Witnessing to Truth Before the Powerful

April 18, 2025 - Good Friday

Grace to you and peace, in the name of Christ Crucified.

Amen.

It's been said that the divine mystery of the cross is a kind of cathedral, an architecture with many entrances, or if you will, a great symphony with distinct, amazing, passionate movements. Beloved community, consider with me by what avenue or movement you enter into your Good Friday contemplation in this most tumultuous time, in a time such as this.

I find myself approaching the foot of the cross in 2025 with a reflection on institutional and political power, that force which often stands in opposition to the servant love that was profiled in Isaiah in our first reading this evening, the servant love made perfect in the ministry of Jesus of Nazareth.

If only those who wield power could stay silent, tight-lipped before Christ in awe and adoration of the love made perfect in his ministry. If only those who wield power in the world could stay tight-lipped, to stay silent, perceiving the revelation of Christ Jesus in humility, saying nothing. If only the powerful could be quiet.

Then they might see what they have never seen. Then they might learn something that they have never heard of before. The powerful, however, are not very good at such reverent discipline.

Still, it is the simple invitation of the Good Friday liturgy to all of us to be silent before Him.

There is much to be known on the condition of our silence this night.

Hilaire Duisburg wrote that the death of Jesus was a crime of the learned, of those with official power, a crime of clerks and functionaries, administrators and bureaucrats. He wrote that they perpetrated this crime because they lacked spiritual hunger, considering themselves well-stocked with erudition and authority. In fact, Duisburg wrote, they were drowsing in their lack of curiosity, common to the offices and institutions they protected.

And chief among them, the Roman governor Pontius Pilate. An official vessel of the empire called to make manifest the power of Rome and keep order, called to be loyal to the emperor alone.

Pilate did not have time for spiritual hunger. He had a job to do. For if Jesus was a king, then Pilate had reason to worry. Pilate had to keep track of other important stars in his own constellation. He could not turn his back on any exciting, promising person who could threaten his own position. To maintain control and authority, it is the business of the powerful and the important to be nervously alert in a volatile world. And the praetorium where Pilate presided, it was an anxious place.

On the other hand, if Jesus was a crank, just some pitiful fellow with delusions of power, Pilate could freely toss him back to the crowd. He could send him back to the Jewish authorities to keep them busy and out of mischief during the festival days of Passover. That could be done without jeopardizing any of Pilate's other power points.

But what if Jesus had real following? He had to wonder.

What if significant numbers of serious people were taking him seriously? What if he could sway the crowds? What if he had armed followers out there among the crowd? Or waiting in the groves of Olivet, or over the hill in Bethany, or in the caves of Jericho?

Then Pilate, representative of Roman power, then Pilate had reason to be nervous. He needed to think out the possibilities and the contingencies, and he certainly didn't have the freedom to just speculate about loftier truths.

In the Gospels, we just offered it. Pilate sounds sarcastic to us when he replies, "What is truth?"

But perhaps Pilate was genuinely puzzled. Perhaps he was perplexed by this Jesus of Nazareth.

Jesus replied, "You say that I am a king. You are the one worried about the state of the empire and where chaos may break out. But for this, I was born, and for this, I have come into the world to bear witness to the truth."

What is truth?

Order and control of the empire, the power that Pilate wielded was devoid of spiritual hunger. But that power was now confronted with truth incarnate, truth made flesh, a truth made manifest in the servant love in the person of Christ Jesus.

For three years, Jesus had witnessed to that truth in private and public places before many gatherings, and in the face of variously persuaded factions of people.

Jesus had witnessed to the truth when he washed the feet of his disciples and identified himself with the bread and cup that they shared at the Passover meal, as we remembered it last night. Jesus had witnessed to the truth when he called Lazarus back from the tomb, when he restored the sight of the man born blind. Jesus had witnessed to the truth when he fed the multitudes with the few loaves and fish that they had in hand in that remote gathering of anxious questing sojourners. Jesus had witnessed to the truth when he paid attention to the woman at the well, breaking down barriers and drawing out of her the pathos of her life and the abuse she had suffered. Jesus had witnessed to the truth when he upset the temple commerce and insulted the pride of the tradition by calling for worship in spirit and in truth. Jesus had witnessed to the truth even when he worked his first sign among his own kinsfolk and neighbors when he kept the party going at the wedding at Cana in Galilee.

Jesus witnessed to the truth. He provided the good wine.

There was a power in such showings of truth, a power that would set some people free. But before the nervous political appointee Pilate, the hateful rantings of the priests and the rabid chanting crowd, the truth made manifest in love seemed so vulnerable. It seemed so forgettable, so dispensable. That truth seemed so fragile, confronted with the turbulence of power.

Like freedom, truth must struggle to survive the anxiety of powerful people. Surely we know that.

Freedom and a truth born in love have always been at risk before those who wield worldly power. And so it most certainly is in our day.

My sisters and brothers, servant love is what makes this Friday good. For right here, right now, in this faith community, what we testify to is a love that is made manifest still, a servant love.

Whenever we reject our basic instincts of tribalism, whenever we extend hospitality to the stranger, whenever we offer forgiveness and compassion unconditionally, when we set aside a day each week, not oppressed with worldly concerns to reflect on our inner values, wondering where we might have gone wrong, and finding gladness over what we got right.

Like Jesus, we can go forth without violence, without rallies, motorcades, parades, uniforms, shows of strength, for we know the counter-narrative.

What is truth, Pilate asked? Dare we say that truth is revealed in love, in servant love, a love that transcends and transforms power? For even when the empire kills truth, truth still rises. Even when justice is crucified, it does not stay buried. Pilate's Rome would not get the last word.

From the New Zealand Prayer Book:

Lord Jesus Christ, as we kneel at the foot of your cross, help us to see and know your love for us, so that we may place at your feet all that we have and are. Crucified Savior, naked God, you hang disgraced and powerless, grieving, we dare to hope, as we wait at the cross with your mother and your friend.

For even when the empire kills the truth, truth still rises, and even when justice is crucified, it does not stay buried.

Grieving, we dare to hope.

Amen.