Good Friday Meditation

At the sixth hour darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour.  And at the night hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani?” - which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  - Mark 15:33,34 For Jesus and his disciples, it was impossible to discern where Thursday ended and Friday began.  But they knew when things shifted.  They knew it instinctually.  There in the darkness of night still, a group of torches marched towards the Mount of Olives, and danced upon the narrow street leading to the Garden of Gethsemane.  The torches – of course – were marching towards Jesus, and under the torches moved the clank of metal and heavy feet. Soldiers! But in front of all the soldiers was a familiar figure.  It was Judas.  His mouth twisted in a painful expression - half smile and half worry – and his eyes constantly moving under the shadows that dance on his forehead.  Awkwardly he approached Jesus.  He stumbled towards him trying to prove his sincerity and offered the sign of friendship:  a kiss.  Judas was carrying out his plan, merely doing what he thought was his role to play.  As he leaned in towards Jesus, his heart skipped a beat and his eyes went wide. Jesus, though, merely looked at Judas.  Softly he said, "Friend, why are you here?"  And like that Judas' heart halted, froze in his chest and then ran out on the ground.  Despair gripped him and he remained stunned even as the guards rushed by him and seized Jesus.  He was a shadow when Peter passed by, sword in hand.  The soldiers – having located their assignment – moved past Judas and never said a word.  Swiftly, they bound Jesus’ hands behind his back and turned again with their prisoner in tow.  In a matter of minutes, the street was empty and silent. Empty, that is, except for Judas, he seemed as life-less as the stones beneath his face.  He stood staring at the ground – seeing nothing, only recalling over and over the look of Jesus’ face as he approached him in the night. Judas was the first to fall.  He will not be the last. ------- By the time the sky had turned from onyx to deep-sea blue, they had taken Jesus deep into the heart of the ancient city of David.  And as the guards dragged Jesus secretly towards the temple, a few of the disciples trailed him like spies.  Peter was one of them, and he eventually gathered himself just outside the high priest’s chambers – his massive arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes haggard and blood-shot. Peter sat there in those early hours of the new day, desperately holding to a promise he made, trying to cling to the man to whom he had bound himself.  Knowing he was in the hornet’s nest, he sat silently, praying silent, frightened prayers, and raising his eyes every few moments to see if there is any movement in the secret chambers … to see – he hoped – Jesus emerging like Samson amidst the Philistines. As he sat, feet continued to shuffle by him, and a small crowd gathered around the warmth of the morning fire.  It was near the fire pit that Peter heard the woman’s voice, "You also were with the Nazarene, Jesus."  Peter's neck tightened as though a cold breeze brushed against him.  Before she could get a closer look at him, Peter hid his face, muttered a word of denial, got up and walked casually away.  He eventually found another out-of-the-way place, sat down and put his head upon his arms and sat upon his haunches. But, again, a rough and foreign voice disturbed the air and said:  "This man is one of them."  Peter turned towards the voice to see a man's outstretched arm and finger directly upon him.  Peter’s body lit up with adrenalin and fear.  Instinctively, he grew a confident look and squeezed out another denial.  He shuffled away into isolation – feeling like a beast, hunted, anxious. Several minutes passed, and Peter felt intolerably alone, even as the courtyard began to wake with activity.  The rumor had begun to spread throughout the city:  they had captured Jesus.  Still, no news spilled from the high priest's home.  The crowd grew and loitered in anticipation. In the prolonged expectation, the bystanders began to look around, and one of them noticed a man dressed in the rural cloth of Galilee.  It was Peter.  He was leaning wearily on a wall, half asleep, his face pale and heavy.  Still, there was enough emotion in him to show his surprise when a small group approached him.  As they peered at him, they knew … no doubt, "Certainly you are one of them; for you are a Galilean." Peter struggled to gain his bearing.  He was trapped between them and the wall – no room to escape.  It was then that Peter’s brutish side emerged again.  Flabbergasted, he began shaking his head, and he unleashed his final rejection:  “"I do not know this man of whom you speak."  With his mighty oak-arms, he pushed through them even as they tried to clutch him.  When he said it, Peter did not even think of his words; they came from his gut.  No, it wasn't until the rooster’s crow burst the morning air that Peter’s mind snapped to attention.  He, too, like Judas was stunned into stone.  And, he too saw a scene of Jesus’ face in front of his own, and he heard the words again, "Before the cock crows, you will deny me three times."  With that, Peter lost it.  