Good Friday Year A

Here we are at the foot of the cross on the day when our story simultaneously reaches its climax and halts, leaving us in a place of emptiness, a place of deep darkness. The light that has carried us through the days of Lent, however feeble and vulnerable that light has been at times, is now extinguished. The life that we have followed through these past few weeks has ended. It is finished.

It seems to me that this year in particular, the emotion and drama of Good Friday is reflected in the events that are unfolding in our world. The underpinning message for today is about the sin of the world. The sinfulness of individuals alongside the sinfulness of communities. The collect for today speaks about the cost of our sin and the depth of God’s love. The cost of our sin has an impact on each one of us, it has an impact on our communities and on the planet we inhabit.

And we don’t have to look for any length of time to see a sinful narrative being played out in our world. Powerful men are feeding their egos and fulfilling their personal agendas at great cost to people whom they have made into victims.
Those powerful decision makers are surrounded by people who, for whatever reason, be it fear, personal ambition, lack of reasoning, appear to support and at times facilitate horrendous acts of destruction. Few people would disagree with a statement that our world is a dark place at the moment.

And today, of all days, rather than note the situation, rather than wring our hands, offer a quick prayer, find ourselves engaging in political discourse – today we are asked to stop. To stop at the foot of the cross and just to be. To be present. To be in attendance. To look and not to turn away. To listen and not to close our ears. To feel the deep pain of our world and to stay with that feeling.

We find the staying really hard. We want to turn away. If not to protect ourselves, then to protect others. We don’t want to be exposed to raw grief and yet we shortchange ourselves if we try to avoid it. Sin comes at a price – and that price is painful to experience. That price is one we would prefer not to pay. That price can feel overwhelming; can feel unfair; can feel suffocating. And yet, time and again we choose complicity rather than challenge. We choose silence rather than using our voices. We choose to turn away, to deny all that is in front of our eyes. We go with the crowd rather than with our conscience.

So what happens to us if we dare to pause. If we dare to look, to really look, at the man on the cross? What happens to us if we imagine what it was like to be Mary or the beloved disciple, what it was like to watch as that precious life was extinguished. What happens to us if we imagine ourselves into the heads of the Roman soldiers who were tasked with hammering in the nails and raising the cross? Can we sit, even for a moment, with our visceral response?

And then, from that place of deep darkness and despair, from that place of emptiness where it is difficult to find hope, let’s remind ourselves that God’s love is ever present and stronger than even the darkest depths of human behaviour. The sacrifice on the cross was God’s enormous gift to humanity.

The sacrifice on the cross can only makes sense as an act of immersive identification with humanity, an act of solidarity with all that we are and all that we find ourselves capable of being and doing. God understands all that there is and could be within the human psyche. God understands our potential for good and for sinfulness. And that big picture is laid before us today. The depths of human depravity alongside the heights of divine love. God, in the embodied form of Jesus Christ chose to give his life; chose to give his life for us, for you and for me that we might find the courage to turn away from the temptations that surround us and turn again to the ways of God. The ultimate sacrifice serves to remind us that whoever we are and whatever we have the potential to do, we are known, we are seen, we are loved.

Inevitably we will sin time and again. We will let ourselves down, will fall short of our own potential. We will find ourselves paying the price of sin, bearing its weight. Today is, at least in part, an opportunity to be honest with ourselves, to own our own weaknesses and frailty. To look at the cross and to see not just the failings of others but to see ourselves. To see ourselves reflected in the faces of those who make up the wider scene. To dare to see something of ourselves reflected in the face of Jesus and to know, even for a fleeting moment, that he chose death in order that we might have the potential for life in all its fullness.

This isn’t a day for celebrating that fullness of life, that’s still to come; nor is it a day to turn away, to avoid the pain we cause ourselves and others. It’s a day to just be; to fully be who and how we are, to look at ourselves as we look at Jesus and to ask for the grace to pause at the foot of his cross and to share with him in the darkness and deep pain that we cause and experience both individually and collectively. Father, forgive us.