Remembering Friday…

We are sometimes a little uncomfortable with Good Friday, rushing past it quickly to arrive at Easter Sunday. So much nicer to start a day with chocolate eggs than to reflect on a day of execution. Yet unless we feel the weight of the Friday, we will miss much of the mystery of Easter. If you are a theologian you might say that a theology of suffering must precede a theology of glory, lest the latter becomes trite and superficial.

So this Good Friday I have been noting the things I need to remember…

I need to leave the last supper and walk to the Garden of Gethsemane. I need to pause – is that Jesus, crying out to God, “Father if it is possible, take this cup of suffering from me”? I need to see him sweating, as it were, great drops of blood. I need to feel the loneliness of spotting the disciples sleeping. I need to see the soldiers arrive, and feel the shock of Judas’ kiss of betrayal (“Judas, why?”) I need to stand and watch the trial and ask myself: “Why am I so reluctant to be identified as a follower of Jesus?” I must hear Pilate’s verdict, “I find no wrong in him – but crucify him anyway (just don’t blame me)”. I must not forget the whipping, the purple robe, the crown of thorns, the mocking soldiers bullying cry: “Hail, king of the Jews.”

I need to walk the Via Dolorosa – the road of tears and suffering. Like Simon of Cyrene, for a moment I must feel the weight of the Cross – and then hand it back to Jesus, and watch him being nailed to it.

I must stand with the small crowd of the faithful (just a few women), and get as close to the Cross as I can. In subdued shock I will hear the crowd sneer, “He saved others, he cannot save himself.”

I will hear the seven words from the Cross: “Father forgive them for they know not what they do”; to the thief “Today you will be with me in Paradise”; to Mary and John, “Behold your son; behold your mother”; to God, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”; to the soldiers, “I thirst”; to God, “Into your hands I commend my Spirit”; to us all “It is finished.”

I need to see the earth split, the sun refuse to shine, and all of nature join me as I weep at the death of the man who was God.

And even as I weep, I need to hear the astonished cry of the Roman Centurion: “Surely this man was the Son of God.”

Photo by Murilo Soares: https://www.pexels.com/photo/sculpture-of-jesus-hung-on-the-cross-6978414/

This post is a lightly edited version of the post for Good Friday 2020. You are free to forward and repost it. You can reproduce material from the blog with acknowledgement of its source.