(Giotto e collaboratori, Crocifissione, Basilica inferiore San Francesco, Assisi, 1308-1310)
Friday, April 18, 2025
GOOD FRIDAY – YEAR C
Gospel Commentary
Lk 23:33-48
We are at the height of the story of salvation within the liturgy of the Easter triduum. We invite you to slow down and take time to deepen and pray about these verses of the Word. The reading of Luke’s passages during these solemn days focuses on the location of events which are immersed in Creation, an olive grove, a mount and a garden. Today we find ourselves on Mount Golgotha, a place of torture and death. We are looking at the most important narrative in Luke’s gospel which we have been trying to follow in recent months. In the first part we meet Luke, the doctor, care and cure seen in his words until the account of the transfiguration. Then, there’s looking for the face of Jesus.Today, on this mountain outside Jerusalem, we have the opportunity to encounter this face of God. The first part of the gospel invites us to listen, the second to see. To listen, to see, to act in prayer. Yesterday, in the garden, Jesus taught us how to pray. The whole gospel of the passion, and particularly this one on which we focus our gaze today, is an excellent occasion for prayer: it is a θεωρέω (= theoria), a “spectacle” as it is called at the end of this passage, which everyone has come to see. The only time in the entire New Testament where this word is used to indicate that we have a vision of God here. Contemplating this text is like praying, it is like seeing God face to face.
“Recounting”, or re-telling the story today is an impossible task, so we will only give you a few insights with an invitation to slow down, to put the brakes on today and dwell on each verse. Each passage deserves a day, if not a week, of silent meditation. In each verse, we find explanations of Scripture, the prophets, the law, Paul’s letters, the apocalypse, patristics, medieval theology, the magisterium of the church and Laudato Si’. We find real meaning in Luke’s gospel because it was written by one who did not actually meet Jesus directly but he “put the stories in order” by addressing them to Theophilus, to the third generation of Christians, which is basically all of us. None of us knew Jesus directly, nor did we know those who met him in real life. We are to trust the neat narratives; here we will meet the two greatest theologians of the gospel, a thief (the only one who called Jesus by the expression “God”) and an executioner. Here we read how creation speaks to us of this death, the sky darkening, the veil of the temple (made by the hands of humans) being torn apart. Those who are evangelized first, contemplating the crucified and the speaking creation, are an evildoer and a centurion: Peter and the disciples disappear, eyewitnesses and their friends disappear, and Luke puts each of us, with our limitations and sins, and the evil we ourselves bring into the world, at the center of the message. It is up to us to choose to fix our gaze on the glory of God as manifested today in this torn body hanging from the cross just as the evildoer and the centurion do and so, be saved; or to do as the high priests, the Pharisees and the crowd do, who scoff, but are nevertheless saved because of God’s mercy, the one true, great protagonist of Luke’s entire gospel.
“When they came to the place called the Skull,”, Just as yesterday one entered the olive grove defined as a “place,” so today one also comes to a “place.” In Luke this is an important aspect, because the only place traditionally important is the temple, a space for prayer and dialogue with God… everywhere else is a non-place. It is a small mountain. God is manifested to the world in creation, not just in a temple made by human hands. Indeed, more than that, he manifests himself outside the city gate, on the mount of executions, a spectacle for those who were to learn the justice of men.
And there “they crucified him and the criminals there, one on his right, the other on his left”. The cross is the tree that towers over this mountain, reminding us of the tree of life rejected by Adam, whose skull is often depicted at the foot of the cross. Jesus climbs this tree of death to irrigate this skull (which after all represents the death of each of us) with his blood and give it life. In this act of glory, there are two criminals in the places anxiously desired by James and John, who really wanted to be the “one on the right and the other on the left.” How much we must learn to pray! Jesus in the midst, among our miseries, in solidarity with all humanity represented on the right and on the left: those who are wrongdoers, and those who are convinced they are not. It doesn’t matter who is the elder brother or the younger brother, they are both children of a merciful father who lives in expectation.
