Jesus Stays [Good Friday]

 The Rt. Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Passion according to John

 

Jesus Stays

 

It is said that in the face of mortal danger a human will naturally react in one of two ways: fight or flight.  As the first Holy Week unfolded, in the Garden of Gethsemane, this was on full display.  Peter unsheathed his sword and took a swing.  Other disciples desperately scattered from the scene.  All acting, shall we say, naturally, in the face of danger.

 

All except Jesus.  Jesus didn’t fight; he commanded his disciple to put away the sword.  And Jesus didn’t fly away with the others.  In the face of mortal danger, Jesus stayed.  

 

In the near future, as Thursday melted into Friday, Jesus would face bitter accusations.  Strangers would dismiss his goodness and smear his name.  The devoutly religious would batter him with Bible verses.  The apathetic would make light of his love and mock his reign.  Soldiers would displace his loveliness and open his flesh with fists and thorns and spears.  His friends would abandon him.  And then, finally, under a grieving sky, the cross would hold him tightly in place and steal his life.  After the garden there was nothing good.  And he knew it.  And he stayed.

 

Just as he had stayed the course on the long way to the cross.  Opportunities presented themselves.  The miracles of his ministry opened hearts, which opened doors.  The crowds, in the best of times, saw a king.  And so, for Jesus, there were crowns to be claimed – crowns of gold, far lovelier than the thorns he donned.  There were robes to be won – robes of royalty, far more dignified than the ironic costume he was given.  There were thrones to ascend – thrones far more comfortable than the hard wood of the cross.  Jesus could have taken a different path, one befitting his goodness and his gifts.  But he didn’t.  He stayed on the way, the way to Good Friday.

 

There were so many hills to die on.  Jesus chose this one.  He chose the cause of love and willingly paid the cost of love.  His love burned so pure that it became, in this world, an object of scorn; we could not bear it.  The pained people of this planet beat against it, pushed away from it, resisted the transformation it threatened. 

 

And, of course, God knew we would.  And still tried.  Still came.  Still reached out to touch our sickness and embrace our hurt.  But people, being what we are, we would not have it.  And so we railed against Christ’s goodness.  We tried to scare him away.  We promised our worst.  But even when we promised our worst, Jesus stayed.  And when the promise became nails and a cross, still Jesus stayed.

 

For us.  For the accusers.  And the strangers.  And the religious.  And the apathetic.  And the violent.  And the betrayers.  For those who fought love.  And those who tried to flee.  Love was the only cure for our pain and our hurt and our wild rage.  And maybe deep down we knew that.  But also we needed to see how strong it was.  We needed to know that love could bear our fits and our terror.

 

And so when love took on mortal flesh, we hit love with everything we had.  Because we had to know that love would stay when we didn’t deserve it.  Because we couldn’t deserve it. 

 

Here we are, once again: still trying to believe that love can hang in there with us.  And so we get Good Friday: our annual reminder that even when we are at our worst, Jesus stays.