SEVEN SAYINGS OF JESUS ON THE CROSS: “It is finished”

John 19.30

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Here we are at the beginning of Holy Week and it’s quite possible and OK if you’re not feeling it. My sense is that it’s been hard to find an energising rhythm during the pandemic and there’s so much we’re trying to push through in life that liturgical rhythms are hard to contemplate. 

This morning I invite you to step into the liturgical rhythm for a little bit. Just enough to catch a glimpse again and imagine standing on the hill where Jesus is being crucified. 

I’ve got three characters and their responses to share with you this morning. Close your eyes and imagine the scene. 

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The first is Jesus’ disciple who ran from the scene as fast as he could toward the advancing angry mob. He was frightened by how quickly they had changed their attitude toward Jesus. From holding a party fit for a king and throwing palm leaves down in front of him as he rode into Jerusalem, to now with the poison of popular opinion, they voted to have him nailed to a cross. From adulation to scorn in a matter of days. Maybe it was because Jesus caused a ruckus in the temple. Maybe Jesus just went too far that time. 

The crowd surged forward, bleeding out of the city to the hill known as the skull. Desensitised to the scene not by familiarity—they saw this stuff all the time—but by the sheer dehumanising nature of it. These were no longer people hanging on crosses, they were symbolic of all that was wrong in their world. And they could throw their anger at these empty shells of humanity. They could symbolise subduing evil by using this scapegoat.

 And Jesus, was the worst kind of evil. He deserved to be accursed by God for what he had done. He was a trickster. He was not a king after all. All their hopes that this were so had evaporated with the pointed sign, this is the king of the Jews. Erected over the head of a crucified man made for a very, very ironic joke. 

All that Jesus had achieved was to bring more scorn on the Jews from the Roman empire—and that was the last thing they needed. All he had done was give Pontius Pilate another opportunity to prove his dominion by playing a little game with them, giving them a pitiful choice between setting free a murderer or this blasphemous madman. They chose the murderer over the so called giver of life. They chose the reprobate over righteousness. They chose an actual revolutionary over the one who could actually set them free.

And this man who promised so much—a new kingdom, hung naked before them, hard against the splinters of the wood. Of course they were angry.

And the disciple who was running away saw some familiar faces in this angry mob. Some who had been healed by Jesus had then used their reformed limbs to throw rocks at him on the way to Golgotha. Some had sat intently at his feet listening to words of life and grace, and their souls were soothed, and now they hurled insults at him because the feeling just didn’t last. 

And the disciple who was running away felt a strange affinity with them. So they’d been healed, but they hadn’t been fixed. No-one had. All the miracles were just trickery to dupe people. Jesus had turned out to be a charlatan with his ‘greater way’. He was kicking himself. How could he have been such a sucker? 

One of the mob-leaders was the rich kid that had come to Jesus to find out about eternal life. He had sauntered off that day, humiliated because he didn’t make the cut. This bloodied prophet hanging on a couple of bits of wood had made him feel like he wasn’t good enough. How dare this Jesus condemn his life. Enraged this rich kid dragged as many people he could with him, to justify somehow that Jesus must have been wrong. “I’ve still got my power and my riches. What has Jesus got?” 

Recognising this disciple the rich young ruler piercingly said, “I guess it’s your turn to walk away from Jesus humiliated. You’re finished.”

The disciple who was running away wanted to disappear into the night and out of the pages of history.

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The disciple that stayed looked at Jesus in shock at what was taking place in front of him. How did it get to be like this? He couldn’t run, he was conflicted between his anger and his love for this man. He felt hollow, for on that cross felt like three years of wasted life. Well, it wasn’t all waste, but it was going to take some sorting through to try and claim anything good from it. He couldn’t trust a single word anymore. Jesus must have been deluded. Even what sounded good started to become tainted with hallmarks of mental instability.

He remembered the first words he heard from Jesus.
“Repent for the kingdom of heaven is near!” What inspired words to hear. What a wonderful message. Hope at last. Freedom from the political oppression, let’s reclaim our nationhood and religious purity. Become holy again.

