Good Friday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

A man hangs on a cross. The pain is unimaginable - even by those who inflicted it. Perhaps it’s because they couldn’t imagine it, that they were able to accomplish it. I wonder if anyone who has endured agony can willingly inflict it on someone else without reliving it, without experiencing it again.

When Jesus hung on the cross he said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” They didn’t. On the different levels that people exist, they didn’t know. Physically, none of the Centurions had experienced the pain of crucifixion and drove the nails in without knowing what they were doing. The people gathered around had no idea what it was like to be ridiculed unjustly and tortured. They didn’t know what they were doing. The disciples hadn’t been betrayed and set up for a mock trial, and they didn’t know what they had done.

Perhaps it’s because none of them knew that they were able to do the horrible things they did. And still Jesus forgave them, because they didn’t know. Or rather, they didn’t fully know.

Two thieves hung on either side of him. One ridiculed him in the same way the crowds did. The other asked to be remembered, finding in his pain a relationship with Jesus that he didn’t have before. It’s a curious scene between three men, presumably strangers, now bound by history and the common experience of hanging on a cross.

That grim tableau is a microcosm of our world as well. People causing pain to others in crimes and battle without really knowing the fullness of their actions. I wonder if Presidents who have experienced war are more reluctant to declare it than those who have not. I wonder if those who have experienced crime committed against them, or the pain of attack could ever easily commit such things themselves. But in our world, people do things all the time that create pain and havoc while not really knowing what they do from an experiential level.

And in relationship to Jesus, there are people who hang in pain that reflect the reactions of the two thieves. In the moments of their most excruciating pain, some turn toward God while others turn away.

The focal point for all of this is Jesus. The one who hangs in the middle with arms outstretched to gather into one embrace those who ridicule and those who come for comfort. Earlier in his interview with Pontius Pilate, Jesus said that he came into the world to testify to the truth. Pilate asks “What is truth?” For Pilate, truth was no doubt malleable, subject to the spin given it. What people believe to be true is not always truth. People in positions to create the impression of truth understand this and use it to their advantage.

How threatening it is to have someone who embodies truth. That same person will become a light that shows where lies have been told. The truth of Jesus is the unconditional love of God. It’s not earned, or stolen, sold or won. It’s freely given. Because he told this truth, because he lived this truth, because he was this truth, he was arrested and killed. It was too much to bear. I think there is a secret fear common among people - that we are not lovable. Many people have a hard time accepting compliments because they don’t believe the one giving the compliments. Others have a hard time accepting love, because they do not believe themselves worthy of love, or they are hiding some secret truth that if the one offering love knew, would withdraw that love. The simple truth of being loved gets very complicated. As Jesus embodied a truth almost unbearable to accept, he was taken and hurt.

But he forgave them, because they didn’t know what they were doing. He forgave them, because they didn’t know what HE was doing. But in the end it was not in their power to kill him, but it was in his power to help them live.

When I was a teenager my uncle was working on a house from a ladder and fell. He was hospitalized and hurt his back very badly. I drove my grandmother, who at the time was in her late eighties, to the hospital to see her son, who was in his early sixties. I remember being so struck by her quiet tears as she held his hand, saying in a voice meant only for herself, or perhaps it was a prayer - that she could be the one in that bed who was hurt so that her son could be alright.

A mother’s love is a powerful thing. And the desire to relieve the suffering of her child even at her own physical expense is extraordinary. No matter how old the mother, or how old the child the love remains the same.

She was not able to take the place of her son, but that story has become a way for me to understand the depth of love that would have God take the pain of the world to himself as a way to relieve the suffering of humanity. I think the worst form of suffering isn’t even the physical as bad as that is. I think the worst suffering is to be without hope or love.

By knowing, by truly knowing what human suffering is, God enters our world and lives in a way that we cannot know. And in God’s willingness to bear that pain, to take the insults, ridicule and torture God not only embodies the truth of God’s love beyond our knowing, but also the hope that it’s still freely given in the forgiveness of that which we do not know. It simply is. God’s love simply is.

What we do here in story and song is to celebrate that love that would hang on a cross and still not be defeated. It is a wonderful truth. Amen.

©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Good Friday

By Mary Davis, Seminarian Intern

Good 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.

Good Friday

By Thomas Murphy, Seminarian Intern

Over the past week a few people from our diocese have been exchanging emails on the topic of salvation. It's been a very interesting conversation. The discussion really boils down to the question, how exactly are we saved? How does Jesus save us? A very appropriate topic for Holy Week! I've been following the emails back and forth and thinking about the question.

In the discussion, some people have supported the traditional understanding that God requires Jesus to pay for our sins on the Cross. Since we could never redeem ourselves, God sent his only Son to substitute for us, to take on our sin. In other words, Jesus was a blood sacrifice -- the Lamb of God -- that sets things right between God and us. Jesus pays our debt to God and we are saved.

