeth. He’s wounded you in love. He’s bucked the system where so many, 

[S]link away from the confrontation entirely, either because they fear it or because they have bought into our society’s hedonistic, relativistic view that places a premium on letting people do their own thing, regardless of how sinful that ‘thing’ is. (Ken Sande, Peacemaking For Families, p. 38)

Dawson Trotman said, “There is a kernel of truth in every criticism. Look for it, and when you find it, rejoice in its value.” We’d best spend our energy seeking kernels, not explaining criticism away.

And let’s not get all groveling-sensitive. Let’s have thicker skin, and softer hearts. Not vice versa. Let’s look the nugget of truth in that thar’ criticism and when we find it, let’s take it and get back up.

I do not agree that when all is said and done, friendship is but, “the giving and taking of wounds.” No way, no how. But friendship will include some wounding, this side of heaven, when faithful friends are lovingly bold. It’s part of the deal. It’s modeled by God and it’s for our good. He wounds and his hands bind up (Isaiah 30:26, Job 5:18, Deuteronomy 32:39).

(To the point, to the point. Not too long and windy.)

The point: Find the kernel in the criticism and take it as God’s gift for you. Humbly take the wound. Die that little death. Adjust, correct or repent where you ought.

Then get right back up and press right on toward the goal. And go with joy and with rest assured, since you’re alive. Your response to the wound proved it. Because, like C.S. Lewis* said,

A live body is not one that never gets hurt, but one that can to some extent repair itself. In the same way, a Christian is not a man who never goes wrong, but a man who is enabled to repent and pick himself up and begin over again after each stumble-because the Christ-life is inside him, repairing him all the time, enabling him to repeat (in some degree) the kind of voluntary death which Christ Himself carried out. 

Baptized into his death. Repaired by faithful wounds. Alive to God in Christ.

For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his. So you must also consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.

Romans 6:5,10

*Mere Christianity, Book II, Ch. 5