Good Friday
/It is Finished
About the time this morning that our alarm clocks began going off, our dogs heading toward the door, and our cats demanding breakfast, St. John tells us that Jesus was being marched from the court of the High Priest Caiaphas to the judgment hall of the Roman Governor Pilate. There had been no sleep the night before. Only relentless questioning.
About the time you and I were having our second cup of coffee and checking the Covid-19 reports in the newspaper, Jesus was dragged before Pilate. More questions. Pilate found nothing that he could use against Jesus, but …hey! Here was just another rebellious Jew. Maybe some abuse would be useful. Pilate ordered that Jesus be flogged. Pilate’s soldiers followed his order with their usual enthusiasm, and then topped it off by putting a crown of thorns firmly on Jesus’s forehead. They even grabbed a purple robe and threw it over Jesus’s bloody shoulders in mockery.
As we were finishing our lunch, Jesus was being stretched onto the cross bar of the wicked instrument of His death. Coarse ropes were tied around His wrists, large nails were pounded through his wrists. With military proficiency, the heavy cross bearing the beaten, bloody body of Jesus was lifted up and dropped solidly into place. More large nails were driven through His delicate ankle bones.
Death on a cross was a slow, painful death. Often dying could take a day or two. Death came from suffocation or shock or exposure. All of it – the beatings, the long walk through the city dragging the cross on your back, the public nature of the crucifixion – was designed to humiliate the victim and to terrify others.
While Jesus hung between earth and heaven, dying before the eyes of Mary, his mother, a few other faithful women and the Apostle John, the light of the sun disappeared. The earth became as dark as if it were night. The veil separating the Holy of Holies ripped open from top to bottom. No mere man could have reached the top of the veil to tear it. No mere man would have committed this unthinkable sacrilege.
In our rush to Easter, we skip lightly over this day. This day that is called GOOD Friday. This day that Goodness hung on the cross. This day that darkness overcame the light of noon. This day that the eternal abyss opens before us.
The last words that St. John tells us Jesus said are: IT IS FINISHED.
It is finished. Three years Jesus had walked with His followers teaching, healing the sick, feeding the hungry, driving out demons and offering forgiveness. Jesus talked about God as Abba Father, taught His followers a simple prayer for reaching out to God. Jesus described God’s Kingdom as a pearl beyond price, a vineyard, a Kingdom that COULD come here on earth among us. Now Jesus’s time among us was finished.
It is finished. Twelve men had been Jesus’s intimate circle, the ones with whom He shared His last meal. One of these had betrayed Him and killed himself. One had publicly denied Him. Nine had fled in shame and fear. Only one, John, stood at the foot of the cross watching his Friend, his Teacher die. Not a single one of these twelve men saw a future. Eleven tried to figure out what to do now that all their dreams were dust, finished.
It is finished. Pilate retired to a good dinner – nice wine with delicacies brought from Rome, prepared by his own chef and good company of his own choosing. The palace was as comfortable as possible in this hot, dusty, god-forsaken place far from the luxuries of Rome. Another Passover, another rebellion stopped by killing one more so-called Messiah. Caesar would be pleased. Crisis averted, finished.
It is finished. The High Priest and his court retired to their homes in relief. Passover once again to be c
It is finished. Peter’s dinner must have tasted like straw. Martha, Mary and Lazarus must have eaten in silence, their hospitality un-extended. James and John must have spent the evening asking what if they had done this or that, would it have ended differently? The women, with a festival dinner to prepare and men to serve, must have kept their tears to themselves. It is finished.
Stay here. Look at that darkness. Do not jump to Sunday morning yet. Look at that eternal abyss open at our feet. Separation from God is possible. And on this day, good and evil battle. Our souls hang in the balance. Stand still and look. Stand still and feel the darkness.
Understand the fear, the loss, the sorrow of followers who knew and loved Jesus. The darkness, the loss, the sorrow is real. It is mind-numbing and heart-breaking. Understand that no one knew that any victory, any righteousness, any grace would come from this day. No one this day knew that power, forgiveness and light would burst forth from that darkness.
Stay here. Wait with Peter, James and John. Wait with Mary, Mary Magdalene and the two sisters and brother grieving in Bethany. Wait.
Learn from their pain. Learn from their sorrow. Let their grief grow within you so that your capacity for joy increases. Understand that if the true suffering and death of Jesus are not real in us, we cannot participate in the triumph of the resurrection. We cannot serve Jesus fully, freely, and joyfully in this dark world.
Let us pray:
This day, this dark day, belongs to you, O Lord our God. Grant that we will walk in it trusting Your Grace and Your love for us. Because You never turn Your back on our distress, grant us strength to stand beneath Your cross, knowing that Your sacrifice is for us, caused by our sin and offered for our salvation. Gather us together before You as beloved children, empower us to love one another and to pray for our enemies, and use us to bring Your Kingdom into reality here among our neighbors.
Blessed be Your name above all names, now and forever.
Amen.
