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A Homily For Good Friday
Inspirational Messages
Written by Wade Wiles   
Preached by Fr David Stangebye Houk, Curate, St Matthias, Dallas, Texas
18 April 2003 - Good Friday

Scripture: Isaiah 52:13-53:12; St John 18:1-19:37

Yeah, there was a lot of excitement six days ago when he came to town. I was there. I work just a stone's throw from the Kidron Valley, so when I heard the commotion I ran to see what was going o­n. What a scene! People with palm branches laying them in his path, people actually taking off their coats and stuff to make a red carpet for the guy. And then, here he comes, riding o­n a donkey, just like he thought he was King David or something.

I even got caught up in the excitement. I thought, maybe this guy is the o­ne, maybe this will be the king who gets the Romans out of here and re-establishes the kingdom of David, a kingdom for the Jews by the Jews. I'm kind of embarrassed now, but I was actually singing along with the crowds--you know that "Hosanna" stuff.

Anyway, the guy had a reputation, you know: a magnetic personality; a good teacher; a miracle-worker, supposedly. Well, o­nce I finally heard him in person, I could hardly believe the kind of stuff he was saying. I think that Hosanna crap must have gone to his head. It was blasphemy, really--things like he and God were o­ne, that he was God's son, that he was the way to God, I think his words were "the way, the truth, and the life."

You know, I couldn't help thinking when I went up to the temple this past week to hear him "do his thing," I couldn't help thinking, "What does anything you're talking about have to do with me and my life?" You know, I've got a life. I've got a wife and some kids. I want to be a good dad, a good husband. I need to save some sheqels for the future--and all the while he's talking about things like "the way" and "truth" and "the Father"--that's what he calls God, like he's o­n a first-named basis--Father, Father, Father...He even tried to pull that "truth" stuff with Pilate--you know, the Governor--not a bad guy, for a Roman. Pilate's response was classic, "What is truth?" he said. That really put him in his place.

Anyway, today the truth is plain. Crystal clear. And the truth is that he was nothing but a God damned phony. Look, I'm a good Jew, I know the third commandment. But I also know the Bible, and Deuteronomy says that "Cursed is anyone who hangs o­n a tree." (Dt 21:23; Gal 3:13) And there he is, strung up for the whole town to see, obvious to all that God has damned him, God has turned his back o­n him o­nce and for all. His disciples even took off. Since Jesus' was arrested last night, o­nly o­ne has dared to show his face in public.

What a depressing ordeal. Depressing, I guess, because at the end of it I can't help wondering, When in the world is God going to do something?" Since this Jesus guy is obviously not the o­ne, when is God going to send us a Messiah to show us that he cares about us, that he cares what we're going through: you know, give us the kind of life we want, run out the Romans and all that, but more than that, give us the Shalom we really want. Why doesn't God just do something?

(A pause for as long as the preacher and congregation can stand it.)

Six days. Six days is all it took for those in Jerusalem to go from a triumphal welcoming of Jesus as the Messiah, the coming King, o­n Sunday, to o­n Friday being done with him. Six days is all it took for cries of "Hosanna" and cries of "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord," to be turned in to cries of "Give us Barabbas!" and cries of "Crucify him!"

The events of these six days illustrate a crude reality about our fallen human condition. First, that we want God, at some level. We want what is good. We appreciate, to a certain extent, what is true and what is right, at least we like it when the truth works for us. But secondly, when we behold goodness, truth, and righteousness, presented to us undiluted, when such become a personal challenge to us, we learn that despite our best intentions we would rather have something other than the truth, something other than God, something much more manageable and something much less demanding.

This is what we see in Jerusalem, 33 a.d., and this is what we see in ourselves. We are the fickle crowds of Jerusalem. We are Peter, denying our Lord when faithfulness comes at too high a cost. We are Judas, selling God for financial gain. We are Pontius Pilate, "always asking 'What is truth?' and then crucifying the truth that lies before our eyes."1 We are those eleven disciples who are ashamed, and afraid, and who abandon their Teacher in his greatest hour of need.


And yet it is precisely within the context of this strange drama in which the ambivalence of the human heart is so clearly o­n display that God has brought salvation into the world. Despite our mixed feelings toward God, or rather because of them, Jesus Christ hung o­n the cross that Good Friday. That is, through our rejection of him, Jesus was doing for us exactly what we needed him to do: making peace, Shalom, between us and the God who made us.

Today is Good Friday. Why are we here? What is good about this day? The answer is that though we've done our worst, though our hearts are deeply ambivalent and fatally flawed, God's grace has gone further. Jesus has himself done for us what we would never want to do. He has taken upon himself our sins and suffered for them. He has taken to himself our twisted hearts, taking them to the cross where they can receive the death sentence they deserve. And he offers us the chance this day to allow our deaths, the deaths we all have coming due to our divided allegiance to God, and our outright rebellion against God--for the deaths we deserve to take place in him: the penalty paid, atonement made.

This calls for great humility. It means coming to the foot of the cross this day, with all of our contradictions and imperfections, all our pride and false pride, our excuses and our inabilities and just leaving that stuff, coming with our hands completely empty, and relying o­n nothing but God's mercy.

And so, yes, while we get in touch with our fickleness and frailty through this liturgy, while we should be troubled that even though we want God there's a whole lot of God we don't want, we need to humbly turn away from all this wrestling and simply behold the Lamb of God, behold the o­ne who takes away the sins of the world, the lamb who was slain for you and for me.

Good Friday, after all, is not a day for finding God. Rather, it is a day to remember that we had to be found by him. He had to reach down to us, going to the very depths, to the depths of our conflicted hearts. And so it is a day to renew our grateful trust in him, in the o­ne who has "carried our sorrows," the o­ne who was willing to be "wounded for our transgressions," the o­ne by whose stripes our hard hearts can be healed. (Is 53:4–5)

Do you believe that? Do you believe he has made peace between you and your God? Can you today renew the affirmation that was made at your baptism, whereby (as the Prayer Book rite states) you accepted Christ as your Savior and you "put your whole trust in his grace and love"? Can you do that? Can you put your whole trust in him--all your trust in his sacrifice for you?

Or is your trust, is your peace, in something else, something apart from his grace and love? If so, just lay it down. Lay down whatever you think you have going for you. And while you're at it, lay down any of the judgments you have against yourself. Lay down all your conflicts and contradictions, and behold the Lamb. For it is in him, in him alone, and in his sacrifice for you that you can have Shalom, that true peace for which you are looking.

Amen.
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