NOTE: The context of this sermon was a "Good Friday" service. The service began with a reading from C.S. Lewis’ "The Magician’s Nephew" in which Aslan ’sang’ Narnia into being. The prologue from John was also read. After some music, the crucifixion narrative was read, and then this sermon was preached. There was no music to conclude the service.
In human terms, the narrative that we have heard tonight is absolutely absurd. Ridiculous. Impossible.
When you heard the Prologue of John tonight, you may have been perplexed or surprised. Not because the words are unfamiliar, (“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…and the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us”), but because we are unaccustomed to hearing these words outside their traditional context of Advent and Christmas. To hear these words read together with the violent words of John 18 and 19 makes us uncomfortable. We’d rather separate these two sections of John’s Gospel—keeping Chapter 1 safely within our Christmas liturgies, and Chapters 12 through 20 for use during Holy Week. It offends our sensibilities to combine these passages in one dramatic reading, and yet that is precisely what the Evangelist did—for all of the passages we have heard tonight are part of the complete Gospel of our Lord and Savior Jesus the Christ.
What is it that makes us uncomfortable about hearing John 1 juxtaposed against John 18 and 19? It is this fact—Jesus is the Light of the World. And Good Friday reminds us that for three awful days we were able to snuff out that light.
We could get into a great theological discussion tonight about what happened to Jesus between His death on Friday and His resurrection on Sunday. We could delve into the history of the creeds, particularly those versions that state that “Jesus descended into Hades.” Did He in fact descend to Hades? Did He preach to the dead or set captives free? Or, did He somehow further suffer for the sins of the world?
I’m not sure we could really assert with any sense of dogma any one of those theories. At best, Scripture only alludes to what may have happened with Jesus during those dark days. And at worst, as some scholars maintain, those so-called ‘allusions’ are speaking about something different altogether, and Scripture remains silent on the matter of what happened to Jesus at His death.
But this much we can be certain of. Jesus was really dead.
Period.
No ifs. No ands. No buts.
He died and was buried in a tomb. The Light of the world was extinguished.
I want you to consider that thought this evening. What does it mean to say that mere mortals snuffed out the Light of the world?
Or put another way, imagine a tranquil scene at the ocean, where a painter sits with his easel, carefully applying paint from his palette to the canvas in front of him. He is painting the blue sky, the waves breaking in on the rocks, and the birds circling the lobster boat in the distance. As he nears the completion of this great masterpiece, the paint rebels, squeezes itself out of the tubes, off the canvas, and proceeds to drown the artist in his own paint. The paint kills the painter.
Or, imagine if you went to the Symphony, and enjoyed the awe-inspiring music as the musicians breathed life into their instruments, giving them the song. As they reached the climactic moment of the concert, the instruments decided that they no longer wanted to be played by this group of musicians, and they took the life that had been given them and proceeded to clobber and beat the musicians and conductor to death. By doing so, they kill not only the musicians, but they destroy their own song.
Examples abound. Imagine words jumping off the page and murdering the writer. Imagine actors in a play refusing to perform the way the playwright intended—and carrying him by force out of the theater where they hang him on the marquee as an example to other playwrights who want their work performed the way it was written. Imagine stained glass in a window jumping out of its leading, and stabbing the artisan.
That’s the great mystery of Good Friday, that we struggle to understand. The great paradox of the Gospel is that Jesus was light and life—and we killed Him. He was there at the foundation of the earth, and we killed Him. Through Him all things were made; without Him nothing was made that has been made. From Him and to Him and through Him are all things. And yet, the creation rebelled and killed the Creator.
In Philippians it says that Jesus humbled himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross. Jesus, the Word of God, the Light of the World, became obedient, not only to the Father, but He also subjected Himself to the creation that wished to destroy Him.
To use John’s words, the light shined in the darkness, but the darkness did not understand it. Though the world was made through Him, the world did not recognize Him…His own did not receive Him. Instead, they killed the author of life.
That’s what Peter is recorded as saying in our New Testament lesson today, found in Acts chapter 3. He and John had just healed the crippled beggar at the temple gate, and a crowd of onlookers had gathered around in astonishment that they had been able to perform such a miraculous feat:
"When Peter saw this, he said to them: “Men of Israel, why does this surprise you? Why do you stare at us as if by our own power or godliness we had made this man walk? The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God of our fathers, has glorified His servant Jesus. You handed Him over to be killed, and you disowned Him before Pilate, though he had decided to let Him go. You disowned the Holy and Righteous One and asked that a murderer be released to you. You killed the author of life…"
Let us never forget that while you and I may not have stood in that crowd 2000 years ago that shouted “Crucify Him,” it was as though our sins nailed Him to the tree. We bear as much responsibility for the death of Jesus as did Pilate, Annas, Caiaphas, or even Judas. “Their hearts are not as black as we might suppose, and ours are not as white as we might like to believe.”
Paul tells us that “All have sinned and fallen short of the Glory of God.” In other words, we are just like the shards of stained glass attacking the artisan. We are like the paint trying to drown the painter. We are like words that kill the author, actors who lynch the playwright. We are like the instruments who kill the very musicians that breathe life into them. For we have sinned. We have rebelled. We have betrayed, denied, and abandoned the Christ.
In short, we have killed the song, and chose to sing our own song instead. We have preferred our own ways of selfish living, materialism, pride, racism, and greed. We have indulged in our own lusts instead of serving the world around us. We have built our own castles and kingdoms at the expense of the Kingdom of God. We all, like sheep, have gone astray. Each of us has turned to his own way. We have jumped off the stage of the Divine Narrative, and chosen to sing our own song and write our own play.
We have killed the author of life.
And yet, the story does not end there with complete and total desperation. You will hear the conclusion to the cross and the grave on Sunday morning, but I want you to hear again the important conclusion to our lesson from John chapter one.
For there is still a glimmer of hope on this night of darkness. There is still hope for you and for me. For right after John writes, “He came to His own, but His own did not receive Him,” the Evangelist also writes these words—“But…to those who did receive Him, to those who believed in His Name…He gave the right to become Children of God.”
Yes. You may have killed the song. You may have murdered the very author of life. You may have jumped off the stage of the Divine Narrative and started writing your own script. But the story doesn’t have to end there. You are still invited to repent and receive Him—to believe on His Name—and to become a child of God.
On Palm Sunday, I read this quote from Henri Nouwen, which I’d like to leave you with tonight:
"Jesus went to Jerusalem to announce the Good News to the people of that city. And Jesus knew that He was going to put a choice before them: Will you be my disciple, or will you be my executioner? There is no middle ground here. Jesus went to Jerusalem to put people in a situation where they had to say yes or no. That is the great drama of Jesus’ passion: He had to wait upon how people were going to respond."
How will you respond to Jesus?
How will you respond to Jesus?
(Listen to this sermon online @ http://www.capenazarene.org/ftp/sermonaudio/cecn_041406_goodfriday.mp3)
