Although there is no Mass, the rituals for Good Friday are very moving and evocative. However, it is the faith that we bring to the ceremonies which gives it importance for us. An outsider to our faith, might look upon such ritual with awe towards its simplicity and yet confusion as to its meaning. This is because we celebrate a theme which much of our culture seeks to ignore or postpone. We commemorate death. Assuredly, it may not be death as many people understand it, but nevertheless it remains something mysterious and even feared. Our society, with its newfound confidence in science, ironically hides the tragic death of the unborn behind the guise of linguistics while many in the medical field go to elaborate techniques to keep certain other people alive, no matter what the cost. One of the tasks of the Christian is to visit the sick; and yet, how often have we hesitated from that duty? And we know why — because to meet an elderly or handicapped or sick person is to face the specter of our own mortality, death. We dye our hair, or wear something over our heads that lost recently at the horse races; we cake our faces in makeup to cover the blemishes and wrinkles of age; we diet to wear clothes that we could not fit into even as teenagers; we take an assortment of drugs to maintain our vitality; we do all this and more to escape the prospect of age and the ghost of death which lingers in the periphery of our lives.
Even believers on Good Friday might view the death we recall as simply a commemoration of an historical event. But, it is much more than that. The Lord on Holy Thursday washed the feet of his disciples as a sign to them that we are called to humble service. Good Friday is the day that he gives us a summons to imitate him. From our Christian initiation onward, we are baptized into the saving death of Christ. It would set the whole pattern of our lives in which we would experience many dyings and risings. It may sound fatalistic, but it is still true that we are on a pilgrimage from the womb to the tomb. To live means we must suffer. To live we must die. The uniquely Christian message is that although we may not escape death, Christ will give us a share in his story of the empty tomb and triumph over death.
To some extent, all the sacraments are a living out of what we celebrate in the Lenten season leading to Easter. The Mass is a special case in point whereby the sacrifice of Christ on the Cross is not only commemorated but is recalled by a living memory. Christ died once and for all for us, but in the Eucharist, that death breaks through the bonds of time and space; we are there. Celebrated in an unbloody fashion, what was missing on Calvary is now provided, ourselves and our faithfulness. If it were by our sins that Christ was crucified; then now in the various Masses of the year we are able to get to the other side of that Cross, to offer ourselves with Christ, as an acceptable offering to the Father. We offer ourselves in our prayers to God, asking him to hear us and to transform us to the likeness of his Son.
As Christians we view death as the consequence of our primordial disobedience, sin. In the ministry of Jesus this perspective is retained. When he healed the sick, he often added an admonition, to sin no more. He also showed that he was the master of both life and death. When the little girl Tabitha and his friend Lazarus had died, he restored them to health. However, he did not use this very same power to avoid his mission in the world. Why? Certainly, he had not sinned. He did not deserve to die, especially not a criminal’s death. Why then did he accept his Cross?
There is a movie which came out a number of years ago entitled, Saving Grace; in it the Pope while gardening gets locked out of the Vatican and begins to roam the street with the ordinary people. He eventually ends up in a small town where apathy has crushed the people’s spirits. They live off charity and refuse to try to improve their lot. Not surprising, the village church is in ruins; after all, what need had a dead people of a church. The Pope, who looks like any other poor man, becomes determined to help stir these people back to life. He starts work upon a primitive irrigation system with the help of children. The adults think he is mad. Lazy thugs in charge of the town try to prevent his work from coming to completion. Just when the project is about finished, the gang leader of the town throws a stick of dynamite destroying part of the works. The townspeople look on. Among the debris is a child, a small boy. All seems lost. All seems for nothing. A boy dies, and what does the successor of Peter have to show for it? And yet, the women and later the men of the village start coming to the wreckage and begin to build. What a price this boy paid. He must not die in vain. How evil an act it was, a deed their sluggishness and despair of life had allowed. They rebuild. Water comes pouring into the town. These simply people begin to rejoice and some even dance in the water. They were dead, and are now alive again. I tell you this story because it speaks to us in a small way about the Cross of Christ. Sometimes to redeem a people, takes a life.
