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Opening Prayer
Almighty Father, look with mercy on this your family for which our Lord Jesus Christ was content to be betrayed and given up into the hands of sinners and to suffer death upon the cross; who is alive and glorified with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.
Hymn: My song is love unknown (verses 1 and 2)
Reading: Matthew 26:57-27:10
Reflection: Judas Iscariot – The guilt won’t let me go
Dear Rabbi,
I’m writing this although I know it’s too late. I wish I could turn back the clock, undo what I’ve done, but I know that there’s no going back – it’s past the point of no return, and there’s no way I can make up for what I’ve done. The guilt’s unbearable. I can’t live with myself.
Over the time we spent together you built up our hopes that you weren’t just an ordinary teacher and healer – you were so much more – I knew you were going to be the one who’d bring us freedom. The crowds loved you. They would do anything for you – just one word from you and they’d join the revolution, anoint you as king, and the new era would begin. I just knew it. And then came last Sunday, when we entered the city of Jerusalem and the crowds gathered to cheer you on. You rode in on the donkey and the message was clear – you were the long-awaited king, come to take your rightful place. This was the moment we’d all been waiting for, when change would come. We, your closest friends, your disciples, we knew it; the crowds knew it too – this was the time you would come in power and we, who’d been there from the beginning – hand-picked by you, would share in your glory.
But then you did – nothing – you went back to your base that day. I thought you were biding your time, finding the right moment – perhaps the next day. And when you made that statement by clearing the temple of all that corruption and greed, I thought that would be the time, after all. But again, you did nothing. All you did was teach and debate. You had the crowds in the palm of your hand, once again, but again you bottled it. I couldn’t understand why. I began to doubt – you couldn’t be the king after all. Why didn’t you take power? Why didn’t you set us free?
Then it dawned on me. You were never intending to become king by force. You’d had more than one opportunity to seize the moment – after the mass feeding in Galilee, on that heady day in Jerusalem, in the temple, and you’d refused each one. It suddenly became clear to me I’d been mistaken. I felt such a fool – I felt so angry – what a waste of time! All this had been for nothing. Those amazing times we had together. Those miracles, that teaching, those healings. All for nothing. I was so angry. And the problem with anger, as you yourself taught us, is that it can be deadly.
I wanted to punish you or to try and force your hand – force you to act, or do something. I’d heard the whisperings in the temple. The high priests, the authorities were out to get you – they saw what we saw, that you were a threat to their power, and the only way to deal with this threat was to get rid of you. You knew that too, and you weren’t going to stop them. You were going to walk into danger and allow them to do what they wanted to you. Suddenly, I saw my chance. Chance to get my own back. I could help them, provide a way for them to get to you away from the crowd and to make some money while I was at it. Soon it was sorted out – they gleefully accepted my help. Thirty pieces of silver. Seemed like a good deal at the time. Recompense for all the disappointment. We made our plans and waited for the right moment.
And so I led them to you at the Garden, greeted you with a kiss, so they would know who you were. I’ll never forget the way you looked at me. Reproachful. Sad. Hurt. Your gaze bore right into my soul and saw the darkness inside – the bitterness, the disappointment, the hurt. From a small spark, it raged like a fire in me, consumed me completely, and it led me to this. I betrayed you with a kiss. I wish I could go back, but I can’t. There’s no going back.
I never intended for it to end this way. I didn’t really think they’d have you killed. I didn’t really think you’d let them do it. They were like predators encircling their prey and they had no intention of letting you go once you were in their grasp. And you didn’t fight back. Why didn’t you fight back? You could have done something to show them who you really were, but instead, you let them walk over you. You let them condemn you to death. Why did you do that?
I didn’t know they were going to do that! I didn’t want them to do that. I only wanted them to teach you a lesson. I never meant for you to die. As soon as it dawned on me that they were going to have you killed, I realised I’d made a huge mistake. You’d done nothing to deserve any of this. You were innocent. You didn’t deserve to die. You’d done nothing wrong – and I’d betrayed you. The guilt won’t let me go. I will never forgive myself for what I’ve done.
I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.
Confession and Absolution
God shows his love for us
in that, while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Let us then show our love for him
by confessing our sins in penitence and faith. (cf Romans 5.8)
Lord Jesus Christ,
we confess we have failed you as did your first disciples.
We ask for your mercy and your help.
