St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL

John 18:1-19:42

There’s an old story you may have heard 
about the guy who goes to the jewelry store 
and tells the clerk 
he’d like to buy something
for his wife. 

“I’d like to buy her 
a nice cross to wear,” 
he says.

“Absolutely, right this way,”
the clerk responds.
“We have a lovely assortment of crosses; 
I’m sure you’ll find just the right one.

“But before we start, tell me . . . 
are you looking for one of the plain ones,
or do you want the kind 
with the little man on it?”

Are you looking for one of the plain ones, 
or do you want one with the man on it?

The truth is most of us,
if we are willing to deal with the cross at all, 
much prefer our crosses to be beautiful: 
gilded and golden,
shiny and safe,
polished . . .
distant . . .
resolved.

Longtime Episcopalians 
know exactly when and how
to bow ever so courteously 
when the shiny cross processes down the aisle 
in the white gloved hands of an acolyte.

But THE Cross? 
Well, THE Cross is a different story. 

Show us the 
rough and real one . . . 
the splintered and spattered one . . . 
the hard wooden Cross of Christ . . .
and many of us will say, 
“No thank you. Not for me.”

It’s just too brutal.
Too impolite.

And you can forget about 
the one “with the Man on it.” 

It’s bad enough to pull 
the gold off our crosses, 
but show us the 
wooden one with Jesus? 
Crucified and gaunt?
Gasping for breath?
Dying a criminal’s death 
on one of the worst forms of execution 
we have ever devised?

This is not what we would choose 
to be at the center of our faith, 
thankyouverymuch.

But today, Good Friday, 
is the day that strips away 
all the beauty and decorum,
all the pretense and propriety, 
all the fabricated safety 
we impose upon our Savior.

Today is the day of all days 
when we are forced to reckon 
with the Cross of Jesus . . . 

to realize that it is not 
a symbol that we chose,  
but the place where 
God chose us.

That it is not decorative; 
it is decisive. 

That the Man hanging on it
is not our mascot
but our Messiah.

That the Cross is the hinge point of history, 
the crux of the matter,
the crossroads of all things.

* * *

To be honest, 
I think the reason we avoid the Cross 
is because we have made the problem 
far too small.

Over the past few centuries—
and especially in these modern times—
preachers, teachers, and televangelists 
have singularly emphasized the idea 
that Jesus is your “personal Lord and Savior” . . . 
that the Cross was where he laid your sins to rest . . .
and that if you but accept him into your heart, 
all your sins will be washed away.

And hear me say: 
all of that 
is good, 
and right, 
and true.
But on its own, 
it’s also too small. 

For what happened on this day all those 
two thousand and twenty-something years ago 
was not just a reckoning with your sins.

In fact, if you read the New Testament, 
you quickly realize 
that was never the main story.

For you see, 
on this day 
the Man on the Cross 
didn’t just confront your “sins” . . . 
all those little things
you’ve done 
and left undone.

No, on this day, 
the Man on the Cross
confronted Sin . . . 
singular, 
with a capital S.

A power.
A force.
Something larger than any one of us
and yet at work in all of us.

Call it Sin. 
Call it Evil. 
Call it the Devil. 
Call it the Powers. 
Call it the worst of human inclinations.

St. Paul understood that when he said, 
“We do not struggle
against enemies of blood and flesh,
but against the rulers,
the authorities,
the cosmic powers
of this present darkness.”

So if that is the problem—
not just our various peccadillos,
but the faceless Force that holds us—
then the question is:
Okay, so what does God do about it?

Well, I’ll tell you what God doesn’t do. 

God does not stand at a distance.
God does not manage it from afar.
Instead, God enters into it.

Like the greatest spy novel ever written,
Jesus invaded enemy territory.

