Good Friday 2024

A reading from gospel of Matthew (27:46):

“And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Jesus lived a life, we could never live. He died a death that we deserve. To bring us to a place where He is, where the grave has no power and death no sting.

The author of the Book of Hebrews wrote, “But we do see Jesus, who was made lower than the angels for a little while, now crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.” (Heb 2:9)

There are times in all of our lives when grief overcomes us because we are robbed by sin and/or death. There are dreams unrealized, loved ones who have died, and hopes that can no longer be held onto. Anger that expectations or promises will go unfulfilled for reasons out of our control. If we have breath, disappointment will be part of life.

Jesus cries out from the cross, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”

This is a cry that many have had through difficult and unbearable circumstances. Those in hearing Jesus’ words that afternoon would recall the Psalmists words from Psalm 22.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish?”

I would summarize the first half of Psalm 22 as follows,

“God, I feel completely abandoned by you. I keep crying out for help, day and night, but there's no answer, no relief. You're supposed to be the Holy One that we praise and trusts in. Generations have trusted you, and you saved them. They cried out to you and were never let down.

But look at me - I'm treated like a worm, not even human. Everyone mocks and insults me, saying, "He trusts in God, so let God save him if he's so special."

You've been with me my whole life, from birth till now. Don't leave me now when I'm in deep trouble with no one else to turn to.”

The first half of Psalm 22 echoes the despair that many of us have felt in our own lives. We cry out for help, but God seems silent. We feel mocked, despised, and utterly alone. But as Jesus cried out the first line of this Psalm from the cross, He pointed us to the hope found in its conclusion. “He has done it”.

Through His death and resurrection, Jesus has conquered sin and death. He has ensured that we are never truly abandoned or forgotten. In our grief, we can find comfort knowing that the Lord has done it - He has provided a way for us to be reconciled to God and to experience the joy of His presence forever.

In this moment, as we reflect on the sacrifice of our Savior, let us not rush too quickly to the celebration of Sunday. Let us sit with the weight of Friday, the heaviness of the cross, and the darkness that seemed to overwhelm the world. It is in this space, where we confront our own brokenness and the brokenness of the world, that we can truly appreciate the magnitude of what Jesus has done for us.

Just as the disciples mourned and grieved, not yet understanding the fullness of God's plan, we too may find ourselves in seasons of sorrow and despair. But even in our darkest hours, we can cling to the hope that Sunday is coming. The same God who brought Jesus through the agony of the cross and the silence of the tomb is the God who walks with us in our pain and promises to bring us through to the other side.

So let us sit in the tension of this moment, acknowledging our need for a Savior and the depth of His love for us. Let us weep with those who weep and mourn with those who mourn, knowing that our tears are not in vain. For as we trust in the promise of resurrection, we can face even the darkest of Fridays with the assurance that Sunday is on the horizon.

Sunday is not yet, but Sunday is coming. And with it comes the promise of new life, of hope restored, and of a love that conquers even the grave. So let us leave this place in silence, carrying with us the weight of the cross and the hope of the empty tomb. May we find comfort in the knowledge that our God is a God of redemption, and that He is working even now to bring beauty from ashes and joy from mourning.

We leave in darkness and in silence, we return to the tomb on Easter morning.