Good Friday

April 18, 2025

Good Friday is an emotional, complicated day. We are drawn into the story of Christ’s suffering, his torture and execution, and we are invited to enter into that story, to approach and experience it through hymns and devotions that have developed over the centuries. Some of those devotions can threaten to overwhelm us; some may repel us. But each of us in our own way is touched, moved, affected by it all.

We gather at a time when many of us are feeling other emotions: anger, fear, despair, as we watch events unfold around us, see the acts of domination and oppression that run roughshod over civic, legal, and moral norms. We may want to leave that cacophony outside on the streets but it invades our thoughts, troubles our hearts, and disrupts our sleep.

We feel impotence alongside all of our other emotions—impotence in the face of yet another mass shooting, impotence in the face of unjust deportations, the dismantling of the institutions that are supposed to protect all of us, and especially the most vulnerable, impotence as we watch the attacks on free speech, higher education, and all the rest, and the reluctance of those with power and influence to stand up against the onslaught.

Then we enter this service and encounter additional challenges. Our liturgy, and especially the gospel reading for today confronts us with one of the profound challenges for Christian faith in the contemporary world. The deep, persistent, ugly anti-Judaism of the Gospel of John is on full display in the passion narrative—the relentless repetition of “The Jews” in the gospel’s depiction of those who were opposed to Jesus and sought his death has had lasting consequences throughout history, in the Antisemitism that has persisted and led to ongoing acts of violence including the Holocaust. 

We are also all too aware of the weaponization of Antisemitism to quash dissent and free speech. At the same time, even on this most holy day of the Christian year, we are conscious of all the ways in which Christian imagery and faith have contributed to the marginalization and oppression of others. The power of Christian nationalism and white supremacy looms over the cross and all that we do here today.

Our liturgy today attempts to mitigate some of that damage. We are using an alternative liturgy approved by General Convention last year that attempts to undo some of the anti-Judaism of the language in the authorized Book of Common Prayer. The gospel we heard is an adaptation of John, rewording it to complicate the opponents of Jesus in the gospel—not just “the Jews” now but Jewish leaders, or parties within first century Judaism. It’s a start but perhaps seems either too little too late, or a futile attempt to stem the tide of Antisemitism and weaponized Antisemitism that threaten to overwhelm us all.

Given all that, given where we are today as we observe Good Friday, how might we find solace and strength in our liturgy to help make sense of our world, our lives, and inspire the courage to persist in our efforts to be faithful Christians? One possible answer to that question may lie in the example of Pilate. Known historically as a ruthless, even bloodthirsty tyrant, in the Gospels he is depicted as an unwilling and unwitting accomplice. John suggests Pilate knows Jesus is innocent of the charges levelled against him but seems impotent to resist the machinations and insistence of Jesus’ opponents. In the gospel of Matthew, we’re given the image of Pilate washing his hands and declaring his innocence of Jesus’ blood in front of the card, an image that has entered popular consciousness. This image of the feckless, spineless politician is one that seems to resonate today as too many of our leaders stand by haplessly as lawlessness and evil thrive.

While naming the Pilates among may offer us some consolation and schadenfreude, there are other ways of connecting the story we heard with the lives we are living today. As Jesus’ followers, we are called to follow him. In John’s telling, unlike the synoptic gospel accounts where Jesus is abandoned by his disciples on his last journey, the disciples accompany Jesus along the way. Peter still betrays Jesus but we’re told that the beloved disciple—I’ll leave them unnamed as in the gospel, is able to go with Jesus into the courtyard of the high priest. 

At the cross, the Beloved Disciple and Jesus’ mother Mary stand by watching and bearing witness, and other disciples, secret ones, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus are responsible for Jesus’ burial. Being present, bearing witness, these are important responsibilities. It may be that not all of us can take action, and the actions we can take may seem futile. But we can pay attention, bear witness, remember so that the voices of the vulnerable and suffering are amplified. In the gospel of Luke, we’re told that the women—the disciples—who followed Jesus from Galilee and ministered to him along the way, stood far off from the cross and watched and remembered.

To remember, to bear witness, to be present. As we contemplate the events of Good Friday, we see a deep and powerful paradox. On the one hand, we see the power of the Roman Empire bringing itself to bear on a lonely, humble teacher from Galilee who dared to challenge its power and might. On the other hand, we see Christ giving of himself for our lives and the life of the world. We see Christ, loving the world so much that he gives of himself, gives his life for us and in that giving shows us the power of love. 

We see Christ suffering and in his suffering we know he stands and suffers with all those today who are suffering—immigrants who have been deported for no reason, victims languishing in camps and prisons. He is present in the rubble of Gaza and Ukraine, on the streets of our cities. He is with us in our own lives, in our fears and despair. As we ponder the events of Good Friday today may we find in Christ, in the cross, love’s power to strengthen us to be present in a suffering world and to bear witness to the oppression and violence that surround us, and to minister to those in need. May we find in the cross the love we need to carry on.