Good Friday Birthday
Apr 3, 2026 | By Sharla Moody BK ‘22
Two thousand years ago, the earth was plunged into darkness, the ground opened up, and out of it crawled the dead. And on a hill, a man was stripped naked, beaten, and executed. Twenty-six years ago, first from love and then agony, a man and a woman brought a child into the world, and that child was me. And some years, the calendars align in such a way that both of these events are recognized on the same day.
Having my birthday fall on Good Friday has happened a few times over the years, and every time it does occur, it’s hard not to think of the occasion as muddled, or to feel as if someone else is swooping in on a day meant for me. This is absurd, obviously, but I, like many others, under certain circumstances, enjoy being special. We set aside days to celebrate simply existing, to celebrate the fact that someone at some point in time decided to have a child, but not just any child, but this particular child. Sharing that day with another anniversary is inevitable, and yet we want the world to know that it is different because of me, because of my parents, because I came into being on this day.
From joy and love, God brought forth the world. And from joy and love, my parents decided to have me. But the actual process of having me was one of intense pain and fear, or so I’m led to believe. Pregnancy and giving birth are hardly a walk in the park; parenthood, I assume even less so. I was born in the dregs of the morning after a sleepless night of agony. And after: peace and calm, perhaps for a bit, but also crying, and sleepless nights, and in the years to come, the struggle of seeing this small baby that was once part of you growing into someone else. Mothers tell me that after having children, their conscience is divided. Always, nagging in the back of the mind, the fear that one’s children are suffering. Wisdom says that you’re only as happy as your least happy child. But birthdays are an affirmation that the aches of pregnancy, childbirth, and life itself are for good reason: existence is a gift, and the world is much better because this individual is in it. To show this, we mark, observe, and celebrate this day..
On Good Friday, we commemorate the gift that Christ gave to the whole of humanity by giving his life on the cross. But we also recognize it as the bleakest, darkest day in history. On that day, our Lord suffered and bled, separated from his father. And while joy and love sustained the creation of the universe and brought Christ to us on Christmas, so too did the agony of the crucifixion win for us the peace of Christ. If birthdays recognize the inherent goodness of existence, it is Good Friday in all of its ugliness that bestows that goodness.