Good Friday | The Seven Words of the Cross

The finish line. The pain. The exhaustion. The final breath. The tired muscles that finally fail. This is what we witness at Jesus’ cross. There is tremendous agony and pain there, but he crosses that finish line for one, incredible, remarkable purpose - our salvation. The curtain stretched out and torn as he died on the cross, reminds us that the separation from God we would have suffered is no longer there. The pain, the exhaustion, the body laid to rest in a tomb means that Jesus' race is finished and there is the hope of glory ahead. Hope is found at the cross.

Transcript

The First Word: Father, forgive them for they know not what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)
It was a father-son moment that has echoed throughout the vast timeline of reality. The Son of God exposed to the world, engulfed with shame, reaching out to his Father, not for rescue but for release. It’s what the word “forgive” means. To release. To release anger, to release hope for revenge, to release hatred. The very things that were flooding the hearts of the religious establishment gawking at that crucifixion. This Jesus who had upended everything, now was suspended in the most humiliating trauma, naked, bloodied, pathetic. Could this really be where hope is found? The ancient mystery here was how the Son of God could subject himself to such treatment. The modern mystery says, “Could there be another way?” Our world of post-modern morphing truths, that there’s always a way to avoid death, suffering, pain, a most well-intentioned but complete lie. But Jesus has a hope to share. A hope of forgiveness not just for the teachers of the law, the crowd jeering him that day, but don’t forget who else is included in “them.” This Father-Son conversation was designed for you to overhear.

I know it’s hard to hear, to perceive it, in our world of noise. This idea of releasing anger, hope for revenge, hatred towards people who have abandoned us, hurt us, wounded us, traumatized us, it’s something that churns our souls. How can I just let that go? It’s only when you find your place in that crowd, your personal vantage point of the bloodied man before you, the “King of Jews” his title. When you see the hammer in your hand too that caused those nails fixing him on that cross. Your sin and mine, those moments we did not realize what we were doing. The classic line “Just wait until your father gets home” hits differently here. You and I we put our heads down, stare into the dust of that Judean wilderness, expecting our Father to send us away, to punish us. Hope for release, restoration, redemption, seems lost. But then we hear the bloodied Son speak, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they are doing.” It’s as if Jesus looks straight at you, and nods his head as if to say, “Yes, I forgive you.” You’ve been released, guilt drops from your back, shame removed, joy found. Your Jesus has forgiven you from that sin from years ago that halts deep sleep. Your Jesus has released you from being defined by the sin everyone else and your own heart seems to identify you with. You are not a lost cause, a child hopeless for love. Now a new father-child moment arrives, one that will echo throughout your timeless existence, not to be shunned, but to be embraced by the Father who put all your deepest mistakes, sins, and regrets on his Son, so he could call you “my dear child.” 

The First Word (Luke 23:34): Father, forgive them for they know not what they are doing.”

The Second Word: I tell you the truth today you will be with me in paradise. (Luke 23:43)

The hope of being a child of God was a longing he had given up on long ago. The life path he had chosen was filled with violence, it was only fitting it would end in a violence of pain. But he would not be put out whimpering. He would rage against the darkness, and the man beside him presented the perfect target. He hears the sarcastic laughter, the biting verbal abuse, and he experiences but briefly community, the enticing community of hatred and tribalism that remains in our modern society. But as he hears this “king” speak nothing but forgiveness, with a look on his face displaying a compassion that shocked him. He looks down at the blood streaming from his feet, unable to shake what this Nazarene Jesus had just said, “Forgive them.” Could he be talking about me? Can you not imagine him searching his memories, the likely moments when his family shoved him out the door of their house after yet another theft, a man vainly searching for community and finding it in gangs of men like him, wanting to bring the world around him into the same sphere of emotional pain and heavy longing for love as he knew.



