If you truly understand what happened on the original Friday of Jesus’ crucifixion, you know the man was beaten beyond recognition, made to walk in public shame and mockery beneath a crossbeam, and nailed like a dying insect to a Roman T-shaped torture device called a cross, which we today commemorate with tattoos and bling. What exactly is good about this? What’s so good about Friday? What’s so good about a man howling into the darkness, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani? My God, My God, Why have you deserted me?” What’s so good about a naked, broken carcass of a human giving up his last breath while the bad guys openly mock him?