Why it was wrong to pretend to be sad.

Good Friday was always the most miserable day in the Catholic calendar. Around Kilburn and Cricklewood in the 1970s, any display of happiness was, quite literally, frowned upon. This was the day that Jesus was allegedly crucified, so sad faces were compulsory. Except that it was all a charade. We knew perfectly well that two days later, the deceased would be back among his disciples, sporting only minor abrasions. If I found it difficult to feign sadness for Jesus as a child, I find it impossible now. I’d need to play this genuinely heartbreaking song written and sung by a man about his young son who died in a tragic accident. And did not “miraculously” rise from the dead. Its words helps explain why that whole grotesque Good Friday pretence is an insult to those who really have suffered the loss of a child.