Gospel: John 18:1-19:42
They were gathered at the foot of the cross, the handful who’d remained. Mary, his mother. The other Marys, Magdalene and the one who was the mother of Clopas. Perhaps Joseph of Arimathea, who would go to Pilate seeking permission to remove the body for burial, was already there. Perhaps standing nearby was Nicodemus, the Pharisee who once had visited Jesus in the dead of night, coming to him out of curiosity and leaving with far more. Certainly there was the disciple whom Jesus loved.
Love.
Just last night, Jesus had talked to his friends about love, about how God had loved him and he had loved them, about how they must love one another as a sign to others of who and whose they were. Now, he was dead, crucified between two others who’d been condemned. The Messiah, the Son of God, the incarnate Word: hung on a cross. On this afternoon of darkness, where was the love of which he’d spoken – and where were those whom he’d loved?
Peter, the steadfast disciple, the rock, had denied him. Judas, another of the 12 who followed Jesus throughout his ministry, had betrayed him. Some of those who’d been among the crowd celebrating the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem just a few days earlier may have even been raising their voices as part of the crowd calling for his death and crying for the release of Barabbas. Other than the handful gathered at the foot of the cross, there was no one. Even God was utterly silent.
Loyalty to abandonment. Service to betrayal. Adulation to condemnation. Proclamation to silence.
Where was the love of which Jesus had spoken?
On that day, in that place of such unimaginable suffering and sorrow, the cross was surrounded by love. Love was there as Jesus entrusted his mother and his devoted disciple to each other’s care, one for the other. Love was there in the tears of Mary Magdalene and the sorrow of Mary, mother of Clopas. Love was there in the efforts of Joseph, a secret but devoted disciple of Jesus, to secure the body in order that it would receive a careful, customary burial. Love was there in the actions of Nicodemus, who arrived to assist and to help with the removal and early anointing of the body.
Despite the silence, the love of God was there, a love leading to a far more incredible moment than anyone in that moment could dream of or imagine taking place.
But the greatest sign of love of all wasn’t waiting in the heavens. It wasn’t standing at the foot of the cross. No, the greatest sign of love had been seen – whether anyone realized it at the time or not – on the cross. One night before, he’d humbled himself before his disciples, kneeling to wash their feet and demonstrate an act of service for others. On this Friday afternoon, his act of being raised on the cross – of suffering death in order to reconcile us with God – was the ultimate act of service for others.
This “new thing,” in the words of Karl Barth, “which was the end of the old but which will itself never become old, which can only be there and continue and shine out and have force and power as that which is new and eternal”[1]: this was the ultimate act of love.
Love truly was there on that dark day, and love remained … and in the days ahead, many would see that the story of this love was not yet finished.
[1] Karl Barth. Church Dogmatics: The Doctrine of God, Vol. 4, Part 1, p. 281.