We don’t have to dig any deeper than that for the reason why Christ allowed himself to be betrayed, tortured, and murdered. He did it for us. The words from Caiaphas in John’s Gospel took on a meaning even deeper than he would have ascribed, that there was an “advantage of having one man die for the people” (John 18:14). Jesus was betrayed by his very own friends, the ones who should have protected and loved him. His own people disowned him. Peter denied him. Judas turned him in, with of all things, a kiss! Imagine someone whom you love more than life, betraying your love and doing so with a sign of false affection. I know for some of you this would not be hard to envision. Think about the deep agony it causes. It is at the core of what the Cross is about. I cannot tell you how many men and women have come to the rectory door, crying uncontrollably, because a spouse or a loved one abandoned them. It is the Passion of Christ all over again, a story of a love rejected. And yet, if this were all that the Cross was about, we would be the most pitiful of people. The story of Good Friday is also about a love fulfilled and accepted — a love so great that Jesus was willing to stretch out his hands and feet upon the Cross to show us just how much. Taken in connection with what we celebrate at Easter, it is the message that love is ultimately stronger than pain, betrayal, or death.
Despite how we try, I doubt if any of us can completely cast the thought of death out of our minds. I am sure that among the readers, there is pain for loved ones lost. I do not have to remind you of the suffering and regrets which haunt us. We can take comfort in the Christian message that death is not the end but is rather a new beginning. It is a doorway from this life to another. Because that door closes quickly, we might easily despair as to what is on the other side. However, we do not need to fear. God has promised us that we would never be abandoned. Just as he vindicated his Son after the world’s intolerance had done all it could to him, so shall we be rescued. Jesus himself said that he has prepared a place for us and that in his house there are many rooms. When we encounter the reality of Good Friday, let us remember that we are mortal; that we are not totally in control of our lives; that we do suffer; that we are sinful; and that death is a part of who and what we are. But, let us also recall that we are so much more and that there is a part of us that death shall never reach. Where we are weak, God is strong. Where we are sinful, God can forgive. Where God forgives, there is redemption. Where there is redemption, there is eternal life.
For more such reflections, contact me about getting my book, CHRISTIAN REFLECTIONS.
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Many years ago I was counseling a man who had stopped going to church. He said that he did not have to go to services to pray and that the churches were filled with hypocrites anyway. I admitted that there was some truth to his accusation; but I then asked him to honestly tell me whether or not he was really praying alone either. He paused. Hesitantly, he said, no. I then quite pointedly inquired about who he thought should go to church? He wondered what I meant. I responded that Christ came for sinners and that we have tried ever since to fill our churches with them, this priest included. The poor man began to see his own hypocrisy. The only difference between him and churchgoers was that we admitted we were sinners and therefore sought God’s forgiveness. Jesus spoke directly to this when he said, “The healthy do not need a doctor; sick people do. I have not come to invite the self-righteous to a change of heart, but sinners” (Luke 5:31-32). There is no shame in admitting that we are not perfect, only in trying to hide our frailties behind the lies of pride and deceit. I wish I could tell you that this revelation changed the life of this man. But, I have no inkling. He did not come back into the worship space where I presided. The blinders immediately came back down and he rationalized away everything I said. I pray for him, just as we all should. And yet, there is some sadness in knowing that when our family in faith comes together, he and so many others are not present. No one, anywhere, can ever take their place here and so we are the poorer. We desperately need the witness and solidarity of one another. With this in mind, I would sincerely encourage the constant support of one another, not with the badgering of a people who think they are better than others but with the example of a faith lived out both in our particular churches and in the world outside. The Pharisees and the scribes to whom Jesus spoke did not realize that they most of all needed Christ’s forgiveness and healing. Let it be a lesson about which we shall always be mindful.
The title chosen for this subheading might make one imagine a romantic setting where some daring spy has an affair with a deadly enemy agent. Such is how our minds and imaginations work these days. The arachnologist might fantasize in some poor anthropomorphic way about the love of two black widow spiders. The male was under her spell. Did he know that her embrace guaranteed new life and the end of his own? Snap! She bites off his head — oblivion, the end of a relationship — now he is merely fodder for a patricidal cannibalistic brood. Sweet and deceptive is the kiss of death. Perhaps the maiden being drained of her blood by a vampire in a late-night B-movie would think so? I digress enough. While these might make interesting if not sick asides; what I want to mention briefly is a far more realistic kiss, a kiss which has touched the lives of each and every one of us.