For three years he had followed Jesus around, looking forward to the moment when it would all happen. When would the uprising stop being all talk and miracles and become a political movement?

How did it all unravel so quick. Jesus was silent as he was accused. He was led like a lamb to the slaughter. Not one word of insurrection or revolution. Not one word to even become a martyr. Nothing. His kingdom was a vapour.

Love God, love people and love self? Where does that get us then? Here? Look at this place. All the worst of humanity located in this little vortex of torture. Is this where love gets us?

And he listened to the heavy breathing of Jesus, the grans and the loud cries. He saw the abandonment and really didn’t know how to interpret the forsaken cry. Wasn’t that a cry of defeat? God has removed his hand from this man? The messiah has been abandoned? Has Jesus only now tweaked that he’s failed?

What did he symbolise now? 

And still silent. Not one word of protest, not one word to encourage the remnant of disciples to stand firm and carry on the cause. Not one word of hope or future direction. The only words on the cross Jesus spoke were to this remaining disciple “make sure you look after my mum”. Nice one Jesus. Good way to let down the family.

This disciple who stayed was gutted when he heard Jesus’ last words. “It is finished.” What? What have we actually accomplished? Even the people you helped have turned on you. What’s finished? I know we started something . . . But how is this the end? 

If it weren’t for the fact that Jesus was such a good mate, if it weren’t for the fact that Jesus’ mother was standing next to him, this disciple would have walked away. But he couldn’t. Jesus was like a brother to him, and disappointment aside, he would not leave him to die alone. But it just made these questions that much harder to process.

“Some of us gave up all we had for this. Maybe Judas had a point.”

Mary, Jesus’ mother stood there too. Weeping bitterly between beating her chest and tearing her clothes, and buckling over in silent despair. Her son. Reared from birth. Suckled on her breast. Cuddled her at night. God’s son. Promised to be a saviour for the world. God’s son, conceived to have victory over this world. 

She stayed because she hoped. 33 years of wanting to see how this story would unfold. This could not be the end! But there was nothing else to follow. No army, no angels this time, God was all too conspicuous by absence.

She stayed because she had to witness. She needed to lose hope in order to grieve.

She remembered the day they dedicated Jesus as a child and this prophet called Simeon came over to them. He had been told by God that he would not die until he had seen the one who would save humankind.

Simeon told them that this baby Jesus was the hope for all people, not just the Jews, but the entire world. Mary was amazed. She was proud as punch that all the cost of the shame of being pregnant out of wedlock had been worth it because this was truly good news!

But here’s the part she remembered now — Simeon had carried on. “This child is going to make many people either rise or fall, not only in the sense of wealth and power, but in their sense of personal worth. He is going to be opposed by many people and his challenges will make them violent against him. The things this baby boy has got to say are going to anger those who think they know best and they will be shown for what and who they truly are. Don’t think you are exempt from this either Mary. You are in for one hell of a painful ride.”

And now she knew what he meant. But she couldn’t see how this was working out. How does this death make an ounce of difference? How does this tragic end to a life full of hope save humankind?

Every word Jesus spoke before he died, she thought this would be it. The moment. The reclamation. There had to be a moment where she would see her son become the son of God for all to see.

Not this. Not the accursed hanging lifeless on a tree. Everyone else was winning here. 

And the spear was thrust into Jesus’ side. So callous and technical. A quick thrust. The body moved a little with the force of the spearhead, but slumped down as fluid gushed out of the wound of a lifeless corpse. Her son. 

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I don’t how long she would have remained there. I don’t know how she would have processed it when the secret followers and pharisees Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus came to take the body to a tomb.

It was finished.

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And on that day the disciples and followers of Jesus were left at exactly the same point as most of those around us are. For are they not witnesses to an incapable Christ? Are they not engaging with a God figure who was dead? Is this not what Good Friday is about as well? This is the despair of the world, the story of most people’s relationship with God—christian or not.

Today we have to resist the temptation to bring in the rest of the story. At this point in the gospel narrative, we have people with big questions about God.

Does he care? Who is Jesus in light of this? What difference does he make? How is this freeing? Can we trust him? Can he make sense?

What an agonising day or two followed as they processed the biggest let down of their lives.