Good Friday
Fr Alex
The Coming – R S Thomas
And God held in his hand
A small globe. Look he said.
The son looked. Far off,
As through water, he saw
A scorched land of fierce
Colour. The light burned
There; crusted buildings
Cast their shadows: a bright
Serpent, a river
Uncoiled itself, radiant
With slime.
On a bare
Hill a bare tree saddened
The sky. Many people
Held out their thin arms
To it, as though waiting
For a vanished April
To return to its crossed
Boughs. The son watched
Them. Let me go there, he said.
God holds in his hand all he has made. Like a small globe, it fits right in the palm of his hand. Held, protected, enfolded in his keeping. He gazes at it with love; his Son looks too, with God and in God before even that globe was brought into being.
They gaze on what they have made together, and see that it is good. It is a bright place, burning with fierce colour, radiant – a place of beauty.
But as they look they ntice something else; that the colourful land is scorched; the buildings are crusted, crumbling; shadows blot out the land. Is that a serpent? No, a river – seemingly bright and radiant, but clogged with slime.
What has happened to this precious place? Who has marred the beauty of this wonderful creation?
They keep looking, and on a bare hill they see a bare tree; it is a miserable sight. It is surrounded by people, so many people; people hungry for something, stretching out their thin arms in supplication.
They held out their arms to it once before, long, long ago; they half-remember that then it was heavy with blossom, laden with fruit; it was perfect… paradise. But all that has vanished. How can they regain that which was lost?
The Son watches them in their need, in their yearning. He sees them; he hears them; he feels them, as if their thin and outstretched arms were his very own.
“Let me go there,” he says. Let me go there – not just down into the marred beauty of that small globe, that scorched and colourful and shadowy land.
Let me go THERE – there, to that bare tree on that bare hill; there, onto those crossed boughs. Let me go there, and stretch out my arms; reach out my torn and bloodied hands, hands that helped to fashion this very globe, and meet this people in their need. Let me go there, and become the fruit that satisfies their hunger, the drink that relieves their thirst, the food that restores their life.
Let me go there and transform this sight that saddens the sky into a vision of glory: the promise of a new dawn and a new day for all who have dwelt so long in winter’s darkness. Let me go there…
…
Today we encounter the reality and the mystery of God’s love for us, in the Cross. In the Cross we see the magnitude of God’s love: not able to ignore our suffering; not willing just to stand by and witness it; not even content to come and be near to us in our suffering; but driven to go all the way down into the heart of it, and take that suffering upon himself, in the person of Jesus Christ.
To take the blame, not just for all the dark and terrible things that humanity has done, but all that is done today, and all that will be done in the future. To bear the incredible weight of all of it, so that we might be free of its consequences.
As we approach the Cross today, may we be open and honest about all the ways in which we add to Christ’s burden, and mar the beauty of God’s wonderful creation. May we not be afraid to bring with us all that we would rather stay hidden.
What might those things be? A painful and shameful habit, perhaps; a broken relationship that cries out to be mended; feelings of bitterness, resentment, jealousy, which we allow to fester; feelings of guilt, of failure.
May we bare it all before the Cross today, and as we do, may our prayer be the same prayer of Christ: “Let me go there.” Let me go to that Cross with him, and put to death all that holds me back from entering into his freedom, and the fullness of life that he longs to share with me.
Let me give it to Christ, as he stretches out his arms on the Cross, and takes it all upon himself. Let me die with him, so that I may rise with him, to the new and wonderful life of his resurrection.
As you gaze at Christ on his Cross today, in this church, and in your heart and in your mind, you will certainly see there a sad and miserable sight, painful to behold. But may you notice there as well the fierce colour, the burning light, the bright radiance of Christ in his great work of love: the unimaginable depth and height and breadth of love that even in the most terrible suffering, shows us the promise of glory that is ours. Love that transforms our dark and wounded world, and restores to us our hope, our strength, our life.
Let this be the Cross we cling to, let this be the Cross we take up and carry boldly into the world. No longer a symbol of shame and suffering, but the ultimate sign of love, and the promise of eternal life. This is the Cross that has gathered us to Christ today; may we carry it so that it gathers others to him, too, and inspires them to say “Let me go there.” May that Cross be our banner, now and always. Amen.