It’s been said that human language can only deal with a small part of reality; the rest, and by far the greater part, is silence. Death is the great silence ultimately imposed on everyone. An early Christian writer once noted that if we are to hear the words of Jesus, we must hear his silence too. Kneel by his cross, if you prefer, sit, because you’re going to have to stay for a very long time—all your life, in fact. You have to sit with your own pain and sorrow and resist the temptation to solve them or resolve them or even to avoid them altogether. Remember that it’s only in the silence that your pain and sorrow will pour out meaning to you. Down through the centuries millions of people have survived terrible Calvaries. How? By learning something utterly profound from the Cross of Christ. 
The French have a saying: Friday is always the best or the worst day of the week. What determines which one it will be depends on what’s in store for you by the end of the weekend. Remember, it’s Easter Sunday that makes Good Friday good. It’s the end that gives meaning to the story. 
Caravaggio, the great Italian painter, understood this. In the church of St Augustine in Rome, one of his paintings illustrates this point quite memorably. It shows two pilgrims kneeling in front of the baby Jesus, who is in Mary’s arms. The pilgrims, a man and a woman, are poor, dressed humbly, with walking sticks for their only possessions. Their hands are clasped in a heartfelt, almost desperate prayer. Both Jesus and Mary look at them with interest and compassion, listening intently. This painting, though, was quite controversial when it was first unveiled.
The painting was meant to be placed above the viewer, on an altar. When you look at it, you see clearly the faces of Jesus and Mary, but you also see the pilgrims from their backs. And one of the poor pilgrims, the man, is barefoot. And right at eye level when you look at the painting, you are staring at the soles of his feet as he kneels and prays; you’re looking at the ugly, dirty, grimy soles of a poor pilgrim’s feet. The sophisticated upper class at that time complained that it was disrespectful to put someone’s dirty feet in such a prominent position, right above the altar. How shameful! Such bad taste! That’s what they said. But they were wrong. Jesus came to earth precisely for that reason: to meet us right where we are, in the grime of our struggles, our wounds, and our sins, and to lift us up from there into his Kingdom. Good Friday reminds us of that: Jesus knows our misery, because he shared it. And so, we can “confidently approach the throne of grace,” just as we are by way of the Cross. This is why we exalt and venerate the Cross today and everyday of our lives.