Good? Friday

One of the most riveting sermons I've ever heard was preached by the Rev. Pat Geerdes on this holiday years ago. I still remember the opening and closing lines of that sermon: “They call this Good Friday but to me it is the day of death.”

Today we commemorate the death of Christ, the execution of God Incarnate by those created in his image. So why do we call it Good Friday? Are we being ironic?

On that original Friday, the disciples would have been horrified at the thought of calling it good. They would have had a lot of feelings about it, none of them good.

Some of them would have been in shock. It would have seemed unreal. They would have been confused, unable to take it all in. Just a week ago, Jesus was hailed by crowds as he rode into Jerusalem. Now there were people screaming for Jesus' blood. How could things have changed so radically in so little time?

Some of them may have been devastated and depressed. They have lived with Jesus for 3 years. They had seen him heal the sick, cast out demons, multiply food, calm the winds, and walk on water. They were sure he was the Messiah. Now he's crying out, “My God, my God, why have you deserted me?” How could this happen? How could they have been so wrong?

Some of them felt guilty—guilty of not stopping his arrest, guilty of running away in the night when the best and wisest man they knew was hauled away by soldiers. Peter in particular would have been heartsick. He denied Jesus 3 times, the last time within Jesus' hearing. The Lord turned and looked at him. How could Peter forget that look? How could he go on, knowing that that was the last time they would see each other? Now he will never hear the words he heard Jesus say a thousand times to others, “Your sins are forgiven.” The big fisherman must have been wept bitter tears all that night and all this day.

Some must have felt grief-stricken. The beloved disciple was the only male disciple to risk being spotted and arrested by going to the cross. He sees his best friend, hanging naked and bloody on a tree, taunted by his enemies, treated with professional indifference by those detailed to oversee his death. He stands by his friend's keening mother, who is watching her child die in pain. Then Jesus looks up from his agony, shakes the blood and sweat from his brow, focuses on his mother and, struggling for breath, croaks, “Woman, behold your son.” A wail comes from deep within Mary. Jesus' eyes make an effort to seek the face of the pupil he especially loved. He takes another tortured breath and through cracked and bleeding lips says, “Here is your mother.” The disciple goes to Mary, who looks as if she is about to collapse. They cling to each other, seeking and giving the comfort they cannot share with the man they love.

At least one of the disciples reacted with despair. We don't know why Judas betrayed Jesus. Was it because of the money? John says that Judas, the treasurer, was stealing funds but we don't know why. And even though the price he was given was the equivalent of 4 months pay, he throws it away when he sees Jesus condemned. Why? Did he change his mind about wanting Jesus dead? Did he, as some suggest, think that by putting Jesus into the hands of his enemies he could force him to become the kind of Messiah everyone expected—God's warrior king? If so, how did Judas feel when Jesus told Peter to put up his sword, “For all who draw the sword will die by the sword. Do you think I cannot call upon my Father, and he will at once put at my disposal more than 12 legions of angels? But how then would the scriptures be fulfilled...?” As the soldiers dragged Jesus away, did it begin to dawn on Judas that he was mistaken about Jesus' messianic mission? When the Sanhedrin condemns Christ and takes him to Pilate, we are told that Judas is filled with remorse. Whatever his motivation, whether noble or not, he now sees it for what it is: evil and corrupt. An innocent man will die because of his actions. There is no justification for it. Sadly, his last act shows that he doesn't understand the gospel. In an inverted form of arrogance, he feels that his sin is too great for God to forgive. The truth is that he cannot forgive himself. He becomes his own judge, jury and executioner.

We do not know what the other disciples did. Did they react with anger? Did some of them try to find Judas and punish him? If so, they were too late.

Did some of them seek to forget? Did they buy some Passover wine and try to wash the reality of what happened from their minds?

Or did they simply succumb to the pain? Did they find some hole to crawl into, away from the ghastly spectacle outside the walls of Jerusalem, away from the people who arrested him and might arrest them?

Let us put ourselves in their place. The bottom has fallen out of their universe. Dying on the cross alongside Jesus is their faith in a good and just God. Dying on a gnarled tree, stripped of branches and covered in gore, are their hopes for the coming of the kingdom. Dying on the side of the road are the dreams of a new era for mankind. The nails that pinion his arms and legs paralyze them. The blood that runs in rivulets from his wrists and ankles and brow and back drains them of all energy to fight. The spear that pierces his heart stops their ability to feel anything but the emptiness of their hearts. As his body is wrapped and laid in a tomb, they tie up their expectations and put them on a shelf to molder unseen.

In Jerusalem this night, scattered among the festive pilgrims, are a small group of individuals whose 3 year journey has come to a dead end. The laughter of their neighbors celebrating the Passover only deepens their misery. They cannot think of tomorrow and the next day. All they see is an endless night of regrets, recriminations, and everlasting loss. For them it would be blasphemy to call this Good Friday for on this day, all that was good died.

It would take something huge and unexpected to change their minds.

This was originally preached on April 18, 2003. It has been slightly updated.