Lent 2025 Good Friday: Live, Lose, Love Out Loud

When I was 25, I was your classic angsty queer adult (and I use “adult” loosely). I was emotionally unavailable, moody as hell, and had no idea what I was doing with love. My friend John, who had known me since middle school, once told me he thought I was actually commitment-phobic. We were debriefing yet another breakup, and he just said it. Flat out. No judgment—just truth.

And the thing is? He was right. 

I think it’s important that your ride-or-die friends can call you out on your shit. I sat with it for a while and started looking at my pattern. I didn’t know how to stay in a relationship, and part of that was who I was choosing to date—and part of it was who I was in the relationship. A bad combo on both ends. 

In the Bay Area, it’s easy to date a lot. And if it doesn’t work out? Chances are you’ll never run into that person again. Breakups can feel like vanishing acts. I kept trying to treat dating like an adventure—boldly going into uncharted territory, learning something new about myself and others. But over time, I got tired. Really tired. 

And here’s why. 

My second girlfriend was still in love with her ex—and I didn’t know that until we had sex. The first time we slept together, she cried. Not because it was emotionally overwhelming in a good way. But because she was thinking about someone else. That kind of thing rewires you on a cellular level. It messed me up. 

Of course, being the ever-empathetic lesbian that I am, I held her and comforted her. But on the inside? I was crumbling. She cried almost every time we slept together. Eventually, we stopped sleeping together altogether. 

Naturally, I wrote a poem about it. Because of course I did. Processing through poetry? That’s very on brand. It's also been almost 30 years so I'm good with sharing my youthful angst: 

Just For One Night by Vangie Castro 

I feel a breeze 

cooling the sweat on my brow. 

The intensity builds 

as I move harder, faster— 

a rhythm growing strong, 

methodic, 

desperate. 

I’m spinning, 

slipping into another world, 

exploring the fantasies 

I’d dared to keep hidden. 

Touching. 

Needing. 

Wanting. 

Consumed by passion 

that rolls and crashes over me— 

Until it stops. 

Something’s wrong. 

She turns away and cries. 

I reach for her tears, 

but they aren’t mine. 

They belong to another. 

To a love she still yearns for. 

And my body mourns, 

knowing it won’t be satisfied tonight. 

Still— 

I wrap my arms around her. 

Hold her close. 

And hope, just for one night, 

I can keep her safe 

from the ghosts she can’t let go. 

Just for one night. 

It’s amazing how quickly I’ve always been able to rebound from disappointment. You’d think after all the heartbreak, I’d be more risk-averse. More guarded. But nope. Either I’m a secret optimist or a romantic masochist. Still not sure which is worse. 

But I keep going. I keep dating. I keep trying. Because even in the chaos, there’s beauty. Even in the heartbreak, there’s humor. And yes—even in betrayal, there’s a story worth telling later over drinks with friends. 

Or like Jesus said on this very day: "I thirst." (John 19:28) 

Same, Jesus. Same. 

Historical Context: Good Friday 

Good Friday commemorates the crucifixion and death of Jesus Christ. It’s the culmination of Holy Week—the day when love incarnate was nailed to a cross. The paradox of calling it “good” lies in the belief that through Jesus’ death came the promise of resurrection, redemption, and grace. 

This day calls us to sit in the tension. To reckon with betrayal, loss, sacrifice, and silence. It’s a day where even divinity seemed abandoned. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46). If you’ve ever felt unseen, unloved, or unworthy, know that even Jesus felt that. 

And yet—he still chose love. 

He forgave. He stayed. He thirsted. And in his final breath, he said: “It is finished.” (John 19:30) 

Lenten Reflection: Love in the Ashes 

Good Friday isn’t about tying a neat bow around suffering. It’s about holding space for it. It’s about standing in the rubble of what didn’t work, what broke you, what wasn’t enough—and saying, “Even here, I will rise.” 

🔹 What grief are you carrying that needs to be named?  

🔹 Where in your life are you still mourning something that never got closure?  

🔹 Are you willing to believe in the promise of resurrection—that something beautiful could still grow from the pain? 

Lent has taught us that love isn’t neat. It’s messy and costly and brave. And it doesn’t always come wrapped in fairy tales. But it’s worth it. It’s worth everything.

Hold tight. Sunday is coming. 

Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other. As above. So below. 

#Lent2025 #GoodFriday #LiveLoveLoseOutLoud #QueerFaith #PoetryHeals #ITriedJesus #IThirst