Cross of Grace

A community of grace sharing God's love with no strings attached.

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Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA)

Filtering by Tag: Good Friday

I Loved You Already

John 8:23-30

He said to them, “You are from below, I am from above; you are of this world, I am not of this world. I told you that you would die in your sins, for you will die in your sins unless you believe that I am he.” They said to him, “Who are you?” Jesus said to them, “Why do I speak to you at all? I have much to say about you and much to condemn; but the one who sent me is true, and I declare to the world what I have heard from him.” They did not understand that he was speaking to them about the Father.

So Jesus said, “When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will realize that I am he, and that I do nothing on my own, but I speak these things as the Father instructed me. And the one who sent me is with me; he has not left me alone, for I always do what is pleasing to him.” As he was saying these things, many believed in him.

One of those Nicorette commercials caught my attention the other day. You know the ones for nicotine gum or patches or pills that help people quit smoking. They have some real-life former smokers tell stories about why they finally decided to kick the habit. There’s one where a guy misses his kid’s game-winning basketball shot because he had to run outside for a smoke. There’s another one where a woman realized how crazy it was that she found herself hoofing it through a snowstorm, just for another cigarette. And there’s one where a young, new dad is on the floor playing with his baby girl. They all describe their respective “aha” moments as their own, personal “why” that convinced them, finally, to quit smoking.

And the tag-line at the end of each commercial suggests that “every great why, needs a great how.” “Every great why, needs a great how.”

I think there’s some truth to that – especially if you’re looking for a nicotine replacement therapy. And I think it applies to our spiritual life, too, in some ways... “Every great why, needs a great how.”

But when it comes to Good Friday and all that brings us here, we focus too much on “how” too much of the time, if you ask me. For lots of reasons, we are captivated and fascinated by the “how” of this night. I’m always glad for and impressed and surprised, frankly, year after year by the turnout we have for Good Friday worship, this occasion where we gather very deliberately to get as close to death as most of us are comfortable getting – unless or until we have to, anyway.

Now, I imagine the reasons that draw us here – like everything else – are as varied as are the people in the room, and a lot of that has to do with the “how” of Jesus’ crucifixion. And I’m right there with you. Many of you know I love a good, gory - preferably true - crime story, as much as the next guy. My wife and kids are a little creeped out by my Netflix history, to be honest, which includes a lot of that sort of thing: Making a Murderer, Abduction in Plain Sight, The Keepers. That new Ted Bundy documentary is fantastic, by the way.

And the “how” of tonight is like a lot of that – blood and guts and gore, I mean. We’ll hear again about the whips and the thorns and the spit and the screaming. And we can get carried away with all of it, if we’re not careful. (I read a story just this week about a youth pastor in an Ohio suburb who encouraged his high school students to spit on him, whip him, and even cut his back with a knife as a Holy Week exercise. And the senior pastor watched it all happen, before some wise and frightened parents stepped in to stop it!) Like I said, we can get a little carried away with the “how” of what happened to Jesus at his crucifixion.

But what’s more important tonight for a million reasons… the thing that matters for God, in Jesus… isn’t so much the “how” of all of this, as it is the “why.”

Because, honestly, if you’ve been around awhile – or if your Netflix history looks anything like mine – you know that crucifixion, as horrible as it was for Jesus and others who suffered it, might not even be the worst way to go. I’d have a hard time convincing a holocaust victim of the concentration camps and gas chambers that their suffering was preferable to what Jesus endured. I’d have a hard time explaining to a black boy in America’s Jim Crow, 1950’s south that his lynching was any easier than a crucifixion in 1st century Palestine. And I’ve even heard people wonder if the long, slow, painful death march of a loved-one’s cancer or Alzheimer’s disease wasn’t as ugly and painful and twisted a way to die as anything the Romans might have come up with.

So it can’t be the how that matters or captivates our imagination in all of this. The “how” of tonight isn’t the point, so much as the “why” that brings us here. So, in the case of Jesus and all that compels us to call this fateful Friday “good” – the “how” we’ll hear about in a moment better come with a pretty darn good “why.”

And it does. And some of you won’t be surprised to know it all comes down to this thing we call grace, around here.

The “why” that drove God, in Jesus, to the Cross of Good Friday is that God already loved the world and that God already loved us – way back when.

And that’s something we can’t here too much or be reminded of often enough.

I think if we were to ask Jesus about his “why,” on that first Good Friday, he might have said, “Because I love you, already.” God’s promise and proclamation, in Jesus’ death on the cross wasn’t some cosmic guilt-trip meant to coerce our obedience; it wasn’t some kind of tit-for-tat transaction; it wasn’t some sadistic sideshow of suffering where God said “look what I’ve done for you, you better shape up, or else.”

