Matthew 27:11-31
On Good Friday
One in a series of Lenten sermons on the events of Holy Week
Pilate said to them, “Then what should I do with Jesus who is called
the Messiah?”
All of them said, “Let him be crucified!” Mt. 27:22
Crosses appear on the road side where fatal accidents have
happened. During times of stress and
illnesses, people are often given crosses or wear a cross. Kieran Doherty’s grim photograph of the aftermath
of the tsunami is profound in plumbing the spiritual depths of our response to
the cross’s meaning. There, on
The cross is a symbol of suffering. The cross gathers up all the feelings of desolation, the pain, the loss, and unanswered questions “Why?.” Because Jesus suffered, the cross is the reminder that wherever human beings suffer, God suffers also. God suffers with us and for us through Jesus.
Within the Roman Catholic tradition, the suffering of God in Christ is poignantly demonstrated in the Crucifix, the cross with Jesus hanging on it. One can not forget the cost and suffering when the Crucifix is before them; nor can the suffering still present in the world be glibly dismissed or ignored. Where suffering persists, God is present. Suffering is in God, and suffering is where God and humanity meet in redemptive love.
Because of Easter, suffering is not the last word. Because of Easter we can look upon the cross and say: “Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases...he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed.”[2]
The empty cross found in most Protestant churches is also symbol of hope and a call to discipleship to enter the world’s suffering working with for God’s redemptive purposes. Jesus called us to that paradox of losing our lives to gain them; of taking up our cross and following.
Before Easter, on that Friday that can only be called “Good”
because of Easter, Jesus faced a crowd.
On that Friday morning, the cross was only the instrument of Roman
execution; just as, hanging, firing squads, gas chambers, electric chairs, and
lethal injection have been the instruments of executing criminals in the
civilized world. On that Friday, the
cross was merely another means of capital punishment, and as the old hymn goes “an emblem of suffering and shame.”
On that Friday the crowd was out to get Jesus. Even when offered the opportunity of releasing him, according to Matthew, the crowd clamored all the more for Barabbas to be set free and for Jesus to be crucified. When questioned “what evil has Jesus done,” the crowd grew all the more insistent – “Let him be crucified.”
As much as Pilate wanted to wash the responsibility of Jesus’ execution from his hands, he could not. He did not stop the execution. He was more afraid of a riot than doing an injustice. Matthew reported that the chief priest and elders were stirring everyone up, but was that enough for the crowd to demand crucifixion? The crowd, caught up in the emotionalism, had passed the point of no return. A spirit of vengeance, of meanness, of power beyond their individual abilities to control pervaded them. Each person lost his or her ability to choose what was right, to reason, and swept by the momentum of the crowd, chose Barabbas. It was peer pressure in the extreme, following the crowd, not thinking for themselves. What one would not do by himself, the anonymity of the crowd provided her the cover to act out.
Crowds gone vicious are not an ancient phenomenon. It happens in stadiums across the world between the fans of competing teams. It happens in the corridors of high schools when cruel gossip wounds the one out of step with the crowd. It happens in arena of public opinion when we not only disagree with someone’s opinion, but then need to demonize that person and assassinate their character. Have not you and I sometime in our lives crossed the line to be part of the crowd? Swept up, sometimes in positive cheering, but also embarrassed by our participation in what we knew was not right? Oh, perhaps no one died, but no one was affirmed by our participation, least of all ourselves.
It was on the Friday
That they ended it all.
Of course,
They didn’t do it one by one.
They weren’t brave enough.
All the stone at the one time
Or no stones thrown at all.
They did it in crowds…
In crowds where you can feel safe
And lose yourself
And shout things
You would never shout on your own,
And do thing
You would never do
If you felt the camera was watching you.
It was a crowd in the church that did it,
And a crowd in civil service that did it,
And a crowd in the street that did it,
And a crowd on the hill that did it.
And he said nothing.
He took the insults,
The bruises,
The spit on the face,
The thongs on the back,
the curses in the ears.
He took the sight of his friends turning away,
Running away.
And he said nothing.
He let them do their worst
Until their worst was done,
As on Friday they ended it all…
And would have finished themselves
Had he not cried,
“Father, forgive them…”
And began the revolution.[3]