Morning Rounds and Evening Musings

Sometimes Good Friday feels anything but good. The tenor of Holy Week with its darkness, solemnity and contemplation are difficult to face—all culminating in a day devoted to the crucifixion, an unimaginable death full of unjust suffering. But however much discomfort we feel coming face to face with the cross and with death, we cannot help but see it all around us.

A seemingly never ending war in Iraq, where thousands of soldiers’ and innocent victims’ lives have been lost.

Random acts of school violence—Virginia Tech, University of North Carolina—claiming the lives of students at their prime.

Corrupt politicians caught who use money and power to buy sex.

Whole species going extinct as forests fall and oceans are polluted—all in the name of economic growth.

Broken marriages

The death of our parents and friends—however slow, sudden, or premature.

Single parents working several jobs to pay the medical and grocery bills.

Depression.

Addiction.

We are all too aware that our world is a Good Friday world.

This is not only a day for sentimental remembrances of our Savior’s great sacrifice. This day embodies the truth we know about the world—it is broken, fallen, prone to sin. Today we are given space to sit in this Good Friday world, space to acknowledge the world as we sometimes cannot help but see it—filled with destruction and death.

But Good Friday is about more than the brokenness of the world out there and the systemic violence, corruption and sin we see in it. It hits a cord deep within us as we relive the shouts of ‘crucify him’ ‘crucify him’ and as we sit in disbelief at the turn of events on that day so long ago—a betrayal, an unjust trial, mockery, the pain and the horrible, undeserved death of Jesus—all at the hands of humans just like us. Of course it’s easier to deal with Christ’s death and with our Good Friday world if evil exists out there; if violence, and greed and corruption are done by those people. So maybe Good Friday hits a little too close to home, the drama is too real not because of what we know about ‘those people’ but because of what we know about ourselves. Good Friday acknowledges humanity at its worst. We know that we are not different from the betrayer, Judas, or the complicit Pilate or the criminals crucified next to Jesus, or the crowds exchanging the life of a murderer for the life of their Savior. Good Friday forces the question: Where do I fit in this horrific story? Would I have recognized Jesus as Savior and Lord? Would I have stood by? Would I have been the Roman centurions or the disciples? Would I have been ignorant of the significance of Christ’s death?

Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.

My own sin seems manageable if I can conceive of sin as the things I do wrong. But if I acknowledge that there is much I do wrong without knowing it, sin suddenly seems dauntingly scary. But of course, we all know that there is plenty we do out of ignorance. In fact, we acknowledge our ignorance and failures every week in the confession we repeat together Sunday after Sunday “Forgive us for what we have done, and for what we have left undone.” Implicit in the confession is our potential for ignorance—there are things we do not do right, there are things we should do and we don’t and there are things we do wrong we don’t even know we are doing wrong. However much we may struggle with confronting the image of a man on a cross, dying a horrible death made all the more horrible and ironic because he was perfect, we cannot help but acknowledge this crucifixion as “an enactment of the worst that we are.” In it we see the potential for our own ignorance, and we know that it is not enough to blame the brokenness of the world on those people out there. Of course we want to move past Good Friday, to deny it and get on to Easter. But it is into this realization of our brokenness that Jesus’ words from the cross speak:

Father forgive us, for we do not know what we are doing.

We are just like all those who truly didn’t know what they were doing that day—mocking the identity of Jesus as the Messiah, not understanding the truth of the words they said in cruelty: are you the messiah?’ ‘let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God’, the crown of thorns, the sign above his head making a mockery of this backwards ‘king of the Jews.’ 2,000 years ago humanity was no different than it is today. And still Jesus’ words of forgiveness cover them.

Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.

In those words we see Jesus as Savior and Messiah. In those words we hear a proclamation of forgiveness for all who were involved in his death, and we hear Jesus embodying the words he has spoken for the last three years—love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you, forgive 70 times 7 times. The words Jesus spoke throughout his life echo in his plea for forgiveness from the cross—and in them we hear the affirmation of everything we know about this upside-down victory achieved through death and forgiveness rather than conquest and punishment. Just like his life, Jesus’ death tells us exactly who he was. His identity as Savior of the world—Savior of those who resist him or those who simply don’t know who he is—this identity is confirmed at the cross, confirmed in words of forgiveness to everyone who watched his trial and crucifixion as bystanders, or who actively participated in it.

Father forgive them, for they do not know not what they are doing.

We find ourselves able to cope with our own ignorance, able to cope with the brokenness we see everywhere. We hear ourselves being forgiven—and forgiven not just for the things we are aware enough to ask forgiveness for, but forgiven for the things we do without even knowing it. Our transformation starts on Good Friday. Jesus’ words mark more than incredible forgiveness of the unspeakable evil that occurred that day. They cover each of us who has sinned in any way, and they speak to power of the cross, where ignorance and evil are met with forgiveness and grace even in the face of the world at its darkest. When Jesus forgave Pilate and the criminals at his side, when he spoke words meant for Judas and the jeering crowd, for those who rejected him without knowing the gravity of their action—in all these people we find comfort knowing that Jesus came face to face with the worst of me and you and instead of punishment or anger we hear sweet words of forgiveness and we see the mightiest of all being brought low, making a bridge between himself and a broken world. We are included in Christ’s absolution. We are made members of a kingdom hidden in death and suffering, initiated from the most unlikely place—hanging on a cross, beside common thieves`.

In our Good Friday world full of death and pain, words of forgiveness don’t negate the cross. Christ suffered and died. We are sinful, the world is broken. As much as we endure this day only because it leads us to Easter, deep down we know that we never really leave Good Friday because it is the world we live in. But it is in these words from Jesus that we begin to see some of the goodness of Good Friday. I for one, take comfort in the fact that in the midst of my compulsion to get it right, in the face of my difficulty in seeing myself as I really am—so often ignorant of the ways I separate myself from God—stands Jesus, his words from the cross encompassing my ignorance and yours, the criminals at his side, the centurions with nails in hand, Pilate the unjust judger—none of us understands who Jesus is fully, but we can see him as Savior through this short phrase:

Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.

Thanks be to God.