It was nothing less than the heart of God, burdened by the brokenness and corruption and ugliness and injustice and inequity and greed and sin of the world’s people – the children of God whom God already loved. God’s heart broke – Jesus died – because God already loved us – not because God was trying to make us love him back.

It’s something I’ve recently started trying to say to my boys on a regular basis – “I love you already” – and something I think we all need to hear more frequently than we do, on behalf of our creator. “I loved you already.”

“I loved you already.” Before you won the game. Before you passed the test. Before the grades were posted. “I loved you already.”

“I loved you already.” Before that sin. Before your confession. Before you felt the forgiveness, even. “I loved you already.”

“I loved you already.” Before the addiction. Before the divorce. Before you lost the job.

“I loved you already.” Before the infidelity. Before you stopped coming to church. Before you started coming back.

And I think this is the simple, sweet, sacred message of God’s act, in Jesus, on Good Friday. Why? Why all of this darkness, despair and dying? “Because I loved you already.”

“I loved you already,” even though you can’t understand it; or wrap your brain around it; or possibly ever live up to it.

“I loved you already,” and there’s nothing you can do but marvel at it; be humbled by and grateful for the truth of it.

“I loved you already – and so much – that it killed me.”

“I loved you already – and so much – that I died for your sake and for the sake of the world.”

“I loved you already. And, come Sunday you’ll see, I love you still, and will forever.”


Good Friday Message & Prayers of Lament

We are gathered here this evening to acknowledge that God has died. 

It is a strange practice liturgical Christians have – to carve out a time each year to live in the midst of this truth. It is so strange that most Christians do not observe Good Friday at all. “Why pretend that God is dead?” they say. “God had defeated death. Even when we die it will be a blessing because we’ll spend forever with God” they say. They paraphrase scripture, saying, “Death has lost its sting.” 

Would you really say “death has lost its sting” to the man who is no longer a spouse but a widow. Tell that to a mother who still occasionally refers to her deceased child in the present tense. Tell that to the person who just received a stage four terminal diagnosis of cancer. 

People don’t like Good Friday because it’s about death. They are content to gloss it over, deny its pain, and refuse to dip their toes into its dark abyss. This approach to death is incredibly destructive. More destructive than death itself. 

Leo Tolstoy, the great Russian novelist, wrote one of the most provocative and eloquent stories about death in his work, The Death of Ivan Ilych. In this story, a well-to-do man in middle age is suddenly and reluctantly forced to acknowledge the reality of his impending death. The prospect sends him reeling and initiates two struggles: 1) an inner struggle about what his life meant and regret for how he wasted it pursuing worldly accolades; and 2) an external struggle with the people in his life who refuse to acknowledge that he is, in fact, dying. As Ivan Ilych moves from denial of death towards acknowledging its inevitability, he begins to resent those around him who carry on in complete denial of both death’s presence as well as Ivan’s emotional peril. These people are incapable of comforting or caring for Ivan. It is, however, in his death that Ivan’s life is brought into focus; and these important lessons are available to us in Tolstoy’s writing.  

The Death of Ivan Ilych is a cautionary tale warning us not to end up like the obtuse friends and relatives the dying Ivan Ilych resented. Gathering to worship on Good Friday is an opportunity for us to stop running around pretending like death isn’t real. On Good Friday we refuse to gloss over God’s death, we refuse to jump ahead to the resurrection. Good Friday is a day to pause and look upon the cross not as a symbol of victory, but an instrument of torture and destruction upon which God was put to death. We remember loved ones who have died and even contemplate our own death. All of this leads us to two immutable truths, 1) we will die; and 2) God has experienced this also.

This day is called Good Friday because in admitting both that we will die and that God has died, we are brought to the truth that God has gone before us and will be with us in our death. God teaches us how to die and be present with those who are dying. When the time comes for our own death there will be some who refuse to acknowledge its truth. But God will be present with us in our pain, terror, and sadness because God has experienced this firsthand.

I remember the first time I contemplated death. I was around ten years old and was on vacation visiting family in Arizona. One morning I scooted to the backseat of my grandpa’s minivan in preparation for a day trip and out of the blue I had the thought, “One day I’ll be dead.” I imagined total darkness. No thoughts, no emotions, no other people, just nothingness. I was devastated not only on account of the sheer terror of contemplating mortality for the first time, but I was also devastated because I thought that as a Christian I was forbidden to have such thoughts and fears since I was going to be in heaven with Jesus forever. So, there I was on a family vacation through the desert and I was oscillating between horror and shame. 

It is a travesty that my religious upbringing overtly and covertly taught me that death is a shameful topic to wrestle with. At its best, religion uncovers the reality that exists under the layers of crap culture piles up around us. But at its worst, religion embraces the crap and makes people feel ashamed when they dare to question whether there is something even more true and beautiful underneath it all. Questioning and fearing death is one of the common threads that binds humanity together. We don’t need answers, rather, we need safe spaces where we can come together and ask the questions we’re too afraid to ask on our own.

