Transformation

GOOD FRIDAY

Romans 5:12-21

What makes Good Friday “good” is a profound miracle that St. Paul touches upon in his epistle to the Romans—the children of Adam and Eve are transformed into the brothers and sisters of Jesus. That is the power of the cross. It is ground zero for this miracle of grace. 

But how does it happen?

It begins when the children of Adam and Eve recognize themselves for who they are. 

There is a terribly profound moment in St. Matthew’s telling of the Last Supper—Jesus announces his betrayal; we immediately fix on Judas who has just set a price on Jesus’ life; but that misses what Jesus does—he singles out none of the disciples, but rather simply says “one of you” and then when they all begin question it, he reiterates it is someone sharing in this meal—see what is happening—he refuses to single anyone out, but rather makes sure they all see their potential as traitors. Indeed, by the events of this afternoon, they are all gone—each one betraying Christ in his own way—Judas, Peter’s denial, the others in hiding, and one poor soul who ran so fast, he left his clothes behind (Mk. 14:32-51)! No disciple is free from guilt—they are all in this thing together.

This day is the day when we all have to find ourselves right there with the Twelve. It is time to admit our imperfection. It is time to recollect things said that hurt someone. It is time to confess the bad thoughts we held about someone we found irritating, annoying, or even offensive. It is time to let go of our stubborn habit of confessing sins for everyone else, while ignoring the heap we stand on. It is time to accept the gift of grace Jesus offered at the table—you are all together; that is your strength and your hope…

You see, we need to rethink the whole dynamic of confession. In our time and place, confession is seen as a total negative—a scrolling through weakness, failure, and brokenness. Instead, it is a clearing of the decks—this is who we are; this where we need help; and this is where the growth will happen…

If we are able to fully enter that reinterpretation of confession, then we are ready and open for the miracle of the cross. St. Luke tells us a story that makes this readiness crystal clear. He tells us that Jesus died between two criminals who had a fascinating conversation in the midst of their suffering. One derides Jesus as a nincompoop, joining the crowd’s mockery of the one who would be king. The other, though, remarkably, is able to see beyond what he sees to something else—a miracle of all miracles when one considers the absolute hell of suffering he endured. The man in the middle deserves none of this; yet the man in the middle accepts it—why?—what else is happening?—and the cosmos clicks into place for the thief—this is a mighty act of God! That is fully entering confession in its truest purpose. 

And then what happens?

Jesus said to him, “Certainly, you will be with me this day in paradise.

That’s what we all want to hear with our last breath, isn’t it? That’s the affirmation we want ringing through our entire being. 

That is also the transformation from being a child of Adam and Eve into a sibling of Christ.

Now consider another tremendous offer of grace—there is absolutely no need whatsoever to wait until the last minute to make this transformation. Do it now! It is offered now! It is offered here! Take it! It is yours!

I know, I know—Presbyterians don’t do so well with altar calls (well, you see we don’t have altars, we have tables…); but I assure you that God calls Presbyterians to be transformed. 

Transformation comes as we follow the thief, first, in reorienting how we look at the world and everyone in it—we lose our determined fixation on seeing things only on our terms, and instead begin to look at the world on God’s terms. That is how the thief sees through a humiliating murder at the hands of an angry mob to find redeeming sacrifice—an act of love that could only come from God.

Transformation comes as we do what the thief did upon seeing things as they actually are—he invites his companion to see also—look what I see, it is yours, too—SEE IT!

What is really happening is what Jesus wanted at the dinner table—by not singling anyone out, he offered them being together—you’re at risk; your hope is holding onto each other; if you’re holding on, then one can’t fall…the thief actually gets it. 

Do we?