Good Friday: Why?

On this most terrible of nights, I wish I could understand.

Because it is hard for me to understand.

There seemed to be so many other scenarios where this did not have to happen, where Pilate may have refused the will of the crowd to release Barabbas.

Where the leadership of an occupied peoples might have looked at Jesus differently.

Where the anger that met Jesus’ march to Golgotha could have been directed against the occupiers that would murder him.

Yet the only scenario that matters, I suppose, is the one that happened.

Jesus, met in the lush garden of a desert oasis was found and captured by Pilate’s men.

Where he could have asked his disciples to create a distraction or fight his would be captors, Jesus chose to be peacefully taken to Annas, father-in-law of Caiaphas the high priest.

Peacefully, for Jesus was to fulfill scripture in which he said not a single one of his disciples would be lost, not a single one who God had given him.

Still, Annas could have decided this itinerant teacher from Galilee was not a threat and did not need to be escorted to Caiaphas.

Yet it was in the courtyard of the building where Jesus was brought that Peter denied him three times.

And Jesus was removed from Annas to the home of Caiaphas.

After that, Jesus was taken from Caiaphas’ place to Pilate’s palace.

Why during that journey from castle to castle did Jesus not pick up some dirt, spit in his hands to make mud and then wipe the eyes of his captors so they might see that this was all a mistake.

That they could squint through muddied eyes and see that none of this was necessary?

That Jesus posed no harm?

Could those who stole him away into the night not see that they captured their very own liberator?

But then it was at Pilate’s compound where we learn his wife had a dream warning her husband away from prosecuting Jesus.

And then Christ was marched through crowds who would scorn and abuse him to a hilltop where he was crucified.

Malcom Guite writes,

See, as they strip the robe from off his back

And spread his arms and nail them to the cross,

The dark nails pierce him and the sky turns black,

And love is firmly fastened onto loss.

But here a pure change happens. On this tree

Loss becomes gain, death opens into birth.

Here wounding heals and fastening makes free

Earth breathes in heaven, heaven roots in earth.

And here we see the length, the breadth, the height

Where love and hatred meet and love stays true

Where sin meets grace and darkness turns to light

We see what love can bear and be and do,

And here our saviour calls us to his side

His love is free, his arms are open wide.

And upon that hill beneath that cross, Roman soldiers cast lots for his tunic.

By rolling dice for his clothing, those soldiers were fulfilling scripture.

From Guite,

You can’t go on, you go on anyway

He goes with you, his cradle to your grave.

Now is the time to loosen, cast away

The useless weight of everything but love

For he began his letting go before,

Before the worlds for which he dies were made,

Emptied himself, became one of the poor,

To make you rich in him and unafraid.

See as they strip the robe from off his back

They strip away your own defences too

Now you could lose it all and never lack

Now you can see what naked Love can do

Let go these bonds beneath whose weight you bow

His stripping strips you both for action now

From the cross, Jesus called out that he was thirsty, he, the living water thirsted for something to drink.

On that cross Jesus was given sour wine and after tasting the wine pucker his parched tongue, he cried out.

It.

Is.

Finished.

Guite concludes,

The dark nails pierce him and the sky turns black

We watch him as he labours to draw breath

He takes our breath away to give it back,

Return it to it’s birth through his slow death.

We hear him struggle breathing through the pain

Who once breathed out his spirit on the deep,

Who formed us when he mixed the dust with rain

And drew us into consciousness from sleep.

His spirit and his life he breathes in all

Mantles his world in his one atmosphere

And now he comes to breathe beneath the pall

Of our pollutions, draw our injured air

To cleanse it and renew. His final breath

Breathes us, and bears us through the gates of death.

His thirst, his discomfort, his need for but a drop of a drink to quench his thirst, was fulfilling scripture.

And as the day wore on, this day of Preparation, the authorities became concerned that the crucifixion would continue into the Sabbath.

A soldier pointed his spear at Jesus’ side, next to his abdomen.

Perhaps he was trying to poke the body to ensure there was no reaction, no remaining nerves reflexing against the touch of a pointed spear.

Rather than a glancing touch though, the soldier’s spear pierced the body.

From the wound created flowed water and blood.

Still though, our Messiah was already dead.

No bone on his body had been broken and again, scripture was fulfilled.

On this most terrible of nights, I wish I could understand.

Flee, Jesus!

Turn however many cheeks you need to turn, remove yourself from here.

And yet, alas, I do not understand why all of this happened and could not have been avoided.

Why scripture had to be fulfilled.

Why our savior died hanging on a cross before the weeping eyes of his mother.

Why did this happen?

It doesn’t make sense.

And it won’t make sense.

It won’t make sense until we understand there might be more to the story.

Until we see our servant king prosper, until we lift him up once more.

Yet that is not tonight’s story.

Tonight’s story, I do not understand.

Understanding will come later.

For now, we weep.

We pray.

We look for the easter light.

Seeing none, we pray.

We weep.

Amen.