Our culture does an incredible job of using every tool at its disposal to cover up the reality of death. Products are sold promising to make us live longer. Doctors are under significant pressure to offer treatment for terminal diseases even when such treatments compromise quality of life. Morticians literally use tools to cover up the reality of death by painting layers of makeup on dead bodies. And religious people of all stripes use the false certainty of religion to view death as a jumping-off point for eternal glorious life. This frees religious people to blow themselves up and kill others in order to enter heaven, or, just as damaging, go around either telling others (or just secretly thinking) that everyone who doesn’t believe like they do is bound for eternal damnation. Also just as damaging are those well-meaning platitudes of, “She’s in a better place” or “God just needed another angel” or other similar sentiments we employ which circumvent the grieving process and ignore the pain and grief that surrounds death.

Christianity, at its best, observes Good Friday and invites people to contemplate the reality of our own death as well as God’s death.

Brian Zahnd, in his excellent book Sinners in the Hands of a Loving God, writes, 

“Who is this tortured man, nailed to a tree, suffering a violent death? Incredibly, Christians say this is God! The crucified God. If we don’t find this scandalously shocking, we have grown far too familiar with the crucifixion of Jesus. The crucifixion of Good Friday isn’t an economic transaction; it is the torture and murder of God. This isn’t a business deal to balance the celestial books; it is a crime of cosmic proportions. Before the cross is anything else, it is a catastrophe. It is the murder of pure life and blameless love!” (Zahnd, 83).

When we look at the cross we see who God is. And who is God? God is dead. How shocking. How embarrassing. In Jesus’ death, the temple curtain is torn, revealing that the inner sanctum of the temple – the holy of holies – is completely empty. 

If Jesus had just kept his head down and played the role assigned to him by the powers and principalities, this fate could have been avoided. All Jesus had to do was give his blessing on the world’s power schemes, propensity towards violence, and distrust of the other. All Jesus had to do was avoid helping people who didn’t deserve to be helped. He could have let people starve and hung out with the powerful players rather than the undesirables and outcasts. Had he done that he could have lived a long life, and with the blessing of the religious and political powers of his day, perhaps he even cold have made some money and enjoyed himself. But Jesus chose the path that led to death. And he had the audacity to invite us on the same journey.

Our usual practice at Cross of Grace is to have you come up later in the service and place something on or near the cross. Often it is a sign of our sinfulness; something that we feel is separating us from God’s love and presence - something we trust is forgiven in some way by Jesus’ death on this cross. This evening, however, you have nothing to confess. Instead, you are invited to come to the cross and lament that God is dead. Bring your anger, fear, and disappointment. All sorts of promises were attributed to God; promises about justice, power over our enemies, health, and long life in a land of milk and honey; but God has not lived up to God’s end of the bargain. God could have snapped divine fingers and removed all pain, suffering, injustice and death from this world. But we look around and know that there is pain, suffering, injustice and death in this world that God does nothing about. And for such things we are bold to pray…

God who died,
The disparity among nations around the globe makes your promise of justice and equity ring hollow. The 12% of the world’s population that lives in North America and Western Europe accounts for 60 percent of private consumption spending. Meanwhile, other nations are being ravaged by civil war, famine, and genocide. Your privileged disciples are unsure how to affect change and secretly content with the imbalance. Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

God who died,
As much as we’d like to believe your Spirit guides the church and makes it holy, it is always in the hands of imperfect leaders whose insecurities and anxieties infect the systems. Most bishops and pastors are more concerned about pension plans than standing up against the destructive powers and principalities. Every year more and more people see the church as an obstacle to discipleship rather than an asset. Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

God who died,
You promise your presence and forgiveness in the sacraments of baptism and communion. But it doesn’t seem like baptism makes much of a difference in people’s lives. Sometimes we eat the bread and drink the wine of communion and you still feel as dead as you were on the cross. Are you really there? Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

God who died,
Everywhere we look we see division. The church is certainly no exception. Every week we pray for unity within the church and unity with other religions, but the gap only seems to increase. Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

God who died,
You are the creator of a universe whose immensity and sheer unknowability is frightening to think about. It makes us feel unimportant. Are we unimportant? Are you even aware that we exist? Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

God who died,
You are the divine physician and great healer. So why do some suffer horrendous deaths even while your name is on their lips? Do you choose to save some people and not others?  Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

God who died,
You are the champion of the poor and oppressed. That’s what got you killed. Your death exposed the empty threats of the powers and principalities; and yet they continue to reign today. Help us see them as mere illusions of power so that we are better able to serve those in need. Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

Into your hands, O Lord, we commend all for whom we pray, even though we are not always sure you are listening. Amen.

All Rights Reserved. Background image by Aaron Stamper. © Cross of Grace Lutheran Church.