His eyes went moist, and he ran out into the street – the salt tears dropping into his mouth and into his beard. And as the sun broke into the day, Peter walked away from Jerusalem knowing only darkness and despair. What happens next was nothing short of a circus.  Jesus was led from the high priest to the Roman Praetorium, the home of Pontius Pilate.  Before Pilate, Jesus remained silent, looking and acting nothing like an insurgent.  Yet, the Jews continued to insist his harm and as a result of their insistence, Jesus was bounced between religion and politics. Pilate sent him to Herod; Herod returned Jesus - this time with mocking apparel and bruises.  Finally, Pilate upheld Jesus' innocence before the Jewish authorities. But, Pilate’s verdict died the minute it left his lips.  The Jews demanded another scapegoat:  Barabbas. Yes, "Give us Barabbas," they shouted.  But Pilate's focus remained on Jesus, "What about him?  Then what shall I do with the man whom you call the King of the Jews?" In response to Pilate’s question, one voice shouted amidst the masses, one lone, defiant voice. "Crucify him!" And like that a wild fire was set among the crowd; a wind of fury swept into the Praetorium.  Men began to rush at Jesus, swinging their fists, throwing stones, beating him, wrapping him in a king's robe and tearing his forehead with a thorny crown.  And over all this they forced the weight of Jesus' execution:  his cross! Jesus stumbled out of the Praetorium heavy laden with two wooden beams, to be crucified on Golgotha - the place of the skull. ****** The sun is nearing its pinnacle now.  And lifted against the blue sky are three lonely men - limbs pierced and held against crosses.  In the center, Jesus hangs uncomfortably; his body looks sickly and exhausted.  Over his head hangs a sign declaring his title and his accusation:  "The King of the Jews."   Below him are scattered a small band of common people and spectators. Crucifixion is a public execution, and many Jews see Jesus hanging on His cross - a prophet to some, a rebel to others.  The execution is clearly traumatic, but the Romans have made crucifixion an ordinary event in the people's lives - as ordinary as an execution can be, that is.  Consequently, there is little to discuss beneath Jesus' cross.  Suddenly though, at the sixth hour, the sky darkens.  It is heavy with thick grey and black clouds, and a small huddle of women stand away from the cross.  Their faces have also grown gloomy, their hopes deteriorating with the weather.  And among this group is one special woman.  She wears her age and experience in her face - heavy circles around her eyes, lips full of cracks and creases and streaks of gray throughout her dark hair.  It is Mary, the mother of Jesus.  Her child hangs helpless before her eyes, and her heart seems to also hang in agony.  Oh, what she would give to take her son down and comfort him - holding him against her chest.  Her age has brought her a husband, now gone, and several children filling several years.  It has brought her songs of awe, laughter and grief upon grief.  Yes, Mary's age has shown her much, but it has never shown her this. Her maternal instincts provide a fury of emotions:  anger, sorrow, empathy, and bitter pain.  But masking the grief and worry in her stomach is a peaceful countenance - softly tender, yet ever strong.  Somehow she manages to maintain composure while staring directly at her dying son. Jesus' head hangs, his chin touching his chest and his mouth gasping for air.  Each breath requires immense effort and brings fierce pain.  His eyes squint and his teeth clinch.  The death of the cross is normally a long death, but Jesus' condition is declining rapidly.  It is nearing the ninth hour and his execution is becoming humiliating. The soldiers beneath can hear Jesus' forceful exhales, as though he had just finished hard labor.  They choose to ridicule him.  And all the while, Mary must watch this disgrace. Her hands rest feebly against her face, the fingers barely touching her lips.  Her breathing is quiet, but the product of much grief.  Her sobs shake her chest like a small tremor; her eyes pinch at the corners, forcing tears onto her cheeks.  Her son has been silent for some time, barely able to open his eyes.  In fact, Jesus looks as though he is fading into sleep, nearing unconsciousness.  Perhaps it is the best, a peaceful death.  But then immediately, to the surprise of all, Jesus' mouth opens wider than ever as his head raises to the clouds.  His neck shows immense strain as his lungs exhale a cry, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabacthani?"  It is an awful sound, disturbing to all who hear, and it creates chaos from the soldiers beneath.  They rush to fill a sponge, hoping to provide relief to his agony.  Jesus refuses the drink.  He appears subdued and silent, throwing his head back down upon his chest.  But no sooner does he relax than his whole body tenses.  His arms shake and he stands himself up on the spike driven into his legs.  And finally he produces one final sound, a loud cry that expels his spirit. It is a death cry. He has gone the full distance now, all the way into it, even into death. The disciples are stunned and scattered. The women weep silently under grey clouds. Nothing now can help them.  Only a miracle.