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Grace, mercy, and peace be unto you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
As human beings, as sinful creatures, we have a fascination with death. Why is it then that we slow down on an interstate to see the carnage of a wreck? Why is it that we tune in to the news to find out about the tragedy and the travesty of the tsunami in Japan, the earthquake in Chile? There is an interest in death because there is something within us that says this is interesting. It began when we were little kids, remember? Taking our thumb and squishing an ant and watching it writhe until it finally stopped moving. It was interesting indeed to notice that. But you and I, we can only handle teaspoons, not cupfuls. We can get overwhelmed with such suffering.
To be in a room with someone who is dying… Listening to the sounds and smells of death is overwhelming. Chaplains and surgeons and doctors in the war zone have compassion fatigue because they’re just spent. Firemen and policemen the same. You remember the look on their eyes as the camera panned around 9-11 in downtown New York City, and it was as if they were vacant, wasn’t it? And yet we watched, interested, curious, excited. This kind of fascination with death leads us to do some things with it. Either we trivialize it and try to act as if it’s not that big of a deal. It’s part of life. Or we’re so overwhelmed with it, we emotionalize it and turn it into some huge thing. And either way, we still have to deal with it, don’t we?
In fact, when you think about if you’ve ever gone through any kind of grief counseling, there are stages and parts to grief that all of us have to go through. If we don’t, we will go through it at one time or another, whether it’s months or years after the event. Death is not a part of God’s creation. It is not normal. It is not status quo. It is an aberration of God’s creation. It is the result of the very rebellion against God. And yet we are so closely familiar with it, aren’t we? We notice the elasticity of our skin around our face is not quite as taut as it was when we were younger. We notice that hair grows in areas that normally wouldn’t grow there, and where it should be growing, it stops. It is not God’s will.
When Pastor prayed the colic, did you hear the profound statement? He prayed, “Almighty and everlasting God, who willed your Son.” The Gospel of John—when you read and heard and responded from Isaiah 53—this is the one who was stricken and smitten by God. This is the one whom God set aside. This is the one who bore us. When that sermon was preached by Peter at Pentecost, and he preached about how they crucified Christ, they nodded at his going to death. They were cut to the heart, the scripture says. And their response to having that brought upon them, which was God’s ultimate law, was, “What shall we do?” Indeed, what shall you do?
Here are the great passages from the Gospel of John that you’re going to hear this evening, marking the road to Calvary’s cross and the last words of our Lord. Or mark them because those words were spoken about you. Brothers, what shall we do? Sounds like there was something that they wanted to do in order to fix what was broken. You know how that went in the Garden of Eden with the fig leaves. It didn’t really fix it, did it? Because though the fig leaves covered their nakedness, they still feared God, were ashamed of God’s presence among them, and were guilty. It wasn’t until God clothed them with the animal skins that death was worn by them as a reminder that we wear death so that we don’t have to die eternally.
Remember the prodigal son when he was at his low and he said, “I will go back to my father’s house, and I will say to him, Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I’m no longer worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants.” But isn’t it interesting? That when the prodigal son showed up at the father’s reception, with warmth and embrace, all that came out of his mouth was this: “Father, I have sinned against heaven and earth. I’m no longer worthy to be called your son.” End of statement. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t work his way back out of it into the graces of his father. He had to either receive the mercy and grace or turn his back on it. That really is all we have to do as well, isn’t it?
Scripture proclaims very clearly, “The Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.” We think of death and the death of Christ as physical pain. We ought not to think so narrowly. It was far more profound than mere physical pain. It was the spiritual anguish of being damned. It was the separation of the Father’s love from the Son. Because the Son became the chief and worst of all sinners. This word that I will speak to you hearkens all kinds of horrible thoughts in your mind, and yet He became the worst one: a pedophile, a rapist, a serial murderer and maimer. He became the worst so He would more than cover your and my sin, who don’t lump ourselves into that same category. And yet, are we not? Are we not?
When the prodigal son returned, he could only ask for mercy. That is all we can ask for. There is nothing we can bring. Again, Scripture declared, “In his body has he borne our sins on the wood of the cross.” We cloak the cross, and it has a sacred meaning to us, but we are sacredizing and making holy a very, very heinous instrument of death, an instrument of death that marks the one who hangs upon it as the worst of criminals. So that we would never have to hang upon such a cross that was due us by God’s justice. That’s why He said again, “God made him a sinner so that through him we might be just.”
Oh, the injustice of it all that a holy and righteous God would die for the creature. And yet you and I are here tonight to worship injustice. Because it was injustice that makes you just. It is our justice, the injustice. It is our salvation. We worship injustice. And we’re good with that, for the most part. Until self-righteousness and pride wells up. And that’s why Good Friday is a good time to lock the head of self-righteousness off. Because it has no place here. We are prodigal children who can only cry out, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I’m no longer worthy to be called your child.”
It wasn’t that long ago I heard stories from my mother when she was a little girl that death was in the house. When someone died, they weren’t ushered off in a sterile situation to be made sterile by chemicals in order for them to be viewed upon and made up. They sat in state in the house. And there were people there all night for the next day that buried that person. Children saw death, smelled death, looked at death, touched death. We shield our children from such things. Rightly or wrongly, death is your and my existence. It faces us each day. Why else would we have this inane curiosity about it?
Hence why it’s very, very vital and important that on this holy day we contemplate and consider the price of the ransom paid for your and my soul. Look carefully at this captive. He is the Son of God, who is greater than all creation. And greater than your sin, God be praised for such greatness. How will you respond when you hear such a priceless treasure was paid for your sins? Will you and I still want to add something of our own, that we’re not as bad as the others for whom He died? Really, I would think comfort found in only these words: “Nothing in my hand I bring, simply to thy cross I cling.”
Remember, you will hear the words spoken from our Lord’s lips before He died. And they were not for Himself. They were for you. Three simple words: “It is finished.” Completed. Finalized. Done with. Over. Paid for. And what do you do with that? Indeed, it is finished. What do you do with that, brothers and sisters? Except believe. In the name of the One who spoke such words. From the place of condemnation, the injustice of it all, for our justice—Jesus Christ. Amen.