It all hits in an instant, and those Bible stories told him long ago, take on a new meaning, as if the story 
behind the story bursts through, true reality is known. He then hears the condemned man on the other side, “Aren’t you the Christ? Save yourself and us!” And his rage transforms into a passionate gospel witness, “Don’t you fear God, since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he dares to catch Jesus’ eyes, his deepest hope riding on the answer to his question, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And his Jesus wastes no time in reply, “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.” Can you see this man’s face turn to a smile, throwing his head back in a joy that shocked the crowd, experiencing a tear-streaming joy that numbed his pain? He had a home. He had a future. His hope for love answered. He had Jesus. All because God in his grace moved history to make sure he would be on the cross that day, to be at Jesus’ side in death, and to wake up at his side forever. 

Dear Christian, could it be that your Father has prepared such cross-like pain for you for just the same reason? To put you into an audience with the Crucified One and witness a hope that replaces sadness and regret with wonder and joy.  

The Second Word: (Luke 23:43) Jesus answered him, “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.”

The Third Word: John 19:25-27 

When I think of her now, I still see the lines in her eyelids, closed off to the world, unable to dare open them. She wouldn’t leave that casket. There her child lay. Her baby who was her future. I remember putting my arm around her, trying to gently nudge her to her car so we could get to the cemetery. Nearly collapsing, she said, “Why my baby? Why my baby?” To grieve the loss of a child is to see behind the veil of hopelessness like no other loss. Here is supposed to be your future, your legacy, but now a sword pierces through that, Mary knew that. Did she think back to when she held her baby Jesus in the temple, and Simeon told her a sword would pierce her soul? Now she turns away from the cross, staring at that same temple in the distance. Tears flooding her eyes.

Grief is something we as people were never supposed to know, the heart-struggle of having to release the hope of experiencing this side of heaven with a person who knew us, who loved us, and who we loved all the same. Have you found yourself being triggered by the littlest memories, the photo flashbacks, the passing thoughts of your mind, “How can I move on?” Our American culture only makes it that much harder. The mantra of “Get over it, life goes on, don’t stay stuck.” We are told grieving is weakness, and progress is king.

Yet, Jesus doesn’t see grief that way. He sees his mom breaking down, the one who held him that first Christmas night, the one who was there when he changed water into wine, and he won’t let her grieve alone. He says, “Woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple (John), “Here is your mother.” He calls her, “Woman,” because he is reminding her that her Son is also her Creator. He would not let her be alone. He would provide a home for her now, people to grieve with as she awaited the joy of resurrection to come.

So too, Jesus, has the same for you. He gives you the homes of Christians who hold you, who are willing to step into the shadows with you, to point you back to the coming light of hope. Grief cannot take the hope Jesus won for us and we can’t let anyone of us forget it. He is our home. 
The Third Word: (John 19:26-27) When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, “Woman, here is your son,” 27 and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.

The Fourth Word: Matthew 27:44-49

We began with a father-son moment and we hit the climax of the cross as yet another Father-Son moment invades the space of our hearts. It’s here in the heart of Jesus’ passion, that we find the heartbeat that emanates the story behind the story, the metanarrative of the universe, the center of human history from which everything else radiates. It's heard in this cry from a Son to a Father, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Matthew including the very Aramaic words Jesus spoke to capture the realness of the greatest demonstration of love you will ever know in your life.

He calls his Father his own. The gut-wrenching “MY” God. He drinks the cup of wrath long foretold, to step into the never-ceasing abyss of hell, not just fire and brimstone, but utter isolation, loneliness, and abandonment from our heavenly Father, the most terrifying, dreadful, hopeless place one could know. It’s why we don’t like to think about hell, let alone talk about it. But I beg you stare into it with Jesus at the cross. Peer into its hopeless haven, and as you do, it brings you to your knees. “That’s what I deserve. All the times I’ve abandoned Jesus.” “What sin has done to me.” But then you sense two strong hands turn you away from that rim of regret, and he looks at you with a smile and says, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” “I have called you by name. You are mine.” Jesus was abandoned so you never would be. He has rescued you so you can say, “My Father,” and know that his arms will never let you go.

The Fourth Word: (Matthew 27:46) About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”).

