I went to a public elementary school. It was different then. The teachers started off the day with a devotional or a Bible reading and the principal would have a prayer over the loudspeaker. Times have changed.
In 5th grade, Mrs. Tyndal was my homeroom teacher. She was a love. She was at least 85, though I know you had to retire back then at 65. Her husband was a Methodist minister.
The day was Good Friday and Mrs. Tyndal asked us to settle down in our seats as she wanted to tell us a story. The time was 11:50 a.m.
We quietly listened as she got out her old, worn Bible. Mrs. Tyndal told us that Good Friday was sometimes known as Black Friday because of what had happened.
She turned to the passages where Jesus was betrayed and continued reading up to the point where Jesus died on that splintered cross. She finished reading right at 12:00. The room was quiet and still. Mrs. Tyndal closed her Bible. The sun went behind the clouds and the sky turned very dark. Every ten year old eye in the room turned around and looked outside. The fear, the bitterness, the alone-ness of Jesus dying was palpable. We were quiet for several minutes and felt at a loss.
Then, Mrs. Tyndal said, "Class, there's good news! There is no reason to be sad!" She went on to read about the open tomb and is if on cue, God removed the clouds from the sun and it shone brightly again. Mrs. Tyndal proclaimed, "The grave couldn't hold Jesus! He rose from the dead!"
I don't think I'll ever forget the feeling I had that day, at ten years of age, that God was bigger than anything I could ever worry about. He'd allowed his son to die and then raised him up.
Praise our ALMIGHTY GOD!