St Brendan's Anglican Church
 

Good Friday Sermon

Fr. Gerry Swieringa

April 22, 2011

Jesus said to Peter, “Put your sword back into its sheath. Am I not to drink the cup that the Father has given me?” John 18:11.

And so we come to the cross. As Christians, the cross is always somewhere in our consciousness. Never too distant even in our moments of greatest joy. It is a constant reminder of the price our Lord paid for us and for our salvation. It stands as the standard for suffering love that goes beyond all rationality. It is the door through which we pass, our blood covered doorposts and lintel, made holy by the blood of the Paschal Lamb, on our way to the land God Almighty promises us.

But it didn’t appear that way to the disciples on the original Good Friday. For them it was a day of fright and defeat. To see it in their eyes this day was the end, and a bitter end, to all the promise that they had known with Jesus, their Lord and teacher. I thank God for Peter, because Peter more than any other disciple, gives us a taste of what it was like to be there with Jesus at the last supper, in Gethsemane, in the courtyard of the high priest, and most tellingly, in his absence at the cross.

 When a troubled Jesus tells his disciples that one of them would betray him, it is Peter who nudges John to ask him which one it is. Clearly, Peter has intentions to take matters in his own hand. He would not let treason destroy the Lord of his life. So Jesus replies, “It is the one to whom I will give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.” And he hands it to Judas. And the Gospel of John tells us, “As soon as Judas took the bread, Satan entered into him.” Jesus even sends him on his way, to do the work he is to do, and quickly. Well you may ask, what happened to Peter? Where is his righteous indignation now? Apparently vanished. John tells us the disciples, Peter included, thought Judas was sent off on some benign errand to buy food or give something to the poor. Something blinded them to the obvious. Judas could not be the betrayer, because he was well, he was Judas. And Judas was a good man, with them from the start. Judas was the last man who would betray Jesus. He was the most fervent of all of them. We can see the disciples looking questioningly at each other wondering who of the eleven that are left could be the betrayer, and realizing with no little shame, that it could be any of them.

Then Jesus rescues them, he takes them away from this destructive narcissism and proclaims that what is about to happen is for the Glory of God.  That he will be with them but a little longer and where he goes they cannot follow.

It’s Peter again who wants to singlehandedly prevent catastrophe. He proclaims, in heartfelt honesty, that he would lay down his life for his Lord. Jesus, touched by Peter’s emotion, nonetheless knew the truth and told him, “Before the cock crows, you will deny me three times.”

And thus we come to Good Friday. There is a strong sense of foreboding. Fear is palpable. The disciples have already begun to fragment. But Peter stays close to his Lord and proves his mettle by drawing his sword and cutting off the ear of the high priest’s servant. It is now that Jesus says that is enough, Peter. Put away your sword. “Am I not to drink the cup that the father has given me?”

There can be only one hero in this story, and it’s not Peter. From here on Peter falters and finally disappears completely from the crucifixion narrative.  We don’t even see him leave in John’s Gospel. After the third denial the cock crows and we are left to imagine Peter’s shame and disgrace. John mercifully doesn’t tell us any more. Because it’s not Peter’s story, it’s Jesus’ story.

But is helpful to look at the crucifixion story from two points of view: namely, what Jesus saw and what Peter saw. Peter’s eyes are often our own when we are confronted by the unimaginable, the unthinkable. Where Peter tried to change things by the force of his will and to the limit of his courage, Jesus in contrast seems almost serene. He refuses to be dominated by the high priest, but he does so not on his own but by the authority given to him by the Father. Likewise before Pilate, he regards Pilate not as one who controls his destiny, (as Pilate wrongfully assumes he is by his rank and position), but as one who is merely carrying out the will of the Father. It’s the same with the soldiers who scourge and ridicule him. While the pain is genuine and the suffering is real, Jesus never succumbs in Spirit to their assaults. All this has been ordained, and even prophesized since Isaiah. This is all part of the Father’s great plan of redemption in which even the soldiers are unwittingly playing their part. Jesus recognizes this, and in a gesture of infinite love, forgives them on the cross for truly , “They know not what they do.”

This is Jesus’ story, but what kind of a story is it anyway? Is it the story of failed hopes and dashed boasts that Peter saw? Or is it a story of triumph and working out of a resolute purpose that Jesus saw? To answer that question we need to leave behind the first Good Friday and advance to where we are today, in April, Holy Week of the year 2011. I want to tell you about an incident that happened this week that I believe gives us the answer to what kind of story we are recalling today.

On Tuesday, Bob Thorndike and I decided to go golfing at Grandview Golf course. As I drove up I had to wait for a fire truck to pull in ahead of me. Bob was already there and informed me that someone had collapsed on the 4^th fairway and paramedics were applying CPR to him. We were told to avoid the 4^th fairway in making our round of golf. Well, when made our way that far, the paramedics had already pulled their defibrulators and the man was on the ground covered by a white sheet. His golfing partners stood around along with a sheriff’s deputy and one of the paramedics, waiting for a hearse to remove the corpse from the field. Although there was obviously nothing more that could be done, I felt compelled to go over there and offer anything I could as a priest of God. So I did. I introduced myself and asked if I could offer a prayer for the deceased. Two of the golfing partners were still in a state of shock, wondering I am sure about the unthinkable tragedy they had been witness to, not unlike the disciples on that first Good Friday. The third partner welcomed me warmly, said that he thought his friend was an Anglican, and would welcome a prayer. So I got down on my knee on the wet ground, laid a hand on the deceased’s shoulder, and offered up a prayer for his soul to be accepted in heaven, and that the pain to his friends and family of his passing be lessened by the joy of his entering into Glory. Then I said over him,

Holy, Holy, Holy,

Lord God of Hosts

Heaven and earth are full of your Glory

Hosanna in the Highest

Blessed is he who comes in the Name of the Lord

Hosanna in the Highest. Amen.

I could not have said those words if Christ had not triumphed on the cross. I could not have said in all honesty that heaven and earth are full of your Glory, because they would not have been except for the cross. I could not have blessed him in the name of the Lord if Jesus had not vanquished death on the cross of Calvary.

Because in the end, the story of the crucifixion is a love story, the greatest love story ever proclaimed. In it Jesus wraps his arms around all who came and lived before his walk on earth, all who watched him suffer that day on the cross, and all of us who 2000 years later gather in awe before the mystery of his death and resurrection.

It is right and proper to be grieved this day. It is right to be humbled by the magnitude of the love expressed for us, and by our unworthiness. But in our grief let us be mindful of the glory that surrounds us because of the cross. The last word is, Hosanna in the Highest. Amen.