A sermon for Good Friday
April 15, 2022
“For us and for our salvation, he came down from heaven. For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate. He suffered death and was buried.”
Do we believe this? As I said yesterday, my sermons over this Triduum, the three holy days, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Great Vigil of Easter, all center on this same question: Do we believe? Do we believe that Christ has come for us and for our salvation? That Christ accomplishes our salvation and all that we need for our souls through his life, death, and resurrection? Do we believe?
Today we gather with the church stripped of its usual ornaments. In a few moments, a rude cross will be placed in our midst. Not a fancy cross. Not one covered in gold. But a wooden cross. It is a reminder that Christ died, not on one of those fancy crosses we wear around our necks, but on a wooden, Roman cross. An unsanded cross with splinters. A most brutal tool of execution, of prolonged suffering. We see this cross, we remember this death, and we call it all good. It is a horrible death, but it is a saving death. It is a terrible Friday, but it is a good Friday–the best of all Fridays. For in this act, in Christ’s dying, in his blood shed, we have the forgiveness of sins and the hope of new life. All of this is for us and for our salvation.
Yesterday I talked about Ann and about how she came back to church. She found that there was a place in her soul that was reserved only for God. Nothing in this world could satisfy that longing, that restlessness within her heart. For it is the Temple of God, the place where God desires to reign from the midst of our lives. Ann came to believe that Christ has really given us himself, in the bread and wine at the Eucharist, his Body and Blood, to nourish us and feed that part of our soul reserved for him.
Ann is a good Episcopalian now. Like us. She has served on her church’s vestry. She and her husband pledge annually. They are at church on Sunday–I would bet at church right now for Good Friday. They try to pray Morning Prayer and remember to say grace before meals. But Ann is also human. She is a sinner. Like us. She would tell you that.
For as many years as Ann was out of church, she fell right back into a church routine. She found her activities, her friends in her big church. They put the Episcopal shield stickers on the back of their cars and shared their church’s social media announcements. Ann and her family look like they have it all together. Just like us.
Ann and her husband are classy people. You only ever see them at their best. Their home is always picked up, the yard always pristine, the cars always washed, their dogs don’t shed. They have a good public image. So good, in fact, the church put them on an ad this year. “Come worship with us this Easter,” the ad says. The picture on the ad is a picture of Ann, her husband, their two boys, ages 16 and 19. Their dog is in it. They are standing in front of their church. Looking at that ad, you might be tempted to think, “Hey, they have it all together. That must be the church where all the together people go. The people who know what they’re doing, who aren’t too bad.”
Christ died for them. Christ died for Ann and her husband and children. Christ died for all the together people. Christ died for all the unkempt, the untogether people, too. Christ died for those with good yards and pretty homes. Christ died for those who have concrete instead of grass, who live in cardboard boxes. Christ died for those with family photos lining the hallways. Christ died for those who have no family, or no family they want to be with. Christ died for those with nice cars and hypoallergenic dogs. Christ died for those who are just hoping their car will start, who can’t afford to take the dog to the vet. Christ died for all the lovely people. And Christ died for unlovely, too, for those who are impossible to love. Christ died for those who will go into that church, and this church, on Sunday. And Christ died for those who don’t even know it’s Easter. Christ died for all. Christ died for you.
Christ died. For us and for our salvation. So our sins might be forgiven. So his righteousness, his holiness, his blood might cover our lives and make us worthy before God. For all of that, Jesus Christ, God in the flesh, came to die. To break our curse of sin and death, the curse that has haunted humanity since Adam and Eve took the fruit.
It’s a curse we all have–this sin and death. It’s a reality for Ann and her put-together family. It’s just as much a reality for them as it is for that person who never steps foot in church, for that person who lives on the streets, and for you and for me. For all of us he came to live and to die. To really die. There is no last minute magic trick. There is no slight of hand. There is no anesthesia to numb the experience. God in the flesh, God Incarnate, God is dead as a doornail on the cross. Jesus’s body begins to decompose. There are no vitals. He is dead. Brutally dead. For us. For our sin. In order to take away our curse of death, of sin, of shame.
That’s why we call this horrible death, this terrible Friday, good. A Good Friday. The best of Fridays. Because Christ has died in our place, taking our sin, taking our death, and giving us the hope of eternal life, of redemption, of forgiveness.
But sometimes, I think we believe that Christ only died for the best part of us. I think we only believe that Christ died for that postcard version of us, like Ann and her family on the church advertisement. It’s easy to believe that Christ died for that–for us when we’re put together, our best behavior, everything figured out on our own. But can we believe that Christ died for us when we’re at our worst? Can we believe that Christ died for us–the part of us very few others, maybe no one else, sees? The part of us that remains hidden, secret, tucked away, unloveable? The part of ourselves we hide in shame?
Christ didn’t die for you at your best only. Christ’s death and the salvation that comes from that death does not come with conditions or asterisks. Christ died for you–for the real you, the you that perhaps only you know well. Christ died for everything you are–your good qualities and the most shameful part of you. For you, even at your worst moments. Christ died for you and the salvation of your whole soul. Not just the parts we like to show off to other people, not just the parts we show off at church or on social media, but for all of who we are.
And here’s the thing: his cross, his blood, his death, they are enough. They are enough for you. They are enough for all of you. The grace of his death, the grace of this Good Friday, the love of God shown in this sacrifice, it’s all enough to cover you and everything you are. It’s enough to cover every part of us.
Christ died for you. For everything you are. Do we believe that?
Storied Grace 