Love Endures

At this point, the normal comfort of last night’s shared meal seems far away. The night was lost to fear and despair after Jesus’ arrest, and now the disciples are looking on a scene they had worried was coming. Imagine standing there; the sky feeling strangely heavy, as though the air itself is grieving this turn of events.

The noise in the crowd has shifted, muted from the restless shouting of earlier, now a quieter murmur as the onlookers watch with curiosity, sorrow, or indifference. A few of Jesus’ followers stand at a distance, unable to bear coming closer. And there, the focal point of everyone’s gaze, lifted above the ground, is Jesus.

The man who healed the sick, who welcomed children, who spoke of the kingdom of God with authority and tenderness now hangs in pain, humiliated, dying. You can hear the undignified end of everything you hoped for. You can hear the strained breaths between words. And then you hear something you hadn’t expected. He had always seemed to enjoy such an unshakeable relationship with God, but now you hear him cry out: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” It’s a harrowing moment. Has God truly forsaken his son? We hear the Messiah himself calling, the one who had trusted and followed and loved God so fully. And now, from the cross, comes this desolate sense of abandonment.

It is a cry we recognize. We feel it ourselves in moments of grief, of illness, of fear, of loss. Moments when prayer feels like it disappears into silence. Moments when God seems distant, or absent, or hidden. The events of Good Friday don’t shy away from these experiences, instead we are brought right into the heart of them, as Jesus suffers in human vulnerability.

And yet at the same time, this is perhaps the purest example of God’s love that Jesus shows us. Because even as he cries out in pain and abandonment, he continues to embody the love that he has spent his ministry modeling. The love of Maundy Thursday, the love that healed the sick, the love that ate with sinners, talked with women, associated with outcasts, the love that followed God at all costs, the love that never put itself first. Here, even as he dies, Jesus notices those around him. He sees his mother standing nearby. He sees the beloved disciple. And in the midst of unimaginable pain, he speaks words of care: “Woman, here is your son… Here is your mother.” Even now, he is creating community. Even now, he embodies the new commandment to love one another.

So here we see God’s heart revealed. Despite Jesus’ sense of abandonment, the incarnation is never clearer. The Bible, and Jesus, tell us that God is love. Not sometimes, not depending on circumstances, but an inextricable fundamental quality of God’s being. So when Jesus cries out, but then focuses his attention on caring for his mother, we see that God is not absent. Instead, God is present, God is embodied in the dying man on the cross who never stops pouring love onto others. In this moment Jesus is God in the most profound and tangible way, even as he experiences every thread of vulnerable mortality.

In Good Friday we find that God is love, at every moment, in every circumstance, even when we despair. Even in suffering. Even in darkness. Even in what feels like abandonment. God is still love, and God is still there. This is what makes Good Friday good. We are shown a God who does not stand at a distance from suffering, but who enters into it willingly. A God who understands fear, loneliness, and even the terrible silence that sometimes meets our prayers. A God who knows grief from the inside. Jesus is there now, but even in that place, he embodies the very heart of God, and gives us the gift of knowing who God is.

This is why the events of this day are inextricably bound up in the meaning of our faith. This is what gives us hope even in our darkest moments. When we too find ourselves in those isolating places of loss, grief, or suffering, and we too wonder where God is, we can know with certainty that we are not alone. Good Friday tells us that even on the cross, God is already there. Not necessarily removing the suffering, not immediately lifting the darkness, but present within it. Present in love.

So today, we remain here, in the shadow of the cross, allowing the weight to settle upon our shoulders. We stand with those first disciples, watching, grieving, wondering. And in the midst of it all, even at the point of death, we see the love of God, vulnerable, costly, unwavering, poured out to the very end - for love endures. Amen.

Isaiah 52:13-53:12; John 18:1-19:42