Easter part 1: Good Friday

By Leo thee Lemon

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Easter part 1: Good Friday
By Leo thee Lemon

We all know the story of Good Friday.
Or at least—
we think we do.

The day they crucified our Lord and saviour.
A sentence we’ve heard so many times—
it almost feels distant.

He was building his own following before then.
Not quietly.
Not by accident.

He was showing love for the unloved.
The forgotten.
The ones people stepped over.

He was washing feet.
Hands in dirt.
Water darkening.

Helping the blind to see.
But what does blind actually mean?

Does it mean visually impaired?
Eyes that don’t work?

Or something deeper.
Something harder to admit.

I’ve always been told the Bible is up for interpretation.
Not fixed.
Not simple.

The blind could be the ones that couldn’t see the evils in the world.
Standing right in front of them.

Through preaching—
he opened their eyes.
Slowly.

Not by pointing at people—
but by exposing the act.

You don’t need to expose the person.
Just show the act.
Let people connect the dots.

Finally being able to see.
Not with eyes—
but with awareness.

“I have come into this world, so that the blind will see and those who see will become blind.” — John 9:39

Sure, technology today is much more advanced.
Different problems.
Right?

But it’s not really.
Not at the core.

The problems—
the schemes—
have just become more advanced.
More hidden.

But the motive stays the same.
It always has.

Money.

That has always been the motive.
Strip everything else away—
it’s still there.

People don’t really change.
Not at the core.

Our nature is ingrained.
Deep.
Old.

With new technology—
the schemes just become more elaborate.
Cleaner.
Harder to see.

We all know staring at our screens is becoming a real issue.
You feel it.

The fight for our attention.
Constant.
Relentless.

As long as we are staring at our phones—
we provide data.

Data to big tech companies.
Quietly.
Constantly.

They don’t want us to put down our phones.
They don’t want us outside.

When I was a kid—
I rode my bike.
Wind in your face.
Scraped knees.

As a teenager—
I smoked cannabis with my friends.
Drank beer under a bridge.

Not the best use of time.
But it was real.

Now—
I rarely go outside.

I could scroll on my phone all day.
Endless.
Bottomless.

Our nature has changed.
Or maybe—
it’s been redirected.

We have become slaves to our devices.
Hands always reaching for them.

We never leave home without them.
That slight panic if you forget.

We charge our phones—
so we have enough battery—
to go outside.
Think about that.

We are always connected—
but never so disconnected.
From each other.
From ourselves.

Everything we do is monitored.
Tracked.
Logged.

We pay with our phones.
Tap.
Done.

Receipts collected.
Stored somewhere.
Filed away.

Every click.
Every pause.

Your eyes sitting too long on a picture—
or a video.

You don’t think your phone is listening?
Really?

Do you give your phone permission—
on behalf of your favourite app?

Do you ever wonder how Amazon always knows what you want?
Before you even search it.

It’s convenient.
Too convenient.

It knows you’re going to run out of toilet paper—
after two more rolls.

What does that cost us?
What are we giving up?

This allows them to market products to us.
Targeted.
Precise.

And sell our data.
Over and over.

Meta—
who owns Facebook—
makes upwards of $150 billion a year.
Billion.
With a B.

From ads.
From data.
From us.

If they know what you want—
before you want it—

These targeted ads work.
They work incredibly well.

You probably don’t even realize—
how much you buy—
because you saw something.

They also control what you see.
To some extent.
Just enough.

This is all about control.
It always has been.

What happens when someone disrupts the status quo?
When someone steps out of line.

They start campaigns to discredit them.
Spread lies.
Create doubt.

“If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him…” — John 11:48

What happens when someone becomes too popular?
Too influential.

When their message grows too strong.
Too loud.

Too disruptive—
to profit.

What happens then?

Ask John Lennon.

Ask John F. Kennedy.

Ask Bob Marley.

Bob Marley survived being shot.
A warning.
An attempt.

A form of intimidation—
believed to be tied to the CIA.

They didn’t want him to perform.
Not two days later.

He still performed.

His music preached peace.
An end to violence.

He sided with the wrong political party.
And that was enough.

Ruthless.

John Lennon—
“give peace a chance.”

Too influential.
Too dangerous.

So this brings me back to Jesus.

The powers that be—
didn’t like him gaining a following.

They discredited him.
Slowly at first.

Then they escalated.

They had the Romans crucify him.

The invading Romans saw him—
as a political threat.

And threats get removed.

I kind of love Bob Marley for still performing.
Still standing.

I absolutely love him for that.

He didn’t back down.

He couldn’t be bought.

So they did what they thought they had to do.

He performed anyway.
Still recovering.
Still standing.

They made him into a legend—
by trying to silence him.

His own personal legend.

Crucifying someone is a brutal way to die.
Not quick.
Not merciful.

You don’t die from blood loss.

You die from suffocation.
Slow.

Your arms are stretched out.
Pulled wide.

The weight pulls down.
On your chest.

Breathing becomes work.
Every breath.

Your hands—
nailed in place.

Your body slumps.
Lower.
Lower.

Each breath harder than the last.

You slowly suffocate.
Over hours.

They tried to humiliate him.
Marching him through the streets.

Beaten.
Bloodied.

Made an example of him.

You speak out—
this is what happens.

They placed a crown of thorns on his head.
Sharp.
Pressing in.

They made him carry his own cross.
The tool of his death.

Even the strongest person—
would struggle.

He fell three times.

Only three times.
Think about that.

The willpower—
to carry—
to drag—
your own death.

What is the heaviest thing you’ve ever carried?
Now imagine that—
exhausted.
Beaten.

“Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me.” — Matthew 10:38

The Romans showed some mercy.
Brief.
Calculated.

They had someone help him.

How inspiring was he—
that even his enemies stepped in?

Or maybe—
they didn’t want him to die too soon.

Prolong the suffering.

Simon of Cyrene carried the cross.

He was beaten too.
Forced into it.

And somewhere in that—
he became a believer.

Think about that.
Sit with it.

How inspiring can someone be—
while being beaten—
while dragging a cross—

That you believe in them anyway?

You don’t watch someone get pummeled in a boxing match—
and think:
I should follow them.

You don’t watch a gladiator get torn apart—
and think:
they have the right ideas.

But here—
something was different.

He dragged the cross to Golgotha.

They nailed him to it.

Lifted him up.

Left him there.
To suffer.

This is the stuff of legends.

He never gave them the satisfaction.

He never broke.

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” — Luke 23:34


And then keep going.

Never said—
“I can’t do this.”

This story became legend.

One of the earliest acts of courage—
that echoed through time.

I ask myself this—
because I believe it.

I bet Jesus smiled on the cross.

I bet he smiled at the faces—
that brought him there.

I bet he smiled—
and laughed.

Because he knew—
he wasn’t defeated.

They beat him.
Marched him.
Crucified him.

But they never broke him.

They never made him question his beliefs.

He knew—
people would remember this.

Two thousand years later—
we still talk about it.

But how deeply—
do we think about it?

I would smile too.

I would laugh—
knowing I didn’t break.

Knowing I stood firm.

Knowing—
that in the end—

they made him a legend—
doing the exact opposite—
of what they wanted.

I appreciate you being here, reading this, and spending your time with my work. That alone already means something to me.

Growth takes resources—time, energy, care—and I’m trying to give this project as much of myself as I can.

(Every bit helps.)

With gratitude,

Leo

Have typewriter, will travel.