Amidst the preponderance of social media posts today that spam our brains with information, it seems cruelly ironic that the information is so easy to forget. Just weeks ago, almost every single news site was flooded with images of Ukraine. Just months ago, they were flooded with images of the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan. Just a year or two ago, we all posted on Instagram in solidarity with the protesters of the Black Lives Matter movement. And where have all of these discussions gone? In the wake of these tragic events, only the people most intimately affected by them continue to feel the pain of grief and loss. The world, on the other hand, seems more than content to move along its merry way, as if nothing has quite changed at all. 

Social media has dramatically desensitized us to long-run change. In the short run, it is excellent at turning eyeballs to whatever cause it deems fit, flooding our screens with soundbites, podcasts, videos and all the information that could possibly exist. Then, in the span of a few weeks, all of it is magicked away by an algorithm, cast into the depths of TikTok purgatory.

Think about it — in a few days, our social media feeds will once again be flooded with bunny ears and images of easter egg hunts all around town. The next day, all of Easter will be forgotten, and our feeds will be stacked instead with advertisements for mother’s day paraphernalia. 

The ephemerality of social media has important effects on our capability to effect widespread change. If we truly believed in our social media pledges, then we should care about changing the long run systemic problems that pervade society as well. For instance, we should more consistently care about gun violence and not wait for the next shooting to happen in order to slowly inch towards change. On campus, if we truly believe in saving lives tragically taken from us by mental health issues, why should we wait for terrible things to happen in order to take action? 

You might wonder — what on earth does this have to do with the title of this editorial? I would argue that it has everything to do with it. As a Christian, I often get asked — and have often asked, as a child: “What is so good about Good Friday?”. 

As Christians, we believe that God, fully incarnate as man, was flogged, made to carry a huge cross, wore a crown of thorns, was pierced through the side, made to drink vinegar and had nails driven into his hands and feet. These are scenes that are enough to make anyone gag. Yet, we haul this story out every single year to remind ourselves of it, even though it doesn’t quite seem “good.” To what end? 

Good Friday is an invitation to remember. In fact, in an age of social media numbness, as I argued earlier, Good Friday is a day of feeling, and sitting in feelings that might seem bad or unpleasant. To protest against modern-day amnesia and remember how many bad things there are going on, unbeknownst to us. On another level, Good Friday is an invitation to reflect on how royally the world has screwed itself over. To the extent that it, quite literally, could not save it from itself. 

So if until now, your Good Fridays have been the day of buying little Walgreens chocolates in preparation for easter egg hunts on Sunday, let the significance of the day not be lost upon you. Even if you are not a Christian, I think there is value in dwelling upon past injustices, and sparing a little bit of your heart for groups of people who continue to suffer at this very moment, as we go about our own lives. This Good Friday, I am thinking about how broken the world is. I am thinking about the countless lives we’ve lost to the pandemic, to civil wars, to mental health crises and the lives we continue to lose. 

I’m also thinking about the fact that Good Friday is a celebration of hope, of the impermanence of death and the triumph of peace over violence. That’s what makes Good Friday good. 

SHI WEN YEO is a junior in Morse College.  Her column, “God, Country, and Yale”, runs every other Wednesday.  Contact her at

Shi Wen Yeo edits the Opinion Desk. She is a Senior in Morse College, majoring in English and Economics. Her column "Through the stained glass" runs every other Tuesday.