A Meditation for Good Friday

To begin with I was completely numb.

I sat there like a zombie. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t shout with anger, I couldn’t ask ‘why?’, I couldn’t even cry.

My Lord was dead. I couldn’t believe it. The only man I had ever really cared for was dead. I just wished the crowd would go away and leave me alone with the body of the man I loved. Those precious feet that I had wiped with my hair, those tender hands which reached out to heal the sick, that quiet but confident voice, those eyes so full of love that many people could not face his gaze. Even now, battered and bruised, his broken body was beautiful.

As the sound of weeping rose and fell in waves around me, a man approached in a hurry. I recognised him as one who had frequently been found listening to Jesus in the temple. He and a friend gently lifted the body of my Lord down from the cross. Tenderly, so tenderly, they wrapped my love in a clean linen cloth.

Mary, Oh Mary..., poor, poor Mary...

Then Joseph of Arimathea, for that is who he was, came and told us that he had permission from Pilate to bury Jesus’ body in his own new tomb. Slowly we walked down the hill, a subdued mournful procession. We turned into his beautiful garden, full of colourful and scented flowers - a peaceful resting place. Jesus’ body was laid in the tomb and a large stone was rolled across the entrance. Then the men left us weeping women alone.

Mary sat down next to me. She was quiet. I sensed a peaceful presence in Mary, as if she understood somehow, as if something was beginning to make sense to her. I know that she had always been very close to her son and particularly cherished her memories of him as a boy before his public ministry began. And even when he began to travel away from home and teach and perform miracles, she followed him and cared for him and listened to his teaching. I’m sure she was his first disciple.

But now he has gone.

He has left us. We can follow him no further.

He was the one man I trusted never to leave me. He was the one man who had never used me or abused me. He had accepted me for who I was, he never condemned me for my past life, he just loved me and loved me, even when I rejected him and fought his love. He simply kept on loving me. His love challenged me to see myself as God saw me and his love made me want to become more like him. With him I began to see life in all its fullness, to experience true love for the first time, love which continually gave without making any demands in return.

My love has abandoned me. How could he?

Why did he? I don’t understand.

How can I go on living without him?

Why couldn’t he have let me die first? I would have swapped places with him. I can’t bear to think of life without him.

O God, why did you have to abandon me?

Mary, sensing my inner turmoil, sensitive, blessed Mary, reached out and touched my arm. She remained calm and her inner peace comforted me. I was utterly distraught, but how did she, his mother, feel? We sat with our arms wrapped around each other. Slowly the tears rolled down our cheeks.

Then, quietly, Mary began to tell me about when they first took the baby Jesus to the temple and a wise old man had foretold how a sword would pierce her soul. From then onwards she had stored up many of her son’s sayings in her heart and she often dwelt on them and thought about what they might mean. She had begun to realise that he would be persecuted and she had dreaded the dawning of this day. But somehow she also knew that, for all that, he had not entirely abandoned her. There was an assurance about her despite her grief, as if she was being held, comforted, loved, through it all.

We sat there, outside the tomb, until sundown. Then we hurried away for it was the beginning of the Sabbath. There were Roman soldiers in the garden by the time we left and an unpleasant feel to the place. A certain chill in the air. Practicalities took over at that point, we needed to gather the appropriate spices for anointing his body at daybreak. And we wanted to be back at his tomb before dawn.

Dawn... Whenever I paused in my preparations that night, my mind took a trip back in time. I remembered what it was like to live in darkness, in fear and trepidation, to be jeered at, to be avoided, to be driven away from people. Those were dark and dangerous days. But then with the coming of Jesus into my life, there came light and new life. He set me free from my fears. He released me from my prison. Never again would I have to enter the darkness.

Except, that is, for this night, when once again I sit in the darkness awaiting the dawn, longing for his return. How slowly the time passes. I wonder where the other disciples are? They made themselves scarce when Jesus was crucified. I have nowhere else to go. I refuse to return to the darkness. I will wait for the dawn. Then there is a job to be done.

After that, who knows, maybe life will look different by the light of day?

© Revd Sue Groom, 2006

Stations of the Cross