Others reject that explanation, saying it turns God into a bloodthirsty monster, willing to brutally sacrifice his own innocent Son. Instead, they suggest that we are saved by the example of Jesus' life. They argue that in Jesus we see who we are supposed to be and how we are supposed to live. Jesus lived his life in loving self-giving and so we are made, we are called, to be like Jesus.

As I've thought and prayed about this I've decided that neither description of our salvation is satisfactory. It is wrong to select one moment or one element of Jesus' life as the cause of our salvation. We are saved by Jesus -- we are saved by God becoming fully present in Jesus -- we are saved by the entire sweep of Jesus' life -- from the manger in Bethlehem to the Cross on Calvary to the empty tomb on Easter morning. We are saved by this life of perfect love, this life of perfect self-giving, this perfect sacrifice for the whole world.

And in our church we are blessed indeed to have liturgies that reflect the indivisible mystery that is Jesus Christ. Over these three holy days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter we live into the truth that there is no separation between death and resurrection. There is no separation between suffering and salvation. From the washing of the apostles' feet on Maundy Thursday to the empty tomb on Easter morning we celebrate the one great act of love that is Jesus Christ. The love of God poured out for the world in Jesus Christ. We are saved.

The earliest church understood this indivisible mystery so they celebrated Christ's life, death and resurrection all at once. Although a nightmare for the Altar Guild, there's something to be said for that, because the danger for us is that we skip over the suffering. The danger is that we skip over the suffering and move right on to salvation. And that's why we have Good Friday. That's why we're here today.

We gather not to get ourselves worked up over the suffering of one man who lived two-thousand years ago, especially if we're not worked up by the many thousands of people suffering in even worse ways right now. No, we gather today and remember the death of Jesus on the Cross because the Cross is the end result of loving service to the world. The Cross is part of the great sweep of Christ's life. The Cross is part of the great act of love that is Jesus Christ. Jesus -- and we -- can't separate suffering from salvation. And so even though we know how the story ends, we must not skip over the suffering.

I have to admit that in the past I have been impatient with Good Friday. I remember my first Good Friday at the seminary when it came time for the veneration of the cross. I hadn't seen that done before, and I thought it was a little… excessive. The service was long already and one by one seminarians and faculty knelt before the cross, heads bowed in prayer. I remember thinking this is a bit much -- can't we move it along a little? I have to get back to Jersey City! And, let's stop pretending. After all, we know that this story has a happy ending!

Last year, though, I had no choice but to stop and venerate the cross. I had no choice but to reflect in a tangible way on Christ's suffering. Some of you know that each year the churches along Broad Street in downtown Newark participate in a Good Friday walk. The crowd stops in each church where a member of the clergy gives a homily on one of the seven last words. The walk begins at my former field placement parish, House of Prayer.

Anyway, last year I just barely got from the seminary to House of Prayer on time. I was wet from the rain. I had had enough of Good Friday and was ready to move on to Easter. After all, we know how the story ends. Just as the service was beginning someone leaned over and told me that I was going to carry the cross from House of Prayer to the next church a few blocks away. No one had warned me. I hadn't had a chance to lift the cross. How heavy was it anyway? Was there a certain way I was supposed to carry it? I looked at the Stations of the Cross on the wall of the church and saw how the artist depicted Jesus carrying the cross over his shoulder and I thought, well, that's what I'll do too.

The time came and I led the congregation out of House of Prayer and onto Broad Street. The cross was heavy enough that I could feel its weight on my shoulder. I could feel its rough texture on my hands. As I made my way through the drizzle and down Broad Street people stopped in their tracks and looked at the cross on my shoulder. Cars slowed and drivers and passengers stared. Their expressions were a strange mix of curiosity, sadness, and understanding.

Finally we arrived at the next church and I handed off the cross. I can't say that I remember much of the homilies I heard that day but I vividly recall the feel of the cross on my shoulder and in my hands. It was the most powerful Good Friday of my life. In some small way I understood the real, physical suffering of Christ -- suffering that was the end result of loving service to the world. Suffering that was the end result of healing the sick, forgiving sinners and challenging hypocrites. We cannot separate suffering and salvation. We cannot separate death and resurrection.

So, what about us here today? What does Good Friday mean for us? We are called to take up the work of Jesus Christ. In a real sense the Church is born at the foot of the Cross. We are called to live our lives in loving service. We are called -- in our own way -- to be like Jesus -- to be broken and poured out for the world. Listen to the prayers that are next in the service. You'll hear that we are now taking up the work of Jesus Christ. In his life, death and resurrection Jesus has shown us the way. We are called to love and called to serve. We know that a life of love and service means that, like Jesus, we too will experience suffering. But we need not be afraid. After all, we know what happens next. Thanks to the one great act of love that is Jesus Christ -- we are saved.

Amen.

© 2007 Thomas Murphy