I would not normally be thinking about Good Friday or a Easter ham if it were not for a much needed break from teaching over the next few days. The experience of a confessional Presbyterian over the next 72 hours must be like that of some non-Christians — grateful for the time off but not using the time the way pious intended, that is, by going to church or attending to devotional exercises. So I admit it is unbecoming to complain about the church calendar when I benefit (in an earthly way) from it.
I understand that the Reformed churches differed on the place of certain holy days in the corporate life of the church. For instance, the Second Helvetic Confession leaves room for Great Friday:
The Festivals of Christ and the Saints. Moreover, if in Christian liberty the churches religiously celebrate the memory of the Lord’s nativity, circumcision, passion, resurrection, and of his ascension into heaven, and the sending of the Holy Spirit upon his disciples, we approve of it highly. But we do not approve of feasts instituted for men and for saints. Holy days have to do with the first Table of the Law and belong to God alone. (Ch. 24)
In contrast, the Confession of Faith is silent about holy days other than Sunday:
. . . in his Word, by a positive, moral, and perpetual commandment binding all men in all ages, he hath particularly appointed one day in seven, for a Sabbath, to be kept holy unto him: which, from the beginning of the world to the resurrection of Christ, was the last day of the week; and, from the resurrection of Christ, was changed into the first day of the week, which, in Scripture, is called the Lord’s day, and is to be continued to the end of the world, as the Christian Sabbath. (21.7)
However you come down on the Friday before the Lord’s Day associated by some Christians with Easter, I do wonder why we can refer to Awakenings as Great but not the day when Christ bore the guilt of the elect upon the cross. I understand that the goodness of Good Friday may be more than meets the eye. Editors at Slate found three reasons etymologically or historically for calling the day “good,” among them the following:
The third and final theory, the one supported by both the Oxford English Dictionary and every language expert I contacted, is that the name comes from an antiquated meaning of good. “The answer seems pretty clearly to be that it’s from good ‘holy,’ ” responded Jesse Sheidlower, the president of the American Dialect Society, when I put this question to him. Liberman agreed, noting that if you consider the other names for Good Friday—“Sacred Friday” in the Romance languages (Viernes Santo, e.g.), “Passion Friday” in Russian—“the OED’s explanation makes excellent sense.” The OED also notes that there was once Good Wednesday, the Wednesday before Easter, which these days is more commonly known as Holy Wednesday.
Even so, why not great? We do throw around the word “great” a lot. Great Awakenings, Great Depression, Great European Migration, American Greatness. Some readers know my preference for Leo Ribuffo’s reduction of the American Awakenings to Pretty Good, and that is a useful reminder about the way we traffic in greatness and countenance immodesty. But why settle only for good when it comes to the day when some commemorate Christ’s death? Why not elevate the day to Pretty Good Friday?
Old Life 