By Mary Davis, Seminarian InternGood Friday has always been a tough day for me. I think Bernie smelled my fear when he asked me to preach tonight. It comes on the heels of my favorite service of the entire liturgical year, Maundy Thursday, and takes me to a place where I'd really rather not go. Things go from bad, in the silent darkness at Tenebrae, to worse, during the solemn stripping of the altar last night, and just when you think things can't get much worse, they really do. And now, with it so early in the calendar year, it seems like we've raced from the cradle to the cross at record speed. I'm not sure that I'm really ready for it, and I would much prefer to tiptoe around this Friday night, pretending that it's just another Friday, a day to dye Easter eggs with my boys and dream of some early warm spring weather. Trouble is, ready or not, Good Friday is here, and the heaviness of this day, the sorrow of Jesus' painful and lonely death, always call out to me; So, like it or not, Good Friday is a day that we, as Christ's followers, cannot ignore.
One of the major problems I have with Good Friday is that there is so much mystery wrapped up into this one day. I've researched and read volumes on the meanings behind Jesus' death on the cross, yet still, I can't make any sense of it. Some sources hold to the belief that Jesus' suffering and death were offered as a sacrifice for the sin of humanity. Others say that we are "saved" through the example of Jesus' life without sin, and still, there are others who suggest that Jesus' life and death were God's subversive attempt to outmaneuver or outsmart the devil. I just can't seem to wrap my head around any one of these ideas, no matter how many scholarly books I study or how many years I experience this Good Friday liturgy. But, as Bernie so often reminds us, when a biblical reading or theology leads us into a difficult place, a place of discomfort or confusion, we are best served by moving directly into the storm, as disciples who wrestle and struggle with the discomfort.
So, move we do, into this night of Good Friday. Now, I don't know about you, but as a child, I remember wondering, why the word "good" in front of this Friday. As a matter of fact, my own children have asked me that very same question. I have never really heard a satisfactory answer to this question either - some sources say that perhaps it was once called "God's Friday," and the word "good" is morphed out of the word "God," but that explanation doesn't do anything for me. So, regardless, insufficient explanations aside, the title "Good Friday" has stuck, and perhaps we should search for the "good" which lies in the midst of all this unexplainable, unfathomable mystery.
Certainly, at first blush, there's not too much "good" about it: Jesus' betrayal by Judas first, and then by Peter, Jesus' lonely walk to Golgotha and his agony in the crucifixion. Even though John's passion narrative, which we heard today, presents Jesus as being in calm control, all of us have probably heard other Gospel accounts of Jesus' crucifixion, which paint quite a different picture, one of despair, abandonment and suffering.
But in spite of Jesus' agony, we do, find a Jesus portrayed in John's Gospel, that loves right up until his last breath. Jesus never betrays his mission of love, even in the midst of questioning and torture by the High Priest, by Caiaphas, by Pilate or even by the mob of people calling for his death. Jesus' unwavering and radical love, now this is "good." Additionally, even while on the cross, Jesus sees his despondent mother and deeply loves her, placing her in the care of the "beloved" disciple. This unending and caring love, again, this is "good."
The revelation we find through the cross is that God's love is radical, eternal and mysterious. Jesus' life was ultimately a life of radical love, and His love was so pure and boundless that the world couldn't possibly allow it to continue. This perfect Love, which was nailed to the cross, beckons to us today, and calls us in, as disciples.
Now, as you know, a disciple is a student, a follower, a believer. One seeking to learn, but far from one who has it all figured out. We are disciples, called as believers just like Peter, who was unquestionably one of Jesus' closest friends and in Jesus' innermost of inner circles. But, the same disciple Peter, who dropped his fishing nets to follow Jesus, who stood on the mountaintop to witness Jesus' transfiguration, was the same disciple that was so consumed by discomfort and fear that he denied even knowing Jesus, three times, a betrayal of (as we say) biblical proportions. We, too, are disciples of Jesus, and we, too, come to this day of Good Friday as both believers and betrayers. [1]
The fact that I am in seminary, right now, might suggest to you that I can easily claim the title of "believer." But in fact, my call to ministry has certainly not shielded me from deep suffering. And in the midst of my distress, I have to admit that I quickly settled in as a "betrayer." A little over a year ago, my youngest son, then almost 6 years old, was diagnosed with a form of autism. This was coupled with the fact that my 15 year old son already suffers from the disorder. Because of this diagnosis, I experienced the effects of grief, and almost literally heard the window of hope for my son slam violently shut.
So, I, being a "believer," went to the seminary chapel. I was searching for God and for a source of hope, but could find nothing. Instead, I was greeted by what I took to be a rather glib recitation about how good God was all of the time, and how all the time, God was good. I wasn't so sure. Then, during the prayers of the people, the worship leader invited members of the congregation to call out attributes of God, which they were feeling at that moment. So from the chairs came words like "awesome!", "holy!" and "loving!" All of a sudden, up from my gut, probably the same believer's gut which forced the words of denial out of Peter's mouth, came the word "mean". I shuddered, did I really just say that??? I had, and it was precisely how I was feeling. At that moment, my suffering made me wonder, "My God, My God, have you forsaken me?" I had, so quickly, turned from a believing disciple into a betrayer, just like Peter.
The good news in all of this unsettling irony lies yet another mystery. The mystery of God's love. The power of my pain, which had enough strength in it to snuff out my awareness of virtually everything else, was met by God's love. My suffering was not some evil from God's hand, not a test of endurance, and certainly not sanctioned by God. Instead, I was held by God, even as a disciple so quick to betray this very love, and God loved me. God did not turn away from me; just the opposite, Perfect Love kept calling me back. And that, again, on this Good Friday, is "good."
This evening, as we come up in a moment to venerate the cross where Jesus held the sin of the world in love, we stand before the cross as disciples; disciples who can't completely understand, but are on a journey nonetheless. We are participants in this never-ending story of Christ's death and resurrection, drawn year after year to this day of "Good Friday." No, it's not just another Friday, not just a day of dyeing eggs and enjoying the coming of Spring. It's a day when we come to the cross, questioning, not just as believers, but also as betrayers, trying to make sense out of the perfect Love that suffered on the cross. And in the presence of that perfect Love, we meet a God who, through the presence of Jesus, loves us all unconditionally.
So, come to the cross today, seeking the fullness of this unconditional love, which holds us in our suffering, overcomes death, and offers us life. The mysterious fullness of God's love is here today, love both human and divine, and that love is offered today to us, all of us: seekers, believers and betrayers. Jesus, who shows us that a life of love is not out of our reach, is calling us on a journey to life. And that way to life is Love. And that Love is very "good." Amen.
© 2008 Mary Davis
[1] Rev. Dr. William Danaher, General Theological Seminary Ethics Professor.
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