When we take our ease
rather than watch with you:
Lord, forgive us.
Christ have mercy.
When we bestow a kiss of peace
yet nurse enmity in our hearts:
Lord, forgive us.
Christ have mercy.
When we strike at those who hurt us
rather than stretch out our hands to bless:
Lord, forgive us.
Christ have mercy.
When we deny that we know you
for fear of the world and its scorn:
Lord, forgive us.
Christ have mercy.
May the God of love and power
forgive you and free you from your sins,
heal and strengthen you by his Spirit,
and raise you to new life in Christ our Lord.
Amen.
Reading: Matthew 27:11-26
Reflection: Simon of Cyrene – Carrying the Cross (Pt 1)
Simon of Cyrene makes only a brief appearance in the Passion narrative – he is the one who is forced to carry the cross of Jesus to the site of execution when Jesus is unable to do so, weakened as he is from the beating he has endured at the hands of the soldiers. We know the names of his sons from Mark’s Gospel. It is traditionally thought that Alexander and Rufus became missionaries – that they’re mentioned by Mark because they were known to the Early Christian community at Rome. It’s also been suggested that the Rufus mentioned by Paul in Romans 16:13 is the son of Simon of Cyrene. Some also connect Simon himself with the “men of Cyrene” who preached the Gospel to the Greeks in Acts 11:20. The reason for mentioning this is that I have assumed that Simon came from a religious background and that he went on to become a follower of Jesus – that this encounter was the catalyst for it. He may have even stayed in the city for Pentecost and experienced the Holy Spirit there. With this in mind, let’s hear Simon’s story as he looks back on that momentous day.
I was in Jerusalem for the great Passover festival. I went there every year with my family and a number of others who were part of the Jewish community in Cyrene, by the coast of North Africa. That year was the first time my sons Alexander and Rufus were old enough to join us – it was a journey which took nearly two weeks, so it wasn’t for everyone – first we’d travel by a Roman ship from Apollonia, across the Great Sea, travelling for a few days through the choppy waters, before we finally made land in Palestine. We arrived, exhausted, at the Port of Caesarea Maritima, and rest a day before making the trip across land up to Jerusalem – another 4 days along the dusty road. We weren’t alone though – when we arrived at the port, there were quite a few other pilgrims who were making the journey, so we became quite a large group on that road. My sons loved that – they made friends with other boys and we hardly saw them over those days as we walked up to Jerusalem. Being part of a crowd was exhilarating. We’d talk, swap travel stories, and sing hymns, especially those songs of ascent in the Psalms – songs that have been sung by our forebears for hundreds of years, when the pilgrims were approaching Solomon’s temple. Songs of hope, songs of yearning, songs of deliverance, proclaiming “Our help is in the name of the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.”
It’s incredible how relevant those ancient words are for now. Oppressed Israel, under the heavy hand of the Romans, is waiting for deliverance, for redemption. We need his help.
Well, as we were approaching the city, talk was spreading that this redemption might be at hand. Just a few days before, crowds had gathered to welcome a teacher from the north. They’d laid their cloaks on the road before him and waved palms, singing “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” This was the coming king. Well, you could imagine the ripple of excitement that went through us pilgrims. Though we were so weary from our travels, there was a spring in our step – we’d chosen the right time to be coming to Jerusalem – we might even witness the deliverance of Israel taking place, and see the Romans put in their place.
We found some lodgings a few miles from Jerusalem on the Thursday night. We then had enough time to walk into the city of Jerusalem early on Friday morning and see the temple before finding the bits and pieces we’d need for the Passover meal we’d share in that evening as the Sabbath began. We got up before dawn. No one could wait to get to Jerusalem, we were so excited! As we got closer to the city, my sons were getting visibly more excited. Herod’s temple was the stuff of legend, after all – a wonder of gleaming white and gold that you had to see to believe. I remember my first time of seeing that. It’s not one you forget – and I was so excited about seeing my boys’ first reactions – to see their wonder.
While I was thinking about this, I became aware of a clamour in the distance. A sort of procession – or at least that’s what I thought at first. When I came nearer, however I could see the glint of Roman armour reflected in the sunlight – and I could hear the sound of agitation – of weeping even. I felt the tug of someone pulling on my sleeve and looked down. “What’s happening, dad?” Rufus asked? I shook my head. “I don’t know for sure, son, but I think there’s an execution or something going on.”
