Then they led him away to crucify him (Matthew 27:31).

Unlike nearly all of our modern movie versions, the four Gospel writers are remarkably restrained about Christ’s crucifixion.  Crucifixion was both too familiar and too terrible to Matthew, Mark, Luke and John’s original audiences for any details to be needed.

As the Gospel writers, the apostle Paul, and the whole New Testament work to express all that was happening on this terrible day we now call Good, they gather together words and pictures from across the Scriptures: atonement, forgiveness, justification, offering, ransom, rescue, redemption, restoration, substitution, sacrifice.   Jesus is the prophet like Moses, only greater; the king like David, only greater.  Jesus is the great High Priest above all others – but a Priest whose offering is himself.  Jesus is the suffering servant who takes upon and into himself the wounds, griefs and suffering of the world; the cursed one hung on a tree; the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for his sheep.  Jesus is the ram caught in a thicket which released Isaac from the altar, the scapegoat who carries our sins far away, the lamb who takes away the sin of the whole world. 

What the Gospel writers want us to attend to above all is that Jesus is the King.  Not a king among many, but the King of kings; not a lord among many, but the Lord of lords.  As you read through Matthew’s account today (Matthew 27), pay attention to all the royal words and imagery that cluster around Jesus.  His charge before the Jewish leadership: “Are you the Messiah (that is, God’s anointed king)?”  His charge before Pilate: “Are you the king of the Jews?”  The mockery of the soldiers: the purple cloak, a “scepter” made of cattail, a crown of thorns.  The mockery of the crowd: “If he’s the King of the Jews, let him come down from the cross!” Above his head, his crime: “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.” 

What do kings do?  They lead armies into battle – but this king comes with not a single soldier, with not a single spear, sword, shield or chariot.  A king protects his people and territories from the enemy “out there” – but what if the enemy is in fact “in here,” in not only our cities and towns, but in us ourselves?  What if the king’s enemies include all of us his subjects?  What does a king do then?

Kings pronounce and administer justice, the kind of justice that makes things right and whole, that restores what has been unjustly taken or stolen.  But this king places himself in the accused’s place.  He will accept into himself, he will somehow absorb, all of the injustice we hurl upon him.  He will accept the sentence that does not belong to him, accept the blow that belongs to everyone but him.

Kings reign upon thrones, from within palaces, surrounded by advisors, courtiers, nobles, servants.  They wear crowns of gold and jewels, and are clothed in purple finery.  This king is stripped, humiliated, mocked … rejected and abandoned … crowned with thorns … enthroned upon a cross.  

This is the story into which we step on Good Friday.  It is the answer to the prayer he gave us; it is the story of how God’s kingdom comes and how God’s will is done, on earth as it is in heaven.

Our church gathers tonight at 7 PM at our Pittsboro and North Chatham locations.  Let’s step into the story together this evening.