A few years ago, I recall watching a re-run episode of the old series, The Twilight Zone, which I think might help us to appreciate God’s Word. In it, three robbers made an incredible heist of gold bars. It was worth a fortune. However, the gold was too hot to handle. So, one of the men, being a scientist, devised a way for them to go into suspended animation or sleep, to wake up healthy and rich a hundred years hence. They bet their lives on this proposition for wealth. A hundred years later, they awaken from their slumber. Sometime during their stasis, a rock had fallen and had broken a glass cylinder containing one of their friends. He was dead. There were only two left; so much the better. They would be richer for it — they thought. The remaining two men exited their cave in the desert with their loot. The sun was hot. Civilization was no longer where it used to be. The truck they had counted upon broke down. They fought with each other. Greed set in. The water became scarce. A tussle broke out and suddenly, there was only one man left. He laughed. He was rich beyond avarice. He carried the heavy bars in the hot desert sun. Just when he thought he was finished, he met a couple of people in some kind of futuristic hot-rod. He fell to the ground. “Water, water,” he begged, “Give me some water and I’ll make you rich beyond your dreams!” He held out the gold. One of the people whom he met pitied the dying man but found him very curious. For everyone knew that in the latter twenty-first century, gold was easily accessible and virtually worthless.
“Can a mother forget her infant, be without tenderness for the child of her womb? Even should she forget, I will never forget you” (Isaiah 49:15).
We are called to pursue something of a personal discernment in regards to our sinful nature. Look at 1 Corinthians 2:10-16. The selection begins, “The Spirit scrutinizes all matters, even the deep things of God.” It is a wonderful and insightful depiction of the interior life. We as Christians do not simply follow laws in blind obedience. We are called not to go through the motions of faith; quite contrarily, we are to be filled within by God’s Spirit.
The message which emerges from our Gospel is sometimes quite unsettling. Take for instance Mark 7:1-8;14-15;21-23. Preachers might even be afraid to bring further attention to it because of the possible angry reactions it might evoke. None of us, myself included, like to be reminded of how imperfect, weak, and sinful we are. We create all kinds of barriers in our lives to protect ourselves from this realization. We try earnestly to project images of wholesomeness and sanctity, even when we realize that we have a long way to go.
Many parishes celebrate “Come Home for Christmas” and “Come Home for Easter” reconciliation services. Of course, Confession is available all year long. Priests delight in being ministers of reconciliation. The Christian regularly needs to examine his conscience and behavior.
Just as Jeremiah images the blind and lame as among the throng returning from exile, Jesus pays particular attention to the crippled and blind. The Gospel scene in Mk 10:46-52 is very touching and telling. Bartimaeus is a blind beggar who has heard about the miraculous deeds of Jesus. Now that Jesus is nearby, he calls out to him. People literally scold him to keep quiet. He shouts all the louder. The crowd did not want to hear him. Maybe they were even ashamed of his presence? Nevertheless, while their ears and probably their hearts are closed to the beggar, Jesus hears his cry. Note what Bartimaeus says, “Son of David, have pity on me!” He is acknowledging that Jesus is a descendant of David and from his royal line is to come the Messiah and Savior of Israel. The beggar cries for mercy, but attached to his plea is a profession of faith in our Lord. When Jesus calls him over, the sentiment of the throng seems to change. There is a total about-face. “You have nothing whatever to fear from him! Get up! He is calling you!” There is a two-fold action. This remains an element of discipleship. We cry out for mercy and God hears our prayer. We seek God and he seeks us out. Note what Bartimaeus does. He throws aside his cloak, jumps up, and comes to Jesus. As a blind beggar he probably had little else besides his one cloak. No doubt he slept and sat upon it, lest it be blown away or stolen. Instead of grasping it tightly around him while walking to Jesus, he throws it aside. He no longer needs what is literally his security blanket. He will be able to find it afterwards because he believes that he shall soon see. He wastes no time and jumps up. Such should be our disposition when God calls us. When he reaches Jesus, our Lord does something a bit peculiar, no doubt for the crowd. He asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” We might ask, is it not obvious? The beggar responds, “I want to see.” What else might he ask? Was Jesus hoping for another answer? In any case, the gift of sight is given him. No more mention is made of the cloak. The beggar’s old life has been swept away. He sees, not only with physical eyes, but with eyes of faith. Jesus tells him, “Be on your way! Your faith has healed you.” Here is where we get a hint as to what Jesus wanted to hear from the beggar. His eyes open, Bartimaeus follows him up the road. He becomes one of the many followers or disciples of Jesus. Can you imagine what laughter would have resulted had he answered Jesus’ question, “I want to be your disciple.” Nevertheless, the result here is the same. Tradition suggests that many of those given restored sight and made able to walk would later be blinded and crippled again in the persecution of the Christian saints. Their little faith that brought healing would blossom into a great faith meriting a share in Christ’s eternal life.
The Lord is ever so patient with us. Look at Matthew 13:24-43. Weed (sinners) and wheat (saints) are allowed to grow together. Where are we in this? What is our response to salvation and Christ’s coming kingdom?



