Seeing the fear etched on Rufus’ face, I put my arm around him, wishing I could find the words to comfort him and that I could protect him and Alexander from getting caught up in whatever was going on ahead of us.
Hymn: My song is love unknown (verses 3 and 4)
Reading: Matthew 27:27-37
Reflection: Simon of Cyrene – Carrying the Cross (Pt 2)
As we were walking closer to the city it became clearer that our paths would cross with the execution party, if that’s what it was. Crucifixion is the chosen method of execution in this empire – for slaves and enemies at any rate. They put their victims on these crosses by roads and junctions to put people off rebelling against Rome. I looked ahead and saw one such victim being led to the execution site – he appeared to be staggering under the weight of a crossbeam. He’d make a couple of steps then collapse. When we got closer, I gasped – he had been savagely beaten. And, horrifically, some sort of crown of thorns had been forced upon his head. A crown – of thorns – like he was some sort of king being mocked – I thought about the king who’d been welcomed into the city just a few days before. It couldn’t be, could it?
I wanted to try and get away and stop my boys from seeing such a terrible sight. As I was turning towards them, trying to get them to look away, I heard a thud and the soldiers shouting at him, presumably telling him to get up. Then they shouted again. To my horror, I realised they were shouting at me.
“Hey, you!”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Come here.”
I had no choice. I stepped forward to where this man was sprawled on the ground, underneath that crossbeam. Only then did I appreciate the horror of the torture that had been inflicted upon him. He looked barely human. He looked barely alive. How could they do this? What evil lurks in the hearts of men!
One of the soldiers addressed me again.
“This man cannot go any further. You will carry the cross for him.”
“But – ” I started to protest, but realised that there was no point in arguing.
The ropes that had been bound to this man’s arms were untied from the crossbeam and he collapsed on the ground. I leant down to pick it up. As I did, I looked into the eyes of the man. He held my gaze and amidst the tumult that surrounded us there was a sense of stillness and even peace.
“Thank you,” he whispered, “I could use the help. Sorry you’re being dragged into this.” and managed a half smile.
“Get moving, now.” The soldier barked. “This way,” and he motioned to a bare rocky outcrop that looked remarkably like a skull. It wasn’t far away but the man was so weak, presumably from the beating he’d taken. I picked up the cross, hefting its weight onto my shoulder – it was heavy, and I could understand why this man, who had been so severely beaten, wasn’t able to carry it far. I found myself walking beside this man who was being shoved along by the soldiers who were impatient to get their job done. I looked around at the crowd surrounding us – though the soldiers were making sure no one could get too close, I could see a mixture of religious leaders in their flowing robes who looked pleased with themselves, some people who were clearly curious to see what was going on for their entertainment, then there were others who were clearly upset, women who were weeping, wanting to be as close to this man as possible. This wasn’t your typical criminal – three was something different about him – and the most remarkable thing of all that though so much was raging around him, he remained still, calm, silent. I was amazed – after all he was going through.
“This is the place. Stop here.” The soldier commanded. “You can go now.”
I was relieved to put the cross down. I wanted to say something to the man, some words of comfort – or anything really, but didn’t have the chance – as soon as I had put down the cross, soldiers swarmed around him and I was pushed away. Then I realised with a start that I didn’t know where any of my family were – were they ok? I turned to look around, desperately hoping they were ok. Then, “Simon! Simon!” I heard my wife’s voice – and saw her, and my two boys standing with them – we rushed towards each other and embraced. The boys looked ashen faced and their eyes were red; they’d been crying. “Are you ok, boys? I’m so sorry you had to see that.”
“We were so worried about you. Are you ok?” my wife asked, “What a terrible thing to be asked to do!”
“I’m fine,” I replied. Not like the poor man whose cross I had carried. I heard a cry of pain and the noise of banging and as I turned back, saw the cross being raised with this man nailed to it. It was then that I saw the sign above his head. “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews”. It was the same man who’d been welcomed into the city a few days before. Well, those in power were making sure he was paying for this claim. There’s only one king, they say, in Rome. I then looked at the man on that cross and was astonished when he met my gaze. He was clearly in agony – but despite this, he wasn’t cursing. He didn’t even look angry! His look was one of compassion – and, extraordinary as it is to say, one of gratitude to me, because I bore the cross for him.