Jesus is that merciful Father, crying out, “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.” This is the judgment, on the Mount of Justice outside the city walls. Jesus asks for forgiveness! Jesus who had said “do not judge,” “forgive,” “be merciful like the father,” “love your enemies.” God has only children, he doesn’t have enemies. This judgment and salvation responds to evil with good. We humans, like the Galilean terrorists killed by Pilate, would like to respond to evil with evil, to war with war, to sin with punishment in hell. The “good news” of the gospel is this: God did not come to execute anyone, but it is we who condemn each other being deluded and confused by the wrong images of God. This is not to justify evil; the suffering on the cross remains the supreme evil. However God, with regard to evil, takes a very different position to that of humans. “They divided his garments by casting lots.” This image of God upsets us all, every day, whether we are “people,” “religious,” or “power.”
In fact, “The people stood by and watched” in Luke there is no negative judgment of the crowd, which seems almost to be contemplating, albeit from a distance. It’s a detached looking on, as we often do in our indifference, when we peruse newspaper pages recounting immense tragedies far from home.
“The rulers, meanwhile, sneered at him and said, “He saved others, let him save himself if he is the chosen one, the Messiah of God.”” See and scoff. We, lay or religious who help in the parish, basically do not understand such a God. A God who does not show his power, who does not hear our righteous prayers. “Saving oneself” is the greatest claim of selfishness, personal and collective. Everyone, first and foremost, wants to save himself, his family, his city, his nation from enemy invasion, his religion being more just than others. But save from what? We all live with the terror of death, which will come sooner or later. Fortunately, God does not save himself; that would be the supreme evil that would annihilate all other “lesser evils.”
The representatives of power too, “Even the soldiers jeered at him. As they approached to offer him wine they called out, “If you are King of the Jews, save yourself.”” Same question, “save yourself,” what basically makes a king, the pinnacle of a power based on selfishness. In case of attack, the first to protect himself is the king. What king can He be, one who does not save himself? They offer him vinegar, wine gone bad, to tease him reminding us of the temptation in the desert, the temptation of power “if you worship me, everything will be yours.” This offense is made worse when “ Above him there was an inscription that read, “This is the King of the Jews.””
We, Christians and citizens of the world, have to learn so much from this prophetic image! Only when we understand that real politics is not about occupying positions of power or defending that power with crusades and political parties, but it’s about putting the “least of the least” in first place, truly listening to the cry of the poor and the cry of the Earth, can we truly hope for a better world. How important it is for Christians to strive for prophetic politics! If our king is Jesus crucified, then truly there is hope. It is a sure hope, because in a world made up of a minority of kings who nurture wars, abuse of power and corruption, the story of humanity has also known human rights, solidarity, integral ecology, built by so many kings who choose, silently every day, to put themselves at the service of others.
“Now one of the criminals hanging there reviled Jesus, saying, ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us.’” These are probably the two accomplices of Barabbas who were arrested with him for rioting. And there are two, as is often the case in Luke, to express two points of view that coexist in our humanity. The first one blasphemes, saying, “It is certain that you are the Christ!” and it is as if he is trying to say, “I have fought justly against the Romans, and now I am suffering unjust condemnation inflicted by the oppressor.” He tried to defeat evil with the weapons of evil. He shows a little “less selfishness,”a common value, an honor, when he asks for “us too” to be saved.
“The other, however, rebuking him, said in reply, ‘Have you no fear of God, for you are subject to the same condemnation?’” The “good thief” appears, in keeping with all the gentleness of Luke’s text compared to the other gospels. This is the first time in the gospel that a man calls Jesus by the title of God; no one before him had gone that far, not Peter, nor the demons. How come only he can understand it? Maybe because he has looked inside himself, because he recognizes that he is a sinner, when he says, “we have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes”, and then he comes up against an unjustifiable absurdity: “but this man has done nothing criminal.” Why then is God there? Only to be with me, to give me dignity in my limitation, because love is stronger even than death. In this the ‘good criminal’ understands that He is God.
