SERMON:  GOOD FRIDAY 2005 

John 18:1-19:42 

Crucified God, have mercy on us.  Amen. 

And so it is ended: that long journey that began 33, 34 years ago when Gabriel visited Mary. She cradled him in her womb and then in her arms and here, now, at the end, she cradles him again – but this time it is not a lively baby she holds, but the still, lifeless form of a man who has died in agony. 

Jesus’ teaching and ministry were about love, the love that brings wholeness of body, of mind and of spirit; the love of God transforming, renewing and rebuilding the world. Never was that love seen more clearly than in those last days, in that death.

And ironically, in those last days, humanity’s incapacity to respond to that love was played out in starker terms than at any other time. Unconditional, uncompromising, sacrificial love is met by human weakness. 

Judas, one of the twelve, motivated by God only knows what – disappointment? greed? anger? – publicly pointed Jesus out to the soldiers. No doubt the soldiers knew who Jesus was, but the rules demanded that he be properly identified before they could arrest him. Judas’ betrayal was no spur of the moment whim. He had gone and entered into an agreement to do it; he received payment and set up the arrangements. What possessed him?  

We know that he repented, that he tried to give the money back – but far too late. The consequences of his action rolled on, regardless of his change of heart. At one level, Jesus’ death was not Judas’ fault –the authorities were determined to get Jesus and if Judas had not been willing to betray him, they would have found some other way to achieve their end. But Judas did betray him, Judas did turn on someone he had loved, and was appalled by what he had done.  

Judas is remembered in the tradition as the traitor. But Peter’s actions are also highly questionable. Misunderstanding what was to happen, and forgetting all that Jesus had taught about turning the other cheek, Peter tried to defend Jesus using violence and cutting off a slave’s ear. And then, although absolutely sure that he would never deny his Lord, Peter did precisely that. Not once, but three times. What possessed him? Fear? Probably. Impulsive, passionate Peter, so certain of himself, only to discover that he was wrong about himself and to be appalled by what he had done. 

Annas and Caiaphas, high religious officials, responsible for the worship of God – did they not recognise God amongst them? Were they so lost in their own expectations, so caught up in their own view of how things should be, that they could not see the drama that was being played out before them? Was Caiaphas’ view that one person should die for the people simple expediency or a well-thought through theological stance? Did he not see who that one person was, did he not look? The chief priests also failed completely in their duty to God – so determined to defend the religious institution that they rejected the one they should have celebrated, listened to, worshipped.  

Pilate, governor, holder of ultimate political power in that troubled state, where did he stand in all of this? Did he really get what he wanted after all? Was he, as the ABC Compass program suggested last Sunday, a skilled manipulator, a deft politician, who managed to get the outcome he wanted while appearing to be innocent of Jesus’ blood? Or was he, as the text suggests, trying to release Jesus, but unwilling to cross the religious authorities? Powerful, but perhaps not willing to risk confrontation with the religious elite for the sake of one man. 

Judas, Peter, the priests, Pilate: in their failures we see our own failures. We see our own betrayals, our own decisions based on fear, on expediency, on self-interest.  

Surrounded by all of this, knowing it, experiencing the pain of betrayal, of human failure, in his heart and his body, Jesus did not turn away from his fate. Perfect love can do nothing else but to offer itself to human imperfection. 

Good Friday confronts us with the reality of our imperfection and the cost of that imperfection. Who bears that cost? Other people, certainly, but also, inescapably and most profoundly of all, it is God who bears the cost.  

Faced with this love, how do we respond? It is in some ways almost too much, too overwhelming, indeed, desperately uncomfortable to be so loved. But we are. Can we bear to gaze on the face of love? Can we see the head bowed in pain, the acceptance of betrayal, fear and weakness, the faithfulness to God taken to the point of death, and can we respond to this awe-inspiring, earth-shattering love with love and gratitude ourselves? This stark picture of what happens when humanity and God meet calls us to repentance, to grief and to love.  

‘Truly this man was the Son of God.’  Amen.