What's "Good" about Good Friday?

[RevTom's Holy Week Monologue "The Roman Soldier Beneath the Cross" included, below.]


"GOOD" FRIDAY?

I never understood why the Church considered "Good Friday" good. On a scale of one to ten, this day must have scored below zero for the followers of Jesus. I can imagine an elder in Jerusalem speaking to the small band of confused Jesus people on the night which will be called Good Friday, saying something like this:

"So, they crucified your Messiah? You think he's the first prophet to wander into town and get himself executed? Sorry about that, but deal with it. The party's over. Go home, return to your nets and fields and tax collecting. He had a good run, but let's be realistic...did you really think his silly little homilies about loving your enemy would prevail in a world ruled by Roman power? They arrested him--you barely escaped with your lives--and then made quick work of your Prophet from Nazareth.

"Pilate didn't even take the time to review the evidence. Oh, sure. He wanted to turn him loose, or so the rumors have it. But there were enough politically influential businessmen and religious leaders to condemn Jesus. After turning over the money changers' tables and disrupting the marketplace in the Court of the Gentiles, what did you expect? I mean, preach whatever nonsense you want, but for God's sake don't upset the flow of commerce! Business is business. This rabble-rouser had to go. So, an arrest in the dark, a summary judgment for execution, and a hurried crucifixion before sundown and the Sabbath. Nice of the Romans to respect our local tradition, wasn't it?"

And that's how the primordial "Bad Friday" ended. But the story doesn't end there. Something happened which transcended the mere facts of another routine Roman execution of a Jewish zealot. His followers became convinced that they still had a relationship with Jesus. Whether by vision, dream, hallucination, inspired thought, meditative assurance or a theophany of the risen Lord--take your pick--the uncontroverted historical fact is that the followers of Jesus believed he had risen from the dead. True or false or something in between, the community of believers re-grouped around this central belief and went forth to transform the world.

What these events meant to them and what they can mean for us today is still an ongoing discussion in Christian theology. But "Bad Friday” only became "Good" when the followers of Jesus crawled out from under their beds and decided that God's goodness was manifesting through the unforeseen and tragic death of the man they had followed and loved. They took this positive message--good can come from tragedy, triumph can emerge from apparent crushing defeat--to the ends of the earth.

It is a message worthy of repeating, whenever any Monday or Thursday or Friday seems hopelessly bad.

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The following is a monologue I wrote for a Good Friday service. You are welcome to use it or reproduce it for any church-related function. Just cite the author and copyright as indicated.


THE ROMAN SOLDIER BENEATH THE CROSS
A Holy Week Monologue by – Thomas Shepherd

"All those who knew Jesus personally, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance to watch." Luke 23:49 (TEV)

You there! Aren't you one of the Galilean's followers? No, you say? Well, I recall seeing you hanging around with him. What's the matter? Don't you want to go closer, to die with your king? He is the king of the Jews, isn't he? Look, that's what the inscription reads over his head. One of my men who can write printed it on a scrap of wood in Latin and Greek, and one of you Jews scribbled it down in that backward scrawl you call Hebrew. So it must be true‑‑there hangs the King of the Jews.

Why don't you go worship him? Fall down before your king! Come on, stand beneath the cross with me, and we'll look for the New Jerusalem

Ha! You say you never saw him before? Liar. I saw you myself the first day of the week. You and the others were walking beside him as he came riding into the city on that donkey. People were cheering‑‑they tore branches off the date palms and covered the dirt road to keep your king from getting dusty. You were with him then‑‑oh, don't bother denying it. A big fellow like you is hard to forget. You were soaking up the applause, enjoying the roar of the mob, weren't you? And yesterday when your own religious leaders handed him over to my Lord Pontius Pilate, didn't that same crowd roar for us Romans to crucify your king?

I could really learn to hate you people. One day this man is your Deliverer, the next you are denying you know him and handing him over to us Romans to crucify. Why don't you do your own dirty work? What's the matter, does the smell of blood offend you? Must soldiers do your grisly chores because you haven't the stomach? Your high priests cut open animals by the score every day at that big temple of yours. There's blood running everywhere‑‑you'd think you could handle a little more blood.

Hear that? My men are mocking your king. "If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself!" That's a joke. The only Jewish Prince you have is Herod, and he's kept on a short leash by my Lord Pilate.

You look pale. A big fellow like you, sickened by the stench of Golgotha? I've pulled crucifixion duty too many times to let one more dead Jew bother me. But you don't like the Roman way of capital punishment, do you? You'd rather stone the poor creature to death like your ridiculous holy books require. Here, take a stone. Throw it at him. Go on. I'm Centurion in charge of the execution squad‑‑I give you permission to stone the accused!

You're disgusting. I hate all of you people. You refuse to eat with us and you think you're so much better than everybody else. We Romans offered to fellowship with you‑‑we said we'd put a statue of your god in our temples if you'd put statues of our gods in yours. But your chief priests refused. They ripped their clothing and shouted, "Abomination!" Imagine that!

