It is finished. the passion behind Good Friday
The rooster had crowed three times.
The guilt of Peter and the scattered disciples including the treacherous Judas left a void.
In this void - Jesus had stood alone before his accusers.
Alone to face their sneering lies and brutal blows.
Cruel whips, Crowns of thorns, rivlets of blood, and closed fists
Mocking Jewish leaders and a troubled Roman Governor influenced by a dreaming wife and a roaring crowd had cleaned his hands in the dirtiest act in human history.
Pilates expediency and the Pharisees treachery had paved a path to a cross.
It was along this path that Jesus of Nazereth, son of God, now walked.
Among the bustle of a city bulging with Passover pilgrims the crucifixion procession now made it’s halting way.
The hardened Roman centurian riding along disdainful and aloof – scornful alike of child or cripple who might be in his way.
Now he who had had pity on the weak the sick the broken and powerless now saw them swept aside by legionaires, Legionaires, hardened by training and vicious campaigns, who treated people as obstacles, they had swords that they wouldn’t hesitate to use in their impatience to complete this tiresome task.
Compasssionate as he was all of Jesus’ attention was on the heavy beam that was being born on his shoulders.
The steady impatient – clanking march of the legionaires contrasted with the stumbling, pitiful stagger of the prisoners rushing on to their painful death. Only a pool of despair and darkness awaited them. Death would be a relief,
There were those who stared in disbelief and powerlessness on this procession – Days before in celbration they had welcomed the prisoner into the city – some had seen or received his healing touch and others had looked into those eyes of love and saw only love and yet here he was carrying the burden of cities hatred.
His scourged body could take no more and he stumbled while soldiers cursed and women gasped and a man called Simon from a place called Cyrene was dragged from the obscurity of the pilgim crowd to carry the Nazarene’s cross.
A few minutes before he had been a lonely pilgrim quietly approaching the Holy City.
Now he was walking in the midst of a execution parade – an unwilling participant but who would dare resist –
The destination was pain and then death and the procession now wound it’s way towards it.
Some with the fatal attraction of a moth attracted to a fire – followed more by compulsion that desire and Jesus whose life had so greatly blessed so many staggered on assigned to death with the thieves.
So they came to Calvary, a hill shaped like a skull, outside the city gate – bleak with the hush of death hovering over it.
With a ruthless efficiency oblivious to the screams of the prisoners the Romans went about their work – the thud of the hammer rising in pitch with the screams – reverberating around the place of death.
The hardened set their jaws – the indifferent considered their evenings entertainment and the centurian began to wonder what they were doing. Those who knew wiped tears from red eyes and looked powerlessly at the man on the cross.
The crosses were hoisted to the sky and the silence that precedes death hung uncomfortably over the gathered throng.
The uncomfortable silence prompted an unease that turned on Jesus.
"He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Christ of God, the Chosen One."
The soldiers having gambled for the clothes and impatient for death now turned on the prisoner.
The soldiers also came up and mocked him. They offered him wine vinegar and said, "If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself."
There was a written notice above him, which read: THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS.
One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him: "Aren’t you the Christ? Save yourself and us!"
But the other criminal rebuked him. "Don’t you fear God," he said, "since you are under the same sentence? 41 We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong."
Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom. "
Jesus answered him, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise."
It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour, 45 for the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. 46 Jesus called out with a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit." When he had said this, he breathed his last.
LK 23:47 The centurion, seeing what had happened, praised God and said, "Surely this was a righteous man." 48 When all the people who had gathered to witness this sight saw what took place, they beat their breasts and went away. 49 But all those who knew him, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things.
A moving and heart rending death –
Yet what is it that makes then call this – “The passion”
It is true that Jesus died a similar death to that of the two men around him.
There are some key differences but the truth of the matter does not lie there.
When men live for themselves as the thieves beside him had then they have to live with the results – good or bad.
When Edmund Hillary a New Zealand bee keeper stood on the top of Mount Everest with Sherpa Tensing back in 1953 – he gained a great deal of adulation and fame.
