Jesus is already there
Readings: Matthew 26. 57 – 27. 56
No matter the darkness you find yourself in, Jesus is already there.
As we stand at the foot of the cross we stand in darkness. Literal darkness; we read that darkness covered the land from noon until Jesus’ death three hours later. And metaphorical darkness as Jesus goes down into the very depths with us. And as we stand here in the darkness, we find that Jesus is here with us. And that no matter the darkness we face in our lives, Jesus is already there. The darkness of life’s hardships, the darkness of sin, and the darkness of death.
He has been falsely accused, found guilty of things he has never done. Have you ever been there? People accusing you? Making stuff up about you? Gossiping about you? Jesus has been there. He is attacked by the priests and later the soldiers, spat on, hit, whipped. Have you ever suffered violence? Been hurt physically by those who mean you nothing but harm? Jesus has been there. He’s denied by his friends. First he’s betrayed by a friend with a kiss, the rest scatter as he’s arrested, and then, as he’s standing trial, one of his closest friends denies he even knows him. Have you ever been turned on by someone you know? Have you ever been hurt by someone close? Jesus has been there. He’s rejected by his people as they choose a terrorist over him, calling instead for him to be killed in the worst possible way. Have you ever been hurt by your people, the ones to whom you belong? Your neighbours or nation? Have you ever been hurt or rejected by your brother and sister Christians or by the Church? Jesus has been there. And then Pilate washes his hands of him, wanting nothing more than to rid himself of responsibility for what awaits Jesus. It’s where we get the phrase from. Have you ever been abandoned to your fate? Left out in the cold with no-one to speak for you? Jesus has been there. He’s mocked and humiliated. People pay him false homage, making a mockery of his kingship. And then as he is crucified, they strip him naked. That little loin cloth on crucifixes? We’ve added that. Have you ever been mocked, made fun of for who you are or what you believe? Have you ever been utterly humiliated? Just wishing for the ground to swallow you up? Jesus has been there.
‘Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow, which was brought upon me, which the Lord inflicted on the day of his fierce anger’.
I wonder if you recognise those words? They’re taking from the Book of Lamentations which many of us have been reading this Lent. I wonder how you’re getting on with it? It’s a tough book, but it goes right down into the depths of human misery and sorrow.
And we’ve been reading it, not just for fun, not to make us all more miserable this Lent because perhaps we’re meant to be miserable in Lent, but because as we come to Good Friday, here we see the God who goes down into all of this with us. The church has long associated the Book of Lamentations with this moment, with this day. Seen many of its passages as prophecy, pointing us to Jesus. And so the Church has long placed those words on Jesus’ lips as he hangs upon the cross: ‘Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow’.
And perhaps we want to say ‘yes, yes there is, I’m going through a tough time too!’ But perhaps that feels flippant at the foot of the cross, as we stand here in the darkness. But even should we say that, Jesus doesn’t rebuke us, he hasn’t descended to the depths to outdo us, he has descended into the deepest darkness to meet us here.
‘For these things I weep; my eyes flow with tears; for a comforter is far from me, one to revive my courage’. And yet Jesus is here. Torn, beaten, exhausted, and fully in control. When our eyes flow with tears, when a comforter feels far from us, Jesus is near. He doesn’t need to go looking for us, we are not lost, he has already plumbed the depths that first Good Friday. He is here with us. And so when we lament, when we cry out ‘how long O Lord’ perhaps he doesn’t give us a date and time, no matter how much we’d long for one, but he is here. In the trials and troubles of life, in that darkness, the God of the Universe, Jesus, is there.
But there’s another darkness in life, the darkness of sin. And in many ways it’s twofold. The darkness of what sin causes, the pain and suffering for us and for others. And with it the perceived darkness of God’s wrath, of judgement, God’s righteous and settled anger at all the damage and the pain sin causes. That too in many ways feels dark. And yet Lamentations again and again, in the midst of declaring what is happening is God’s judgement against them, also declares again and again God’s love, and mercy and goodness. How can we have both?
We often try to resolve the tension ourselves. God is loving, so sin doesn’t matter, we can just sweep it away and light will come, but that just makes things worse. Or we say that God can’t be loving, he’s angry like we are, lashing out at us when we mess up, an emotional outburst against us and so we’re left in the darkness without hope.
I wonder if sin and judgement has ever left you sat in the darkness, without hope. Have you ever felt far from God? That perhaps he has given up on you? That your sins are too great? That God is finished with you this time? Do we ever find ourselves with the poet at the end of Lamentations, saying to God ‘Why have you forgotten us completely? Why have you forsaken us these many days? Restore us to yourself, O Lord, that we may be restored; renew our days as of old—unless you have utterly rejected us, and are angry with us beyond measure’.
There’s that hesitancy, that fear, we’ve gone too far, God is done with us, we’re lost. And yet God holds together his loving kindness and his judgement of sin, and we see that most clearly in the cross. Jesus shouldering our sin, carrying it away from us, bearing God’s righteous and holy judgement against our sins. As we look to the cross and see again the horror of our sin and the dread of God’s wrath, we find Jesus here with us, holding out to us forgiveness and mercy. God in his love will not sweep our sin under the carpet, but neither will he leave us abandoned to it.
As Jesus hangs there we find that ‘the Lord will not reject for ever. Although he causes grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love’. We see that steadfast love, we see that compassion in Jesus hanging on the cross. In Jesus dealing with our sin, paying the penalty, so that we can go free, so that we can know the forgiveness of God. Just as God’s settled and righteous judgement is placed against our sin, so too God’s settled and enduring love is poured out on us. And here at the cross those two streams meet. In the depths of our sin, in the midst of the consequences we find Jesus there with us, bearing it for us, calling us back to him, back to God, that we might know again the loving kindness of our God. By his wounds, as Isaiah reminds us, we are healed.
Finally the darkness of death. I wonder how you feel about death? It’s always getting closer. Do we fear it? Ignore it? Try to run from it? Embrace it? Yet even in death we find Jesus is already here too. As he is killed he goes ahead of us through death. As he is laid in the tomb we find that, as we are laid in the grave, he has already made it his bed. Even in what so often feels like the final darkness, the one which will swallow everything up, even there, Jesus is already there.
Whilst death is still wrong, whilst we were never made for death, now, through Jesus’ its dread is gone, its sting removed. For now it is not the end, but the path home. But perhaps more on that on Sunday. For now, even in the darkness of death, as we are laid in the grave, Jesus is already there.
So here we stand, in the darkness. And the darkness is very real. And yet Jesus is here too, he has already been here that he might meet us here. In the darkness of the trials of this world, in the darkness of our sin, and in the darkness of death, the God of the Universe himself, Jesus, is here with us. Because he is for us, utterly for us, even to the very end. As we have encountered him this Lent we have found him to be the light of the world, the one who brings living water, the one who is the life. And yet now the light is swallowed up by darkness, now he thirsts, now the life himself, dies. All for you, all to bring you out of darkness into his own marvellous light. And so we can sit in the dark, because Jesus is here. And as we do may our hearts echo the words at the heart of Lamentations ‘The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. ‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘therefore I will hope in him.’’
Amen.