Every Good Friday when I was growing up. Our family would head over across field to attend the service at a little Lutheran church. A service where the altar was ceremoniously stripped of it's greatness and draped in a black cloth. A tomb of hopelessness. A service where at the end the normal chatter and banter between housewives and farmers was silenced. Taken over by the immense weight of what our sin did to a man who was just hung on a cross.
I do not attend a Lutheran church now, haven't for many years, but every Good Friday I would just once like to take my tribe to a service where the focus is a feeling of hopelessness. A place where you are forced to sit and wait for three days for answers that your heart seeks. A service where the main point is to point out that your sin is real, and it hurts people. A service where the recognition of your sin is placed front and center on a cross in front of you. A service where you are forced to keep an uncomfortable silence at the end.
Sin stinks and is wreaking havoc on this world. It is supposed to. That's what sin does, destroys. Of course it's awkward to talk about. There isn't one person on this planet who takes great joy in admitting they are full of sin, but we do ourselves a great disservice when we hide the sin that is in us all. Satan, the Father of Lies, takes what is hidden and uses it against us. Our hearts put up walls and force people out. We build our own kingdoms so we feel like we save ourselves.
Sin is in us all. All. Should we celebrate it? No.
Should we set aside a couple of days to deal with it? Jesus did.