Liturgy of Good Friday: Homily

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In St John’s account of the crucifixion of Jesus just five people stood by him.

His aunt was there. Mary, the wife of Clopas was there (which rather begs the question, ‘where was Clopas?’). Mary Magdalene was there. His bosom friend, the Beloved Disciple was there. Most poignantly of all perhaps, the woman who brought him to birth, his Blessed Mother, was there.

They were there. And of course the duty execution team of Roman soldiers was there.

Where was Peter? Where were the other members of the inner circle of the Twelve? Where were the crowds who followed him through the Galilee, being fed, healed, taught, reconciled? Where were the crowds who greeted him just days before at his triumphal entry into the Holy City, throwing down their cloaks, waving their palm branches?

They were nowhere to be seen.

The Passion Gospel of John asks the question of each of us, where are you, where am I, in relation to the Crucified?

Thanks be to God we are here this afternoon. We come to associate ourselves with Jesus Christ the Crucified One. We stand with him and we come to kneel to reverence and venerate the cross afresh.

We come to the foot of the Cross to stand with countless witnesses to the Way of Jesus throughout the ages: with the nameless, like his mother’s sister; with those who feel solitary in their faith, like Mary the wife of Clopas; we stand with Mary Magdalene, who had sinned much but knew much greater forgiveness; we stand with the Beloved Disciple full of love and faith; we stand with Mary who said ‘yes’ to the call to bring Jesus to birth in the world and heard Simeon’s words that a sword would pierce her soul: now she was at that moment.

‘Where do you stand on such and such?’ It’s a question that is asking someone to justify a position, a stance, perhaps an intellectual argument or political opinion.

Our response when asked ‘where do you stand on Jesus Christ?’ does not need to be answered with words, however cogent, rational or well-argued; but rather, we stand patiently at the foot of the cross.

Where do I stand? I stand at the foot of the cross with Mary’s sister, Mary Magdalene, Mary, the wife of Clopas, the Beloved Disciple, Mary, the Mother of Our Lord and God. I stand there with saints and martyrs, with countless faithful men, women and children throughout the ages and today.

I stand there; you stand there, because in baptism we receive the sign of the cross, and are told as bearers of this sign, ‘Fight valiantly as a disciple of Christ, against sin, the world and the devil, and remain faithful to Christ to the end of your life’ (Common Worship: Initiation Services).

It is the way of fidelity to Jesus Christ, through communion in his sacrifice, in and his Body and Blood, standing with him, kneeling before him, worshipping and adoring him that we become the people we were created to be: at one with God; at one with the creation; at one with one another; at one with ourselves.

We adore you O Christ and we bless you,

because by your Holy Cross,

you have redeemed the world.

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For further reflection:

What tongue can tell,

what intellect can grasp

the heavy weight of your desolation

Blessed Virgin?
You were present at all these events,

standing close by and participating in them

in every way.

This most blessed and most holy flesh –

which you so chastely conceived,

so sweetly nourished

and fed with your milk,

which you so often held on your lap,

and kissed with your lips –

you actually gazed upon

with your bodily eyes

now torn by the blows of the scourges,

now pierced by the points of the thorns,

now struck by the reed,

now beaten by hands and fists,

now pierced by nails and foxed to the wood of the cross,

and torn by its own weight as it hung there,

now mocked in every way,

finally made to drink gall and vinegar.

But with the eye of your mind

you saw that divine soul

filled with gall of every form of bitterness,

now groaning in spirt,

now quaking with fear,

now wearied,

now in agony,

now in anxiety,

now in confusion,

now oppressed by sadness and sorrow

partly because of his most sensitive response

to bodily pain,

partly because of his most fervent zeal

for the divine honour taken away by sin,

partly because of his pity poured out upon wretched men,

partly because of his compassion for you,

his most sweet mother,

as the sword pierced the depths of your heart,

when with devoted eyes

he looked upon you standing before him

and spoke to you these loving words:

‘Woman, behold your son,’

in order to console in its trial your soul,

which he knew had been more deeply pierced

by a sword of compassion

than if you had suffered

in your own body.

From ‘The Tree of Life’ St Bonaventure (1221-1274)