Good Friday, March 29
Julie Hinz
When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. John 19:26-27
While we sit in the darkened church, we do our best to imagine the events of the first Good Friday. Amid the silence, the darkness, and the solemn music, we attempt to sit in the vastness of our sin. But let’s be honest, crucifixion is not pretty. There was no music, no somber hymns, no long and mournful prayers. It was bloody and excruciatingly painful. The air filled with the keening cries of the dying and the weeping of those who loved them. And yet, buried beneath the agony and fear, we encounter a promise fulfilled.
Jesus, having been beaten, abused, and forced to carry a weighty wooden cross on his bare back, now hangs by spikes in his hands and feet, on that same cross. Blood pours from the wounds inflicted by thorns dug into his brow. It pours also from his hands and feet where the spikes secure him to the cross. Sweat streams down his face as he looks out upon those who have followed him to his death. Specifically, he sees his mother and his dear disciple John. What they observe is horrific and frightening, to be sure. What Jesus observes is quite different.
Despite the gruesome circumstances, Jesus sees his beloved mother in her grief. He sees John, the disciple whom he loves, lost in his grief, confusion, and, I am sure, fear. It is here, that Jesus fulfills a promise of which we are not even conscious. Struggling to breathe, Jesus joins Mary and John as mother and son, fulfilling his earthly obligation to Mary, as her loving son, and asking John to take her into his home, to love and care for her as his own. Jesus connects them in a relationship deeper than friendship but as a beloved family and sharers of the same faith and experience. Bound together forever in love and faithfulness, in grief and perseverance. Even as he dies, Jesus thinks not about himself and what is happening to him but looks in love at those still at his feet and cares for them, drawing them close to each other so that they might be cared for and sustained in the days to come.
We often talk about how expansive and inclusive God’s love is. As I read this passage I am struck by how, no matter the agony Jesus endured, his love for us overrides it all. God’s awareness of our needs and his promise to be with us, provide for us, and love us overshadows everything else. If he can look past his agony and continue to tend to the needs of those at the foot of his cross, how much more will he continue to do the same for us? All these millennia later we can be certain God’s love for us overshadows all else.
For me, kind Jesus, was thine incarnation,
thy mortal sorrow, and thy life’s oblation,
Thy death of anguish and thy bitter Passion,
for my salvation. Amen.