In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
Beloved in Christ,
On this most solemn day of the Christian year, we gather in the shadow of the Cross. The altars are bare, the bells are silent, and our hearts are heavy. This is not a time for noise or novelty. It is a time for stillness, for sorrow, and for sacred remembrance. Today we behold the Lamb of God, hanging upon the tree, despised and rejected, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.
The world does not like Good Friday. It is too grim, too honest, too real. The world wants Easter without Calvary, a crown without a cross, and a Savior who will entertain rather than redeem. But we know better. For we are the Church of the Crucified. And we know that *before there is an empty tomb, there must be a bloody cross.*
Isaiah, writing centuries before the birth of our Lord, speaks as though he stood at the foot of Golgotha. “He was wounded for our transgressions.” -Not His transgressions-, for He had none. Christ Jesus did not suffer as a sinner but for sinners. His passion was not the accident of history—it was the purpose of His incarnation. He was born to die.
St. Paul echoes Isaiah when he writes in 2 Corinthians 5:21: “For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.” In that holy exchange, Christ bore the wrath that we earned and gave us the righteousness we could never achieve.
Consider for a moment the trial before Pilate. The innocent was condemned so that the guilty—Barabbas—could go free. That is more than a historical detail. It is a living parable of the Gospel. You and I are Barabbas. We are the ones who deserved the chains. Yet Christ took our place. This is what theologians call *substitutionary atonement*, and it is not optional—it is the very heart of the Christian faith.
On Good Friday we proclaim that Christ died for us. And this is not some dry theological formula. It is a divine rescue. It is love in action. It is the Son of God lifting the burden of sin off our backs and carrying it up the hill of Calvary until it crushed Him. And in being crushed, He crushed the power of sin and death.
But let us not imagine that this was easy or automatic. No, our Lord suffered. He suffered in body—nailed, scourged, pierced. He suffered in soul—betrayed by friends, mocked by crowds, forsaken by the Father. The cry from the Cross—“My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?”—is not a loss of faith, but the deep agony of bearing our curse. Christ drank the cup of divine wrath to the dregs so that we might drink the cup of salvation.
It is fitting that our churches today are stripped of ornament. For so was He stripped—of dignity, of friends, of life itself. We do not dress up Good Friday. We bow before it.
Yet, paradoxically, this day is not called Bad Friday or Tragic Friday. It is *Good* Friday. Why? Because the death of Jesus is not a defeat—it is a victory. “It is finished,” He said—not “I am finished,” but "it". The work of redemption is complete. The veil of the Temple was torn. Access to God has been opened. The serpent’s head is crushed. The law is satisfied. The ransom is paid.
What, then, shall we do?
First, we repent. The cross confronts us with the depth of our sin. No self-help scheme can wash away what put Christ on that Cross. It was our pride, our lust, our cruelty, our rebellion. And until we weep over our sin, we have not yet understood Good Friday.
Second, we believe. The old hymn says it rightly: “Nothing in my hand I bring, simply to Thy cross I cling.” We cannot earn what Christ freely gives. But we must receive it—by faith, with trembling gratitude.
Third, we follow. Christ calls us to take up our own cross—not to atone for sin, for He alone has done that—but to die to self and live for Him. There is no Christianity without the Cross, and no discipleship without sacrifice.
Finally, we wait. Good Friday is not the end of the story. But we must not rush past it. Let the silence of Holy Saturday settle over you. Sit with the sorrow. Feel the weight. For only then will the alleluias of Easter burst forth with meaning.
Beloved, Christ has died. He has died for you.
Come, then, to the foot of the Cross. Kneel before the Savior who loved you unto death. And hear again the solemn, saving word: “By His stripes, we are healed.”