That moment changed everything for me. I knew that there was something different about him. That though he’d been beaten to within an inch of his life and his body was physically broken, he was unbowed, undefeated. Those around him were hurling insults, saying vile things, but he stayed silent. Dignified. In control. He didn’t look like it, but the notice above his head told the truth. He was the King. He carried a real sense of authority. As I stood there, I remembered those ancient songs of deliverance and hope we’d been singing on the way to Jerusalem. Somehow, though I couldn’t understand it, though circumstances seemed to be defying them, I knew somehow the songs of hope were being fulfilled.
“Israel, put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with him is full redemption. He himself will redeem Israel from all their sins.” (Psalm 130:7-8)
I bore the cross for Jesus that day. I had no choice in the matter. But I know now he bore it for me. And so, I will willingly carry my cross every day of my life.
Hymn: My song is love unknown (verses 5-7)
Reading: Matthew 27:38-61
Reflection – Joseph of Arimathea – Out of the Shadows
I’ll never forget the first time I saw Jesus. I was walking past as he was teaching in the temple courts and I stopped in my tracks and joined the fringes of the crowd to listen. There was something compelling about the way he spoke, telling his hearers about the Kingdom of God. I long to see God’s kingdom come. I read those beautiful, hope-filled words in the prophets about justice and mercy, about the good news being proclaimed and desperate people finding hope and healing and was filled with such yearning. Then, when I heard Jesus speak and saw the things he did, it dawned on me that somehow, despite all of my expectations, the Kingdom of God was coming through him. He was the one about whom the prophets had spoken. The problem was, not everyone saw it that way. I’m part of the Sanhedrin, the temple council; we advise the High Priest, meeting at his request, to make important decisions about the life of the temple. Most of us try and make decisions that uphold our faith and honour the Lord, but others see it as a means to power. Well, over time, it became clear that the high priest and some others saw Jesus as a problem, a threat to their power. At first they viewed him as an irritant, but the more he spoke up and challenged their hypocrisy, the more popular he seemed to get with the people, the more determined the High Priest and some of the Sanhedrin were to have Jesus silenced. Only Nicodemus dared to speak out against them. I, to my shame, kept silent. I was frightened, to tell you the truth.
It all came to a head in the week leading to the Passover. First, on Sunday Jesus entered into Jerusalem, acclaimed as King by the crowd; then he made a scene in the temple, driving out the money lenders and condemning the corrupt practices he saw; then, throughout the week, he was very open in his criticism of the temple authorities and from the mutterings I’d heard, it was clear they’d had enough of him. This teacher had to go.
I wasn’t there at his trial. I’m not important enough. Caiaphas, the high priest had organised it without me, assembled enough of his supporters to ensure they could pass a death sentence – they only needed twenty-three to get the job done. Though I’d kept quiet about my allegiance to Jesus, Caiaphas would have known I wasn’t going to be in cahoots with his plans. I was horrified when I found out about the trial. They’d hurled insults and false accusations at Jesus. They sentenced an innocent man to death. I did not consent to this decision. I played no part in this action. It made me ashamed to be part of such a council and never to have spoken up for this man.
During that awful day, when Jesus was dying on that cross, all I was thinking about was how I could help him. I wanted to do something, to somehow step out of the shadows and show where my allegiance truly lay, but I couldn’t think what. Then, when I heard that Jesus had died, I knew what I could do. I went to Pilate and asked for permission to bury Jesus and place him in the tomb I had just had dug in the local caves for myself and my family. Pilate was surprised to say the least, probably wondering why I was showing such an interest. I just told him that I felt the least I could do was to make sure that Jesus got a proper burial. We bought the grave clothes, had Jesus taken down from the cross, wrapped up his body and placed it in the tomb. Everyone else on the council was now busy getting ready for the Passover, they weren’t going to pose an immediate danger to me, but in time everyone will find out where my allegiance really lies, that I’m a follower of Jesus of Nazareth, who was wrongly killed today. They will find out in time, and I’m not afraid of what they might do to me. It’s time to step out of the shadows. It’s time to be counted.
Hymn: When I survey
Final Prayer
Most merciful God,
who by the death and resurrection of your Son Jesus Christ
delivered and saved the world:
grant that by faith in him who suffered on the cross
we may triumph in the power of his victory;
through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.
Amen.[1]
[1] From Archbishop’s Council, Common Worship: Services and Prayers for the Church of England, Church House Publishing (2000)
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