On a whim…

Mark 15:24 NRSV: “Then they crucified him.”

There is no metaphor left.

The body that was named on Thursday is now handled.

Struck.

Spat upon.

Measured.

Nailed.

The crowd is smaller now. The noise less triumphant. The sky darker than expected.

Good Friday resists explanation. We have written volumes trying to make sense of it — sacrifice, atonement, substitution, victory. Some of those words are necessary. None of them remove the wood.

Then they crucified him.

The body does not symbolize suffering. It endures it.

I have watched a body endure more than it should. I have seen strength leave it slowly. I have felt how helpless love can be when flesh fails.

There is a particular violence in watching and not being able to stop what is happening.

At the cross, even the faithful stand at a distance.

The temptation on Good Friday is to hurry toward Sunday. To speak of what will come. To soften the finality of the sentence.

But Lent forbids that.

The body hangs.

Breath shortens.

The words grow fewer.

It is finished.

And for a moment, it looks like death has the last word.

Prayer

God, stay with me when the cross is more real than hope.