Over an eternity ago, 
Jesus, 
the Christ of God,
the Christ of love,
the Christ of the cosmos,
the Christ of 
untouchable, 
untainted, 
unattainable power
looked out over this whole sad, sorry mess, 
the entire sweep of human history—

from Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden,
to Cain’s murder of Abel,

to the rising and falling of empires,
to the exploits of kings and queens and tyrants,

to the smelting 
of bronze
then iron
then steel,

from crossbows and catapults,
to rifles and rockets,

from bombs that fall from the sky
to bombs that can end the world,

to civil wars 
and world wars 
and forever wars,

to the power-grabbing 
and fear-mongering
and rage-baiting
and truth-bending
and blame-shifting
and scape-goating
and fact-twisting
and division-sowing
and idol-making,

and all the fresh hells of yesteryear
and all the fresh hells yet to come—

Jesus looked down at all of it 
and said, “That’s it. I’m going in.”

He took on our flesh.
He stepped into our world.
He entered the domain of 
the Powers of Sin and Death. 
He met them on their own terms 
and on their own turf. 

And on THIS day 
they did their very best 
to do their very worst.

They lied.
They mocked.
They scapegoated.
They tortured.
They killed.

They unleashed everything they had,
and just when they cackled over his defeat, 
the Man on the Cross 
exposed them for what they are 
and overthrew them 
with the power of love.

* * *

That, y’all, that is the twist of today.

That, my friends, 
is the beauty of the old rugged cross, 
the “good” in Good Friday.

For when our Hero 
came to rescue us from the inside, 
he did not do as we do. 

He did not meet evil with evil 
or violence with violence. 

Instead, he answered with forgiveness.
“Father, forgive them,” he pleads.

He answered with mercy.
With all the power of the cosmos 
at his fingertips, 
he answers with love.

This—
this—
is the strength 
of the Almighty.

This is power
as God defines it.

If you want to know what God looks like, 
look at the Man on the Cross.

* * *

And if all of that is true,
then it changes everything
about how we see
the world we are living in now.

Because the world we are living in
is still full of crosses.

Not the polished kind.
Not the decorative kind.

I mean the real ones.

The places
where the innocent are still crushed,
where truth is still twisted,
where power still devours the weak.

Good Friday does not ask us
to pretend otherwise.

Betrayal is betrayal.
Violence is violence.
Sin is Sin.

But make no mistake, 
the love of God
is not standing off to the side.

God is there.
Stretched out on the wood,
taking into himself
the full weight
of everything that has gone wrong
in this world.

So if you want to know
where God is,
that is your answer.

God is with the betrayed.
With the abandoned.

God is where the pain is.

Which means that 
if you have ever been wounded,
ever carried grief
too heavy to name,
then hear me:

the God of Good Friday
is not far from you.

He has gone
to the deepest place.

* * *

So what does that mean for us? 

Well, if that is where God is,
then his people cannot go on pretending
that faith is about
being respectable
and well behaved
and mildly religious.

Nor can we ever in his name 
fight darkness
by becoming darkness ourselves.

The Cross of Jesus
puts an end
to all such nonsense.

The Cross of Jesus 
does not invite us
to admire Jesus.

It summons us
to follow him . . . 
to look at the Man on the Cross
and become people
who look like him.

People who tell the truth
when lies would be easier.

People who show mercy
when vengeance would feel better.

People who hold fast to love
when love looks too weak 
and ready to break.

Because on this day,
Sin and Death
throw everything they have
at the Son of God, 
and he does not become them.
He endures them.
He exposes them.

And what remains
is not vengeance,
but mercy.

Not retaliation,
but forgiveness.

Not hatred,
but love.

* * *

So today, my friends, 
is not a day for the shiny things 
or for crosses dressed up 
in the finest fashions of our day.

Today is about the Cross of Christ 
and the rugged power 
of almighty love.

So do not look away.

Stay with the scandal of it.
Stay with the love of it.

Stay until you can see
that the throne of grace
looks like this:

A hill called Golgotha.
Three nails.
Two beams of wood.
And one dying Savior
who would rather go through hell for you
than live in heaven without you.

So today,
of all days,
do not settle
for brass or gold 
or the safety of distance and polish.

Today,
look at the one
with the Man on it.

Look at the Man on the Cross.

Amen.