Today, the Church is silent.

No greeting.
No sign of the cross at the beginning.
No Mass.

We come in quietly. Because today we stand before one thing: the Cross.

Isaiah tells us what we are looking at.

“He was despised and rejected by men…
a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.”

This is not an accident.

Not a tragedy that got out of control.

This is the servant of the Lord.

“Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.” Not His. Ours.

That is the first truth of Good Friday.

Christ does not suffer in general.

He suffers for us.

“He was pierced for our transgressions… crushed for our iniquities.”

Sin is not an idea. It has weight. It has consequence.

It wounds. It breaks. And today we see where it leads.

The Passion is long. But it is very simple.

Jesus is arrested.

Not because He has done wrong. But because He has spoken the truth.

He is judged. Not because He is guilty. But because others are afraid.

Pilate knows He is innocent. “I find no guilt in him.” And yet he hands Him over.

Why? Because truth becomes inconvenient.

And when truth becomes costly, it is easier to surrender it.

The crowd chooses Barabbas. 

A guilty man goes free. An innocent man is condemned.

This is what sin does. It reverses things. It calls good evil, and evil good.

And then Christ is led to the Cross.

Notice something.

He does not resist. He does not argue. He does not call down power.

Hebrews tells us why.

“He offered up prayers and supplications… with loud cries and tears.”

He knows what is coming. He feels it. Fully.

And yet: “He learned obedience through what he suffered.”

Not because He was disobedient.

But because He lives obedience to the very end. This is the heart of the Cross.

Not pain alone. Not suffering alone. Obedience.

“Father… not my will, but yours be done.”

This is where Adam failed. This is where Christ stands. And so He is lifted up.

The Cross is not hidden. It is placed where all can see.

And from the Cross, Christ speaks. “Father, forgive them.”

Even here — mercy.

“It is finished.” Not ended. Completed. Fulfilled. The work is done.

So what are we looking at today?

Not simply a man dying.

We are looking at sin revealed in its full seriousness.

And we are looking at love revealed in its full depth.

Because this is the truth: No one takes His life from Him. He gives it. Freely.

For us.

And that means something.

We cannot stand at the Cross as spectators.

Because if He suffers for sin, then we must ask: what part of my life belongs here?

What do I excuse? What do I ignore? What do I refuse to change?

Because sin is not abstract. It is what placed Him there.

And yet — this is not a day of despair.

Because the Cross is not defeat. It is victory.

The world sees weakness. God reveals power.

The world sees loss. God brings redemption.

The world sees the end. God begins something new.

Hebrews tells us: “We do not have a high priest
who is unable to sympathise with our weaknesses.”

Christ has entered into suffering.

Into fear. Into pain. Into death.

There is no place we go that He has not entered.

And so we can approach Him. Not with fear. But with confidence.

Because the one who judges is the one who has given Himself for us.

In a moment, we will come forward to venerate the Cross.

Not admire. Not observe. Venerate.

We will kneel. We will kiss. We will bow. Not because we love suffering.

But because we recognise what is here. The price of our salvation.

So come honestly. Do not pretend. Do not stand at a distance.

Bring your sin. Bring your weakness. Bring what you know needs to change.

And place it here. At the foot of the Cross.

Because this is where sin is dealt with. And this is where mercy is given.

Today, there are no distractions. No explanations.

Only this: The Cross. And the one who hangs upon it. Given for you.