We turned our clocks back one hour a few weeks ago. It makes it seem like the day has more light; that night doesn’t come so soon. On Good Friday we turn our clocks back 2000 years to the day when the source of light was killed, when – from noon to three in the afternoon – light was quenched. When there was an earthquake and tombs were opened. When the curtain at the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. When Jesus was crucified.

The nation of Israel celebrated the Passover meal every year as a way to remember when God freed them from slavery to the Egyptians. They still do. They remember the sorrow of slavery. They remember the urgency of leaving their familiar bondage and taking risks to get to freedom. They remember. And it is this meal that Jesus and His apostles celebrated at what we call the Last Supper. Indeed, it was the last meal Jesus ate.

Remembering is time travel. When Jesus said Remember Me, He invited us to be part of the very first communion time – the Lord’s Supper, the Last Supper.

And while they are eating, Jesus says, “I tell you the truth, one of you will betray me.”

They are very sad and begin to say to him one after the other, “Surely not I, Lord?”

Surely. Not. I.

James 2:10 tells us For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it. There can be no hypocrites at the Lord’s table, because whoever partakes admits their own sin and their need for Jesus’ sacrifice.

Surely not I? No, It is me. And it is you. We are the reason for this terrible night.

After the Passover Supper, the friends sing a hymn. We sing with them. Then they walk to a familiar garden called the Garden of Gethsemane. We walk with them. It is quiet and fragrant with the scent of olive trees, and is one of Jesus’ favorite places. No wonder he goes there to fight a battle with his own will, knowing the greatest battle of all will be won on the cross.

And Judas, one of Jesus’ friends, an apostle, steps out from among the crowd pushing its way into this quiet retreat and greets Jesus with a kiss. With that kiss Judas sealed for all time his traitorous place in history. Such a small act. Such an eternal consequence.

The Jewish leaders are fed up with Jesus. They don’t like His message. They feel threatened. Now they’ve finally found a way to bring him to trial. It takes two stages: a religious trial and a civil trial.

They begin with a religious trial, and take Jesus to Caiaphas, the high priest, where the teachers of the law and the elders are assembled. There’s a problem finding anyone who can give evidence against Jesus.

Of multiple charges, none can stand save one. Asked if he is God’s Son, he answers with the truth. Truth is the charge for death.

They bring him before Pilate who sees no basis for the charges against Jesus.

Pilate sends him to Herod who, along with his soldiers, ridicules and mocks him. He has Jesus dressed in an elegant robe in order to make fun of him and sends him back to Pilate.

And Pilate, who knows there isn’t any reason for Jesus’ death, tries to reason with the mob.

“I can have him punished, then release him.”

“Crucify him! Crucify him!”, the mob shouts.

“Do you want me to release Barabbas instead?”

No one in their right mind would want Barabbas released. He’s in prison not only for sedition, but murder.

But the crowd yells, “Yes! Release Barabbas!”

Pilate knows an out-of-control mob when he sees one. They might begin breaking things, destroying property. They’re on the verge of a riot.

Pilate’s wife is upset. Pilate wants nothing to do with this mess. So he calls for a bowl and washes his hands in front of the crowd.

“I am innocent of this man’s blood,” he says. “It is your responsibility!”

We are there at the cross. Soldiers jeer, making fun of Jesus. Do you see them? There they are, gambling for his clothing. They don’t care about suffering. They don’t care about betrayal. They care about winning a game.

We turned our clocks back one hour a few weeks ago. It makes it seem like the day has more light; that night doesn’t come so soon. On Good Friday we turn our clocks back 2000 years to the day when the source of light was killed, when – from noon to three in the afternoon – light was quenched.

And now we must remember one more thing: It’s always darkest before the dawn.

Scripture: Matthew 26-27; image: pexels.com