Sermon for Good Friday
Year C

April 6, 2007

The Rev’d Lloyd Prator
St. John’s in the Village
New York City

Why did all of this have to happen? We spend a lot of time talking about Jesus as being both God and man. If he were a mere mortal, then we might understand, he might have been a victim of circumstances; there was nothing he could do. But, Jesus did not have to do any of this. Remember than he chided St. Peter for drawing his sword in the defense of Jesus. “Do you think I cannot appeal to my Father and he will send more than twelve legions of angels” (to my defense.) And in John’s gospel he says that no one takes his life from him, he lays it down on his own accord.


He died because he loved us. It is as simple as that. The love of God runs like a repeated musical theme throughout the gospels and the rest of the New Testament. God so loved the world that he gave his only son. He loved me and gave himself for me. The answer lies in love.

But could he not have loved us without this horrible, bloody death? Couldn’t he throw his arm around us and just tell us he thought we were terrific? Or, couldn’t he have been a little tougher on us and nudged us until we said that we have not loved him with our whole heart nor our neighbors as ourselves? Or if a more dramatic show of power were needed, how about appearing in glory as the King of Kings and catch our imagination by power and triumph. Why a horrible and bloody death?

It has to do with the nature of love. In fact, it is so simple to grasp, you may be surprised you did not think of it before. If you are in love enough, if you are wildly, head over heels in love enough, you will throw caution—and even life itself—to the winds for the person you love. You will make a fool of yourself, empty your bank account, risk your career, give up a good-rate mortgage, and sell your favorite car—if you are really in love. I think that might be why they call it “head over heels in love.”

I think we are inclined to consider the love of God in a way that is too cool, too detached, too formal. But remember, it is just as passionate and thrilling as the old man who ran out to greet his long lost son in the story of the prodigal.

God’s love was so deep that he wanted to learn what it was like to be us. To love as we love, surrounded by hatred and perversion. He wanted to experience the pain of rejection, the delight of discovery, the joy of laughter shared with a beloved. He wanted to taste the delight of passion, the bitterness of salty tears, the ache of lonely abandonment. He wanted to touch the lonely and the unloved, the hopeless and the hapless. He wanted to feel what it was like to die.

But what does Jesus death mean for our life? Jesus death is about his solidarity with the human situation. His resurrection is about the hope that comes from God. The death of Jesus tells me that my death is not an isolated event, a disagreeable event that I must endure once. His death tells me that it is important for me to let go, to take my place on my own version of the journey to Jerusalem. As with Jesus, I have to always be letting go. Let go of yesterday. Let go of the enthralling delight of possessions. Every day, to die a little. And, finally to let go of the wonderful miracle of being alive.

To live with Jesus means having to let go of where you have been, in order to live more fully. It can be terribly painful. We inevitably must say good-bye to the strength and vigor of youth, the energy that propels a tennis ball or pushes 400 pounds along a rod of steel. We set aside the career that made you feel needed and supported and praised. The ability to think fast, speak clearly, to walk tall and straight, and to be, in everyone’s opinion, a creative person. All of these dimension of life must eventually be set aside. None of us can live in the past, rejoicing in that which was. We all know people who have tried, and how such a retrospective lock imperiled live and darkened vision. Christ is now; letting go is a part of now, because dying in that way is Christian living.

Christ died for you. He died because he loved you to the end. He died because he loved you without counting the cost. He died because to die is to teach us how to do what we must one day do as he did, and for which getting a little practice just cannot hurt.