But it was for him.
Men will do amazing things to be famous and sometimes you will find self sacrifice in their midst.
There was a man called Captain Oates who gives us a small insight into the kind of passion for the needs of others on a trip for personal fame and fortune to the South Pole under Scott.
He knew what he had to do. It was his destiny. But knowing his fate did not make it any easier. He even knew how they were going to interpret this last act of his.
He would go down in the roll-call of human history as a brave man. A selfless hero, who knew that he was slowing down his comrades. He was going to sacrifice himself so that the others might have a chance to make it to the next supply depot. He could see it now, as if he was reading accounts of it years later.
The wind moaned in the force four gale, lashing the snow like sand against the bruised canvas of the tent. The snow had crystalized when the temperature dipped below minus forty. Dragging the sleds through it had been murderous, excruciating, and Titus could not stand the pain in his feet any more. They were frostbitten, and going to gangrene.
Scott was a foolish explorer, but it had been the weather that killed them as much as his bad planning. Titus understood that now; he could not blame, or resent, Robert Falcon Scott. But there was guilt. Enormous guilt. He staggered to his feet, and walked to the exit.
"I am just going outside and may be some time," Titus said.
The others did not say anything, though the look in Wilson’s eyes was haunting. They were open, luminescent with fear, and liquid with admiration. Titus felt like a coward, and would carry it with him to the end.
Since they’d lost the race to the South Pole, the fight had gone out of them. They were putting up a good show, naturally, naturally. Jolly brave and all that, but they were going to perish. And now they all knew that Titus was going to be next.
He had long since stopped noticing the raw grandeur of the place. The relentless cold they’d suffered for the past three weeks had torn the last shred of awe from him. That was for the best, now. There wasn’t really anything to see except for the swirl of the blizzard. He closed the tent flap behind him, and staggered out away from the other explorers forever.
It had been a tough mission, and he was glad it was almost over. He was as afraid to die as the others - more. Their collective resilience and stupidity amazed him. He’d only born the suffering because he knew he would get out, in this final gallant act. A light cut through the whiteout, spilling on the ground. A brief lull in the wind. And he was gone.(source intternet unknown.)
Such bravery – typically British doesn’t begin to compare with the passion of Jesus Christ.
Then in the 20th century there was the King who gave up his crown.
Edward shocked the world when he gave up his right to the throne of England to marry a American divorcee Mrs Simpson. A tragic love story – of a man who gave up his right to the most powerful throne in the world for love doesn’t begin to offer even a shadow to the passion shown by Jesus Christ – nor could it.
This passion, the passion of the Duke , suffers even further with recent suggestions that he passed on Englands secrets to Adolf Hitler in World war 2.
But Jesus.
He hung on the cross – for no personal gain.
There are no mixed motives here.
He suffered because he loved intensely and personally every man woman and child that ever lived.
This is no love tainted with personal ambition or selfish gain. It is in fact the only love that is completely sinless. Not only is there no taint of sin. Jesus went to his death knowing that if he could endure the pain of the cross – completely undeserving as He was – that he would carry into death your sin and mine – in fact the sin of every man woman and child - irrespective of origin -
down into the grave –
One man – a perfect sacrifice for sin that has now been dealt with once and for all.
Here is passion that matters and demands attention. While much of the world mocks – increasing millions are realizing the impact and importance of this incredible act of love. Jesus, years before this event both predicted and described it and spelt out the truth about it He said:- “
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son that whosoever believes in him shall not perish but shall have everlasting life.”
This morning – Good Friday – invites the Christian to respond – I want to invite you to put a nail in the cross up here this morning as a reminder of our dependance on Christ and his passion for our salvation.
Communion is available as well and you might want – during this time of quiet music and the reminder of banging nails to reflect again on the death of Christ and the impact of His death on our lives.
Some style help and "borrowing" from Peter Marshall’s Were you there sermon - which I recommend as the Good Friday Sermon par excellence.
feel free to write
John gullick
jgullick@xtra.co.nz