In this dramatic dialogue lies great hope. Even in the darkest hour, the hour of death, God is Emmanuel, He is with us. Jesus says, “today you will be with me in Paradise.” He uses the future tense while we feel everything is over. There is a realm of truth in this. Death does not have the last word. Death in solitude is a tragedy, but if it is in the company of Christ it becomes “sora nostra morte corporale” (“our sister corporeal death”). Our death, that of all humankind, should be without terror and safe in the knowledge that all life is a gift. There is so much to live for….nature, creation (which we humans rejected originally), the happiness of feeling ourselves as beings. In this dialogue, on this Good Friday, each of us has an opportunity to savour our lives!
“It was now about noon and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon because of an eclipse of the sun.” Creation speaks to us. Every day. But today everything takes on a special meaning. We started out at night in the olive grove near Jerusalem, which was later marked by trials and outrages, by the confusion of the street, by the Mount of the Skull. Apparently we are in the sixth hour, the hour when the sun is at its highest point, the hour of greatest light, but also the hour of Adam’s disobedience. Sin refers to the moment when creation breaks away from the Creator, and in fact Adam hides. Darkness hides from the stronger light. On Mount Golgotha the end of the world takes place. The world of sin ends. We do not have to wait for another ‘end of the world,’ in the Gospels it is already described here, with this eclipse.
A new world begins, a new creation, “Then the veil of the temple was torn down the middle.” The veil that hid the Holy of Holies is torn and God “reveals himself,” showing His face. The waters break, it is a painful birth, the Son is born, “Jesus cried out in a loud voice” “Father.” A birth in the pain and sin of the world. We are convinced, with the way we think, that we are witnessing a death scene, instead it is a birth.
“‘Father, into your hands I commend my spirit’ and when he had said this he breathed his last.” Rather than dedicate a minute of silence, we invite you to dedicate ten minutes or an hour of silence as you read this reflection. Contemplate this idea, this “spectacle,” giving it the time it deserves.
We dedicate our silence before this image.
(Diego Velázquez, Cristo in croce, Museo del Prado, Madrid, 1631)
He emitted the spirit. God also expired. Life is both inhaling and exhaling. To be terrified of death is to be insatiable. Very often we want to inhale even to the point of bursting. We keep the planet’s resources, our relationships, our well-being, our very lives to ourselves for fear of losing them. God, who created everything by an action of kenosis, by stripping himself of his infinity to make room for finite things, now in the stripping of the cross gives us a new Creation. A rebirth, without veils. God reveals himself to us. Expiring.
The passage closes, mirroring how it opened, with those who witnessed the show: power, symbolized by the centurion, and the crowds, that is, the people. The religious people of the time disappear in the narrative, their presence lost within the events of this new Creation.
“The centurion who witnessed what had happened glorified God and said, ‘This man was innocent beyond doubt.’” Luke is keen to emphasize not only that Jesus is the son of God, but that he is righteous. Apart from the criminal, the executioner is the only one in the scene who makes a profession of faith. He uses a phrase that comes from observing and contemplating this cross. He who, by trade, exercised power and death, says so. We are God’s tormentors but yet it is we who can recognize him in the face of those who suffer. In this way Luke speaks to the early Christians, those of Theophilus’ generation, who despite their faith experience persecution and hardship. Even within that pain, we can glimpse the face of God.
“When all the people who had gathered for this spectacle saw what had happened, they returned home beating their breasts.” Among those crowds, watching “this spectacle,” this theory (θεωρέω) we too are present, all of us, returning peoples. First we flee death, then after seeing these facts, we return home beating our chests, acknowledging our guilt. For Jews, this תשובה (= Teshuvah), literally “return home,” suggests repentance and conversion. After contemplating the face of God, man cannot but convert. Since the manifestation that took place on Mount Golgotha today is also cosmic, with the sun darkened and the temple veil torn, we can also say that it is an ecological conversion.
St. Francis, in the wonderful paraphrase of the Our Father, reminds us that: “And lead us not into temptation: hidden or manifest, sudden or insistent. But deliver us from evil: past, present and future” (FF 274).
Laudato si’, praise to you, my crucified Lord!