Tag: Good Friday

Posted in holy week, Jesus

Some Good Friday thoughts

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Paul Keiffer on Unsplash

I’m going to ramble a bit on this Good Friday. My mind is filled with an assortment of thoughts and memories.

First, I doubt that many, if any, of us can imagine what Jesus suffered at the hands of the priests and the Roman soldiers. The physical violence started with the high priest, teachers of the law, and elders who punched and slapped Jesus. After Pilate handed Jesus over the to the soldiers, they beat him with a staff, flogged him, put a crown of thorns on his head, drove nails through his hands, and crucified him.

When one fighter overwhelmingly beats and bloodies the other in an MMA octagon, the referee stops the fight. With Jesus they don’t stop, but dish out more and more punishment. We wince at the “little pinch” of a flu shot, make sure we’re numbed up before the dentist fills a small cavity, and groan when we get up after sitting too long. Jesus has the flesh on his back torn open with a whip, spikes driven through his hands and feet, and is left to hang by his arms to slowly suffocate . The bell never rings ending the round. There no pain relief, other than the drugged wine Jesus refused. There’s no time out. There’s no tapping out. The pain only stops when Jesus dies.

No painting, drawing, or representation of the crucifixion captures the gruesome horror of Good Friday. Crucifixion was a public execution. Some of those who saw it loved Jesus. Others hated him. I wonder if any of us could watch Christ suffer and die. I would turn away.

We gather for worship on Good Friday, at noon, in the afternoon, or in the evening. Our services are adored with beautiful music, encroaching darkness, descriptive words, and silent exits. The only reason it’s not so bad (good?) for us is because it was terrible for Jesus.

A Good Friday Tenebrae (“shadows” or “darkness”) service will conclude in darkness as the last candle is extinguished. The only way out is through the shadow of death, a valley Jesus traverses with us.

I remember my last Good Friday as a pastor because one grandson lit and another extinguished the candles, surrendering the room to the darkness. I took the huge family King James bible my mom gave us at our wedding, raised it high over my head, and slammed it down on the altar with all my might, to remind all of the stone settling into place, sealing Jesus in the tomb.

It’s a powerful worship moment. Everyone who’s been there before knows what’s going to happen. Yet everyone still gasps when it does.

That book was only called into duty once each spring. But it took a beating, the binding barely holding together when I handed it over to my son to use at his church on Good Friday.

The apostle Paul wrote, “We preach Christ crucified.” This is our message. It’s terrible. And yet it’s wonderful. It illustrates how bad we are and what we deserve. It also proclaims how much God loves us anyway.

Posted in holy week

Thoughts on Good Friday: not much to say

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Thays Orrico on Unsplash

None of the gospel accounts have much to say about Jesus’s crucifixion. All simply state, “They crucified him.” (Matt. 27:35; Mark 15:24; Luke 23:33; John 19:18)

The evangelists recorded conversations that took places at Jesus’s arrest, trials, and conviction. They recount seven things Jesus said while on the cross. But the description of the crucifixion is minimal: “They crucified him.”

Artists, writers, and film directors spend a lot more time depicting the driving nails through flesh, screams of agony, and the struggle to breathe.

Maybe it was too horrible to write about. They had seen too many crucifixions and just couldn’t stomach saying anything more than those few words. Or it could be that the word “crucified” said it all. There was nothing more that needed to be said.

Posted in bible, family, Ministry

My Good Friday Bible

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Today, I dusted off what I call my “Good Friday” bible and took it into the sanctuary in preparation for tonight’s Tenebrae (darkness) worship service. I call it my “Good Friday” bible because that is the one day a year when I use this massive volume. It measures about 12″x9″x3″ and weighs about 8 pounds, easily the largest book on my shelves. It has more than enough power for the end of the worship service when in complete darkness I slam it on the altar, reminding us of the closing up of Jesus’ tomb.

I received this bible from my mom and dad on my wedding day, nearly thirty-four years ago. They, too had a large bible like this at home that had been given to them. I don’t remember ever reading from it much. We had plenty of other bibles that we used for our personal and family devotions. The large bible contained a little bit of family tree names and dates, plus a couple of inspirational bookmarks.

I have slammed this bible on the altar thirty-two times, the number of years I have been a pastor and led worship on Good Friday. You can tell from the cracked binding that this book was only designed to be slammed about twenty-five times.

As I opened it up, I saw the dedication page written by my mom, with the reference to Psalm 18:30-36 and her blessing and prayer, “May your children give you as much joy as you have me.”

This psalm reference contains one of her favorite scriptural images, “He maketh my feet like hinds’ feet, and setteth me upon my high places” (Psalm 18:33 KJV). One of my mom’s favorite books was Hannah Hurnard’s Hinds’ Feet on High Places, “a timeless allegory dramatizing the yearning of God’s children to be led to new heights of love, joy, and victory” (Amazon.com). She purchased and gave away dozens of those books. She knew well the difficult life in the trenches as a mom, wife and nurse. But she also knew joy. She knew the thrill of skipping sure-footedly across the mountains of God’s promises to see the past, present and future from a whole new perspective. I am thankful that she passed that thrill along to me.

By grace, God heard and answered her prayer many times over. My children and now my grandchildren continue to fill my life with so much joy! Thirty-four years later, I understand what mom was talking about.