So here we are. That pivotal point in human history – the cross. Over the last few days, we have reflected on the betrayal of Judas, the cowardice of Pilate, the capriciousness of the crowd, the scorn of the soldiers, the taunting of the bandits. Now… darkness.
Jesus cries out – and loudly: ‘My God, why have you abandoned me?’ Much ink has been spilled over the meaning of these seven words, but the pain and desolation of Jesus are clear. Many of the bystanders misunderstood, perhaps thinking that ‘Eli, Eli’ was Jesus calling to the prophet Elijah to come to his aid. Some, at the time, believed that Elijah might appear in times of critical need, to rescue the righteous. Matthew is keen for us to hear the echoes of the psalmist’s words in Psalm 22. Jesus cried out again with a loud voice – and breathed his last. At that moment, that very moment, at that cry of anguish – the curtain in the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.
The curtain is first mentioned in Exodus during the construction of the Tabernacle. Made from coloured yarn and woven, twisted linen and beautifully embroidered, this curtain was thick and strong. It separated the Holy of Holies, the place where God dwelt, from the rest of the Tabernacle where the people worshipped. Only the High Priest could enter the Holy of Holies, and only once a year, bearing sacrificial blood to atone for the sins of the people. Separation from God was the accepted norm and temporary forgiveness came through priestly mediation. This model was then replicated in the grandeur of the Temple in Jerusalem.
At the very moment of Christ’s death, that huge, thick curtain ripped open from top to bottom. Heaven met earth and various other literally earth-shattering events took place. The relationship between heaven and earth was being rewritten. Through the forsaken abandonment of one, God’s holy presence was now made available to all.
Through the death of one, many are offered life.
Enter Joseph of Arimathea. A wealthy and well-respected man, Joseph was, himself, a follower of Jesus. This would not have been an easy balance to strike as a member of the council. Going directly to Pilate to ask for body of Jesus was a bold move – one might even say, risky. And in an extraordinary act of love and generosity, Joseph buries Jesus in his own tomb, that he had created with his own hand. One can only imagine how he must have been feeling.
The next day, suspicion and speculation appeared to be rife. In another act of appeasement, Pilate agrees to a guard (either Roman or a member of the temple police) being deployed to make the tomb secure.
Of course, relying on human strength and power to deal with problems was a well-recognised Roman strategy! They believed in the might and power of the Roman Empire. Those who opposed them were swiftly and brutally dealt with. But here is the beauty in the brutality: that Roman symbol of humiliation, rejection and death became, instead, God’s incredible gift of acceptance, forgiveness and life.
The cross is a place of unfathomable opposites; a pivotal moment that pervades the whole of human history; the juxtaposition of God’s love and God’s judgement; a place of divine exchange.
So, in the darkness of this narrative, let’s pause.
Jesus endured brutal punishment; we can receive mercy.
Jesus faced the horror and the trauma of the cross.
We are offered peace with God. Jesus faced despair.
We are given hope. Jesus experienced total abandonment. We are adopted forever.
Jesus was broken so that we could be completely restored and made whole.
The cross is, indeed, the culmination of God’s promises and the fulfilment of his purposes.
Today is Good Friday. It may feel as though darkness is over the whole land. Take heart. We worship a God of opposites, who has promised never to forsake us. The curtain has not just been lifted – it has been completely ripped away! So, come into God’s presence boldly. We worship a holy God.
Sunday is coming…
Lord Jesus,
We thank you. How frail our words can seem, but we thank you. Help us not to be afraid of the darkness. Today, we put our trust and our hope in you. Teach us what it means to dwell at the foot of your cross, acknowledging our unworthiness, but also our worth in you. Tear away the ‘curtains’ of our hearts and minds. Reveal to us afresh the significance of your death on the cross, the doorway to eternal life.
Amen.