Today we come together, in penitence and faith, to remember a man who, for the three hours we spend here, hung dying in agony and desolation on a Cross in the Judean heat.
He had been weakened physically by torture and abuse, and he died the death of the weakest and most despised in society – a particularly nasty execution reserved for runaway slaves and low-class criminals or rebels.
In many less economically developed countries, Good Friday is a day when the churches are packed to capacity, more so than at Christmas, or on Easter Day itself, as people come in their hundreds to stand before Christ’s Cross, silently identifying with his pain and his sense of rejection.
Perhaps this is a reflection of the brutal oppression, enforced slavery and abject poverty to which many in these countries have been subjected over the centuries.
But in our contemporary Western culture, suffering and death have become something of a taboo topic: it is common to recoil from any mention of death, our own or anyone else’s.
Here, there is an onus on us to be constantly positive and striving for success; showing our “strong side” to the world, and not seeming to engage openly with apparently depressing thoughts about our own death and suffering, or even that of Christ himself.
For some, the role of the Church has come to be regarded as offering people a chance to feel “warm and fuzzy”, and not to bring up disturbing thoughts we prefer not to consider.
Many will turn out on Sunday to celebrate the glory and beauty of the Resurrection on Easter Day, but would consider the mourning and sadness of Good Friday to be too gloomy to consider.
So our friends and neighbours – and indeed some within our own faith – might question why it is that, despite the prevailing culture, we believe that this time of penitent reflection on the death of Jesus is so central to our Christian commitment, understanding and faith.
Perhaps one clue lies in the statement from St Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, on which this reflection is based. “God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong.”
Someone who observed me on a train preparing for these reflections by reading a large two volume work entitled “The Death of the Messiah”, observed somewhat critically, “That’s not very cheerful, is it?”
Modern society values positive thinking, success and achievement.
Death does not feature highly on this list – it smacks of weakness.
In an age and an area of the globe which witnesses astonishing medical success stories, miraculous surgical and pharmaceutical achievements, and an ever-rising life expectancy, society has come to regard death, and especially early death, as the result of weakness or failure.
With fewer and fewer people believing, as our ancestors did, that the times of our life and death lie in God’s hands, we are constantly told that such things lie either in our own hands, or in the hands of other human beings.
Advice on how to prolong our lives ranges from sensible and responsible Government guidelines about diet and exercise, to the myriad self-help books flooding the market, which tell people that if they embrace particular diets suited to their blood type, or certain Chinese herbs, they will be able to live for longer.
Although we are not expected to reflect publicly about death, it is more than acceptable to exchange information on the life-giving qualities of various health regimes.
The risk of this pressure to live a longer, rather than a better life, is that people may then be left with a sense of guilt and failure at the prospect of their own death, or that of someone they cared for; or alternatively, in an increasingly litigious culture, they may seek someone else to blame.
It is a far cry from an age in which advice on how to prepare for a holy death was valued as essential, and a sign of piety and strength.
In 1651, Bishop Jeremy Taylor published a work entitled, “The Rule and Exercises of Holy Dying”, and subtitled, “preparing ourselves and others for a Blessed Death.”
In a chapter on “Precepts preparatory to a Holy Death, to be practised in our whole Life”, Taylor wrote, “He that would die well must always look for death, every day knocking at the gates of the grave; and then the gates of the grave shall never prevail upon him to do him mischief.”
Although such sentiments fly in the face of modern sensitivities, this statement can actually offer us great reassurance.
At the teenage Holy Week film evening on Thursday, we discussed (among other potential Passion references) a clip from the Bodyguard, in which Kevin Costner explains, “There is a great difference between wanting to die and not being afraid of death.”
Death will come inevitably to us all, and, thanks to the extraordinary happenings we commemorate today, tomorrow and on Sunday, Christians are able to face that death with the knowledge that whilst it may be the end of this life, it is not the end, and we need not be afraid.
The death we come to remember and contemplate today, was one which was embraced obediently, even though Christ himself in the Garden experienced our natural human reluctance and fear in the face of pain and suffering.
When we come ourselves to face suffering and weakness, we can know that Jesus has been there before us, and is able share in our pain, and if we allow him, to carry it for us.
The implication of the Gospels is that Jesus knew from very early on in his ministry the inevitable direction in which he set out, his face turned towards Jerusalem, where he declared that all prophets die.
Rather than blaming his executioners, Christ prayed for forgiveness for them, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Despite his weakened physical state, and his apparent impotence in the face of brutal earthly power, we heard in our Passion reading from Mark’s Gospel on Palm Sunday, that the centurion who witnessed his death was moved to declare, “Truly this man was the Son of God!”
God had chosen what was seen as weak in the world to surprise and shame those in power.
Weakness can also reveal our deep human instinct to seek God’s strength, even amongst those for whom prayer and worship are not part of their everyday life.
Last month, the footballer Fabrice Muamba collapsed from a heart condition on the pitch during a FA cup match in front of a crowd of thousands.
In our world where death is sanitised and hidden, it was a deeply unusual moment, as the horrified crowd became unwilling spectators of what might well have been a dramatic death before their very eyes.
What, of course, has most fascinated religious commentators and believers alike, were the sweeping camera shots of row after row of people, their hands clasped together in a traditional attitude of prayer.
Over the next few days, footballers and fans were urged to pray for his recovery, and the Bolton manager, himself a Christian, was recorded as saying with some surprise, “Prayer was the most used word of the weekend.”
The T-shirts, printed with the words “Pray 4 Muamba”, sported by footballers from different clubs, reflected their solidarity and compassion for their fellow-player, but also a sense that even in a country of individuals who so often seem to believe only in their own secular strength, we still turn to prayer in moments of anxiety and need.
When forced to contemplate the very real possibility of a young person dying, people were starkly reminded that in fact, the timing of our life and death – and our eternal hope – does lie in the hands of one who is stronger and more powerful than we are, and to address their prayers to him.
As today we come together to contemplate the image of Christ on the Cross, and to reflect on the suffering and the cruel and humiliating death of another young man, almost two thousand years ago, we may perhaps begin to see how this image may also prompt the compassion and solidarity of those who look on it.
Several recent film portrayals of the Passion story suggest that Judas’ betrayal is brought about by his disappointment in Jesus’ apparent weakness, in not using his popularity to attack the Roman occupiers and bring in God’s kingdom by force.
From even before the Crucifixion took place, there has been the suggestion that the last days of Jesus’ life revealed weakness.
Today, death itself, and especially the acceptance of early, potentially unnecessary death, is seen as a weakness in a secular world where individuals are encouraged to live in their own strength.
Yet God chose to send his Son into the world, where he would face death of this kind, in order to reveal his own wisdom and power by drawing us together in compassion and love, and to help us remember that the time of our dying lies in God’s hands, but that as we face it, we need not be afraid.
As we reflect in the silence, perhaps we can bring our own fears and weaknesses and place them into the hands of God, allowing him to help us carry them, and asking him to use them, by transforming them into gifts which will reflect his strength and power to others.