All we wanted was to honor your god and ask you to do the same for ours. You people have no business being self‑righteous. Why, in Rome your religiosity is judged by the number of gods you worship. If you worship eight gods, you are obviously more religious than the person who only worships six or seven. And you Jews only worship one‑‑you are the next thing to atheists! Listen. I think one of the thieves is speaking to your king.

Can you hear what he's saying? Oh, yes. "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!"

Ha! I'd like to see that. I've served all over the Empire and I've never seen anything even remotely resembling divine intervention.

Listen, the other thief is speaking. "Do you not fear God?" he asks. "Since we are under the same sentence..." well, that fellow at least is a realist. What's he asking now? "...remember me when you come into your kingdom."

You people are totally insane! The man is bleeding to death, and you STILL think he's going to bring back the Empire of David and Solomon. Oh, now what? Your king speaks‑‑today the thief will be with him in paradise? Well, they'll both be dead, that's for sure, but paradise? I guess Jews never give up on their religion.

Don't look so sad, friend. There have been false messiahs every year or two. John the Essene who baptized in the Jordan lasted about as long as this new fellow. Want a job with another one? Just hang around the capital for a few months. There's bound to be another fool, storming down from the hills.

See? My men are so bored by all this they've started gambling again. Looks like they're tossing to see who gets his robe. Well, he won't be needing it, that's for sure. I should stop them, but it takes their minds off the crucifixion.

You wonder that Romans have feelings, too? I've pulled this duty enough times to know; it is the most miserable way to die that the human mind has yet devised. You should be glad we nailed your king up there, drove the spikes right through his wrists, because that means he'll bleed to death and won't linger for days until he dies of exposure. We Romans are merciful.

Besides, your chief priests and scribes pitched a fit the last time we failed to have these miserable wretches dead and buried by sundown on the night before the Sabbath. Isn't that just like you people? You howl for blood, insist we carry out your grisly wishes, then howl if we don't get the body out of sight so you can pretend it never happened on your holy day!

Listen. Your king speaks again. "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Who is he talking about? Who doesn't know what they do? Us? Or you? Or everybody? What an extraordinary thing to say! Was that a prayer? And why did he call his god 'Father'? Very strange.

Why would he pray for the forgiveness of Rome? You Jews all hate us. Don't tell me you haven't heard—we are occupying your country. If I'm walking along and I see one of you, I can give him my knapsack and make the Jew carry it for me a mile.

You know, the strangest thing happened to me four years ago up in your part of the country, Galilee, near a village named Nazareth. You know it? I was walking along and I spotted this Jew working on a carpenter's bench. I said, "You there, carry my pack!" Well, he got up and hefted the load for the required mile, then he says to me, "You look weary. Let me carry it for you a little while longer."

Can you believe that! He must have carried it nine, ten miles that afternoon, in the boiling sun, too! And we talked about all sorts of thing‑‑he was something of a philosopher, I take it. He said that all people were children of God, that God was a loving Father‑‑wait a minute. I thought this man looked familiar. You're one of his followers, tell me! Does he come from Nazareth? Don't lie to me, I know you're with him. Why else would you be standing out here watching, shaking in your sandals? Does he come from Nazareth?

Yes. I thought so.

Then it is the same man. What a shame. He was the only Jew I ever liked. Oh, you people are no different from any other. You have good men and bad men. But no other Jew ever showed me kindness—me, a Roman centurion! I suppose you have reason to hate us. If you occupied my country, I'd hate you. But he didn't hate me. He talked with me as though we were brothers. And he carried my pack miles and miles longer than the law demands.

And now I've nailed him to a cross. What a shame. If anyone deserved to be the king of the Jews, it was this man. Look, he's struggling to speak. Jupiter! How dark it becomes, and yet it's only the sixth hour of the day. Hear him‑‑"Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit!" (Long pause)

He's dead. Damn, what a shame. If God has any sons--which I seriously doubt—this truly was the Son of God.

Why are you weeping, Galilean? You denied him, you deserted him, and now you weep for him? You should weep for all of us. We killed a good man because of your religious fanaticism. No wonder we Romans are cynical about religion.

Can you feel that! The very ground beneath my feet trembles. And it is getting so dark! Quit your wailing, Jew. Go home and hide under your bed, lest your own people hand you over to me, and I have to nail you to a cross the first of next week. Go on. My men will take down the body and your women can have him. Here, hold my helmet. I've got to go do one more grisly deed for the glory of the Senate and People of Rome. I must take this lance and jab it into his side to make sure he's dead.

Galilean? Where did he go?

Oh well. It's a soldier's job, and there's no getting out of it. Come on, men. Let's finish the two thieves. Lucius, you and Gaius break their legs. I'll handle the spear thrust. We've got to get the three of them down before sunset. Can you believe it is so dark, and only the sixth hour of the day? I wonder what his name was. I wonder if anyone will ever speak of him again...


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[c] Thomas W. Shepherd, 2002. May be performed or reproduced by churches and non-profit organizations for use in programs; re-publication in non-profit newsletters and other church related publications is authorized by the author. Please credit author upon use.