04/04/2026
A Sermon for Good Friday
There is a kind of silence that settles over this day. The sanctuary is bereft of decoration. The music, what there is of it, is somber. It feels different. Sometimes silence can be what we need at the end of a day to refresh and reenergize ourselves. But this is not the peaceful silence of rest or contentment. It is the heavy silence that comes when something has gone terribly wrong. It is the silence that comes when we can’t believe what we have just seen. When truth is twisted, power is abused, and when the innocent suffer.
Good Friday lives in that silence.
We have just heard the Passion according to John. And if we listen closely—not just with our ears, but with our hearts—we begin to see a pattern emerge. This is not just the story of one man’s suffering. It is the story of what happens when religion and government feel threatened… and respond badly…Very badly.
Jesus is arrested in a garden. Betrayed by one of his own. And from that moment on, he is passed back and forth between two centers of power: the religious authorities and the political authorities.
And what do we see? We see fear and self self-preservation. We see systems working exactly as they were designed to work—not to protect truth, not to defend justice, but to maintain control.
The religious leaders are afraid of losing their influence and their authority. They are afraid that Jesus, with his teaching and his signs and his unsettling freedom, will disrupt everything they have built. And so, they justify what cannot be justified. They bend their own laws. They manipulate the process. They hand him over.
And then there is Pilate. Pilate, the representative of empire. Pilate, who asks the right question...."What is truth?”.... but has no interest in waiting for the answer. Pilate knows something is wrong. He says it plainly: “I find no case against him.” And yet… he hands Jesus over anyway. Because truth is not his priority. His priorities reside in order, stability and keeping the peace....at any cost. So he washes his hands, even as he authorizes the cross.
And in between these two powers, religious and political, stands Jesus. He is unarmed and unprotected. He is also unwilling to play their games.
Jesus does not argue for his life or call down the angels to do battle for him. He does not seize power. He even tells Peter to stop the violence. Instead, Jesus speaks of a kingdom that is not from this world. And that… is the real threat.
Because a kingdom not built on fear cannot be controlled by fear. A kingdom not built on domination cannot be preserved by violence. A kingdom rooted in truth cannot be silenced by lies.
The response is predictable.
When power feels threatened, it lashes out. When authority is challenged, it tightens its grip. When importance is questioned, it will do almost anything to preserve itself. Even if that means condemning the innocent and crucifying love itself.
And here is the uncomfortable truth of Good Friday: This is not just their story. It is ours. Because whenever religion becomes more concerned with its own survival than with God’s truth… it risks becoming like those who handed Jesus over. Whenever governments prioritize control over justice… they risk becoming like Pilate. And whenever we, as individuals, choose comfort over courage, silence over truth, self-preservation over love… we stand closer to the crowd than we might like to admit.
Good Friday holds up a mirror. And what we see there is not flattering. But this day is not only about what has gone wrong. It is also about what God does in the midst of what has gone wrong.
While the powers of this world are busy protecting themselves, God is busy giving Godself away. While leaders cling to authority, Jesus lets it go. While systems demand sacrifice, Jesus becomes the sacrifice.
Not because God delights in suffering. Not because violence is somehow holy. But because love, real love, refuses to abandon the world....even when the world behaves like this. Especially when the world behaves like this.
And that is why, on this day, our liturgy does something remarkable. We pray. We pray for the church. We pray for the nations. We pray for those in authority. We pray for those who suffer. We pray for those who do not know God. We pray for all conditions of people.
Why?
Because even on the day when religion and government fail so completely we do not stop praying for them. Even when power is abused , we pray for those who hold it. Even when systems are broken, we pray for the world those systems shape. Because the cross reveals not only the depth of human failure… but the depth of divine love.
God’s love is a love that refuses to give up. It is a love that refuses to draw lines between the worthy and the unworthy. It is a love that, even from the cross, says, “Father, forgive.”
So today, we stand at the foot of the cross. We see what fear can do. We see what power can do. We see what we can do. But we also see what God does. God does not retaliate. God does not abandon. God does not withdraw. God remains. Present in the suffering. Present in the injustice. Present in the silence.
And somehow, mysteriously, powerfully, working through it all to bring about something new. That is the tension of this day. Because Good Friday is not the end of the story. But it is a necessary part of it. A day when illusions are stripped away and we see the world as it is. Good Friday is a day when we confront the cost of love.
And so, we wait. We pray. We watch. And we trust that even here, especially here, God is at work.
Amen.