The Fifth Word: John 19:28-29

The fifth word: (John 19:28) Later, knowing that everything had now been finished, and so that Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.”

It was a nightmare I’ll forget. As some of you know, for much of my life I’ve been an introspective insomniac. Only the LORD knows how many hours I have laid my head on my pillow, only to relive every word spoken and action done, the question Satan loves to ask me, “Did you really handle that the best way?” It was one of those nights that I was shocked into panic, the thought creeping in, “Did Jesus really do it all?” “Can you really know that finished it all?” It’s for moments like that that Jesus said this simple phrase, “I am thirsty.” Yes he was dehydrated, but the meaning of this is far richer than you may think. He says this because of a psalm. Psalm 69 to be exact, as David was given access to see the cross a thousand years before Jesus hung there. Verse 22 says, “(they) gave me vinegar for my thirst.” Wouldn’t you know what the Romans gave prisoners who asked for a drink? Wine vinegar. This seeming insignificant prophecy, but even that one Jesus fulfilled. Why would God have us know this?

So you can have the hope of total assurance. Jesus didn’t miss a thing. He wouldn’t. He loves you too much to do so. He would keep his promise to you, just as he always has. There is no loose end left to be tied. Nothing more you need to do to finish the job. In one simple sentence, he shatters every doubt Satan tries to inject. He moistens his lips to shout victory that will echo now and throughout the courts of heaven forever.
The Sixth Word: It is Finished (John 19:30) 

One word. Tetelestai. It IS finished, so our dear Savior says. Hope for resolution, for the happiest of endings, something our dystopian-obessed society says is trite and childish, yet our hope for “happily ever after” remains, almost as if such hope has always been a part of humanity? I don’t have to tell you how we live in a culture that is never finished, never done. There are more projects to complete, more people to convince, more followers and fans to be gained, the whisper, “If you don’t keep pushing, you’ll lose it all. You’re never done.” 

But then you hear the shout of this man who should have no strength left, belting hope louder than a lion’s roar, the question comes, “Is it really done?” “Is my struggle with self-worth over?” “Is the shame burying me lifted?” “Can I dare to live for hope again?” “Can it all really be true?” Do you hear that shout again, “It is finished.” It’s done, no more left to do. Can you see the satisfaction in your Jesus’ eyes, as he closes his eyes, and sees the joy that led him to that cross, the joy of seeing you become his child, to pull you into the bear hug of a lifetime when our wandering days on this earth are over. Do you feel overwhelmed with trying to create your own legacy, your own happily ever after, take heart. It is finished. Your hope is Jesus. Your story is his, and your ending is one that truly never ends. 

The Seventh Word: Luke 23:46 (Father, into your hands, I commit my Spirit)

It’s only fitting that our conversation begins, hits its climax, and ends with a Father-Son moment. After all, that’s the life cycle of the Christian that begins and ends at the cross, to be welcomed into your Father’s arms through baptism, to live all your days out of joy for your Savior, and to die falling into the arms of your God. On the macabre day, can you see a smile sweeping across the face of Jesus? The sweetness of mission accomplished, the joy that he has rescued you. Joy complete. Easter to come. Hope unchained, unbounded. He has set you free. Free for what you may ask? Free to unload. Free to live. Free to have hope again. 

This is freedom unleashed and it won’t leave you the same. Jesus’ final word on the cross are taken from Psalm 31:5, and do you want to know what the verse says before it, “Keep me free from the trap that is set for me, for you are my refuge.” True freedom revealed at last. A freedom not found in the exhaustion of self-expression, or number of followers on Instagram, or in the reflection of your mirror, or the 0’s in your direct deposit. The freedom Jesus has won for you that even leads you to dare stare into death itself, knowing he will lead you directly through it, hand in his. It’s that freedom that opens our hearts each day to place everything we are and everything we have into the hands of our God, because his hope never fails, will never let you down, will always hold you tight. Dare to believe it. Hope is alive. “Father, into your hands we commit our spirits.”

The Seventh Word: (Luke 23:46) Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”When he had said this, he breathed his last.