GOOD FRIDAY – 2003

Human beings are people of stories. We tell stories to teach who we are to others, we share our stories to reveal something of ourselves, we listen to others recall their stories so as to come closer in relationship. Human beings love a good story – we settle in for a riveting tale, we anticipate the next word, we cry and laugh, we shake our heads and raise our eyebrows, we hold our breath and we let out huge sighs of relief. We live the stories we tell and we feel the stories we hear.

All year long, as people of the Christian story, we lurk around the edges of the story we tell tonight, the part we don’t really like very much, the part where everything seems to go wrong, the part where a young person we have come to like very much dies. It is such a curiously difficult part of our story that we have decided to call it “Good Friday”, instead of maybe ‘dark Friday’ or ‘ the dying day’ or even ‘our saddest day’. Tonight’s story is hard for us because we like happy endings and tough heroes, we like justice to be done to the bad guys and we like the part where the bad guys know they have been caught. When we watch it in movies, we burst into cheering applause and nervous happy laughter. We like the scene when it is big and loud and good wins and darkness fails.

So it is uncomfortable to hear the story of our sweet friend being condemned, knowing no one is going to come busting through the door to save him; it is painful to watch the scene where they take our loving teacher and nail him to a wooden beam and he does nothing to stop them; it is too sad to hear him whisper that he is thirsty, so hopeless to hear him give out “it is finished”.

I have often wanted to look beyond this part of the story and jump to the happier place where everything is all right and all manner of things are well. But, when I do, if I do, I miss the greatest gift and a deep blessing. That in fact, this part of the story is the part where a fabulous birthing is happening – that what appears to be death is in fact life, that what feels like it is life-taking is in truth life-giving, that what looks like a travesty of justice is actually a profoundly settling truth.

Jesus is found guilty of telling the truth. We often say that Jesus was the one ‘without sin’, the holy son who knew no wrong deed. To say this is to say, Jesus always made life-giving choices, that he spoke truth, that he did not say or do things that killed hope or love or faith or trust or learning or growing in himself or in others. Now that might sound easy and it might sound obvious…but it is not.

To offer the truth may mean naming or taking responsibility for an addiction, it might mean owning abusive actions or words, it may require looking at a judgment or a prejudice. Speaking a truth may mean forgiving and loving where we do not want to forgive or love; it may mean letting go of a want or a desire that we hold for someone else – it will most certainly mean taking stock of who we are.

And maybe this is where the story gets really rough for us – hiding our truth is a cultural norm, we are taught to keep our struggles a secret, we are encouraged to bury our fears, we are praised for not breaking down, giving in, letting go. Jesus is found guilty of telling the truth and we are pretty sure his fate will be ours if we start telling our truth – and there is the blessing! His fate will be ours if we live into truth and life-giving choices. For this is where true peace lies and where there is perfect freedom – ah, such a sweet, sweet thought. To live in peace and feel free to be.

Barbara Brown Taylor is an Episcopal priest who tells the story of a retreat she attended where the leader asked, “Who is the most Christ like person you have ever known?” The participants were allowed to ponder this question. Coming together to share their answers, one woman said, “This was a hard question for me, for I thought, who is the person in my life who speaks truth so clearly I want to kill them for it?” Maybe you have been the person who wanted to do the killing and maybe you have been the person others have wanted to kill – possibly you have been both. Neither place is easy to be in. No, it wasn’t easy for Jesus either.

It is still Good Friday; this night is not yet over. There is still time to take stock, to embrace a difficult truth or let go of something life-taking. And the reality is, tonight is just the beginning of our story because what looks like death is going to actually be, eternal, everlasting life. Amen