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‘The bad thing is never the last thing. But today…is about the bad thing. What do we do with a faith that promises resurrection… when we are standing at the cross?
From the cross, Jesus says, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” If ever there were a “bad” thing, this is it. Jesus feeling abandoned by God. And yet, here we are. Today, we step into suffering alongside Jesus who feels forsaken.
One of my favorite books is called, Everything Happens for a Reason: And Other Lies I’ve Loved, by Kate Bowler. The title in and of itself summarizes our deep desire to minimize pain. We want suffering to have a reason or a cause, instead of accepting that often suffering is simply suffering.
When confronted with pain, whether our own or another’s, we lean into phrases such as, “at least…” or “it could be worse…” But that’s just it. The cross is not a competition. Suffering is not a hierarchy.
The ones who shouldn’t suffer, do; children, the elderly, those who are disabled. But suffering doesn’t discriminate. It finds all of us. And God enters all of it. What if we stopped trying to measure pain and simply honored it?
For the past two years, we have been iterating on the RELATA experience and including as many people as possible. We’ve invited people from outside this community. We’ve run the program on weeknights, Sunday mornings, and in a weekend retreat format. And what we’ve seen over and over is the way in which people are united through their suffering. The table conversations are real and they are honest and they are vulnerable. The reason RELATA is so powerful is because we are united by telling the stories that hurt.
On this day, Mary and the beloved disciple stand at the foot of the cross. They aren’t problem solving. They don’t run away. They remain. They provide Jesus with a ministry of presence. Their presence isn’t passive, it is courageous. Consider who has been with you in your worst moments, not to fix things, just to remain present.
Some have said suffering can shape us, but Good Friday isn’t about explaining suffering. It’s about staying with it. This is the body of Christ. It isn’t an abstract theological idea, but Christ embodied in shared vulnerability. And that’s what we see at the cross.
The Good Friday story isn’t polished or edited, or even hidden. It is raw. The cross is God’s story told out loud.
Can you think of a time when you sat with someone who was truly suffering? Maybe it was in the wake of a devastating diagnosis, unimaginable loss, or a mental health crisis.
Several years ago, my husband and I went through this when my mother-in-law told us she had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. After the shock wore off, we sprang into action. Who is your doctor? Are you getting a second opinion? What are your treatment options? Our impulse was to fix it with an action plan.
But what she needed is what this day is all about. Kathy needed us to stay with her inside the pain. Our instinct was to fix it. But Good Friday is not a day for fixing.
What we discover is that healing doesn’t begin when the story is fixed. It begins when someone stays. Healing happens when we sit with someone in their grief, when we hold a hand, or deliver a meal. Staying means not looking away and staying present.
Today is all about the bad thing. It is the day in which we confront the most challenging aspects of our humanity; violence, loss, death, and brokenness.
Tomorrow, Holy Saturday, is the bad place where we find ourselves in limbo, in the silence and the waiting. Holy Saturday is about disorientation as we wonder, “now, what?” But tonight, we are not yet in the silence. We are still at the moment of rupture.
Have you ever kept vigil with someone who was dying? In those days leading up to death, everyone lingers at that point of rupture. When I visit people in this liminal space, the spouses and caregivers are often busying themselves with tasks; playing soothing music, arranging blankets and pillows, administering medication. But the only thing to really “do” is to sit and hold their hand. These precious moments at the end of a life are an opportunity to go all the way, to love them through their suffering.
Good Friday reminds us that our faith doesn’t merely skim the surface, it descends into the depths. Our faith goes all the way, like Jesus. In the person of Jesus, God joins us in suffering, injustice, and even death. Jesus doesn’t go halfway. It is not symbolic. Jesus goes all the way, the one who bears our grief and carries our sorrow.
When we are in the depths, on the precipice of rupture, that is where hope actually begins. Bear with me. This is the part that is tricky because we know how the story ends. We know what’s coming on Sunday, but we aren’t there yet.
Remember Mary and the beloved disciple standing at the foot of the cross? They didn’t know what was going to happen. They were witnessing Jesus’ agonizing death and believed this to be the end. But they still had hope. Mary and the beloved disciple demonstrate their hope by their presence. They remain at the foot of that cross, bearing witness to Jesus’ suffering.
We too can see a glimmer of hope. While the bad thing is never the last thing, it is a real thing, and that is why we must hope. For hope is not denial. Hope is what becomes possible… because we have not looked away. It is here where our ministry of presence in the pit of despair becomes the seed for resurrection. Our presence germinates hope.
Just for tonight, you don’t have to fix anything. You don’t have to explain anything or even understand. All you have to do is stay. Be present in this moment at the foot of the cross. The sky darkens and the world holds its breath. Remain here and trust that God is present.