“Turn it off please, I can’t bear to watch any more – if it’s not bombs and bloodshed, it’s about abuse and people arguing who’s to blame.” (Silence.) “I don’t know how you can believe in God with all this stuff going on – all those poor people killed in that crash, and those kids in refugee camps. Where’s God gone then, taking a bit of a on holiday, eh? Long holiday that’s all I can say – like how many innocent people have to suffer and die before your so-called loving God does something? Couldn’t even show up when his son was dying – that’s what they say. Some Father that – like my old da’ – never there when I needed him, but he’d belt me one if I did something he didn’t like then say he was sorry and how much he loved me really.” (Silence.) “You can see why I don’t believe, can’t you? Oh, for goodness sake don’t just sit there, say something intelligent or turn the TV back on…. So now you are going to sulk I suppose. Suit yourself. I’ll put the kettle on. Tea or coffee? Sorry, you don’t drink tea do you. Instant OK? Milk, no sugar – see, I do remember, and just for you – hot cross buns – bought them special. So what’s the matter? Something’s troubling you, I can tell – it’s not like you to be so quiet.”

“You really want to know? You really care?”

“Bought the buns didn’t I? Look I just wanted to rattle you to start some lively conversation. I only put the tele’ on for company. It’s rubbish really – depressing too most of the time.”

“That’s part of the problem, it’s true right? – suffering is real, it happens, and that’s not the half of it, we all suffer in our own ways, not all the time, but we all know pain of one sort or another. And you want me to say something intelligent on the subject. That’s the other problem, I’ve a sermon to write for Good Friday, and have tried three times to put into words something that makes sense out of suffering – not only ours, but what Jesus went through in his final hours.”

“And you can’t eh?”

“I can in terms of Jesus, because I believe what he did and willingly went through makes sense in a weird, wonderful way that should be Good News and could reduce a lot of the suffering in the world.”

“I’m all ears, so what’s the problem?”

“You put your finger on it – people’s perception of God as the kind of parent or authority figure who should be locked up for child abuse and neglect.”

“Take no notice of me dear, I was just talking about my crotchety old da’.”

“But that’s what a lot of people do – projecting onto God their memories of childhood, or later relationships and experiences. For good or ill, whole societies can be (and have been) shaped by a collective memory of their ups and downs. Scripture points to that and how prophets and poets tried to help folk make sense of events until finally, Jesus came along on a mission to put the record straight and make sure people could see and learn how loving God really is.”

“So loving, he’d leave his son to die on a cross?”

“There’s the crux of it. I don’t believe God ever abandoned Jesus – he said himself he believed they were one, completely one – inseparable. Echoing other texts, some Gospels capture his sense of desolation on the cross in his cry: My God, my God, why have you abandoned me? He was in terrible pain, so those words ring true to me – it’s something we might say, in fact they help us relate to him as a human being who suffered too. He also knew the isolation folk can feel when they are in pain, or utter loneliness of feeling betrayed and let down. If our suffering doesn’t go away when we pray, folk say God must have gone away, or doesn’t care or can’t help anyway.”

“Sounds logical!”

“But that is not the whole story, not what John’s Gospel says, so let’s not put words into Jesus’ mouth. As horrific as it must have been, Christ’s crowning glory on the cross wasn’t failure, far from it – he knew he had completed his mission, he’d finished the job he set out to do and set in motion something that could save the world.”

“Save the world? I’m not sure how that works, but go on, I’m listening.”

“In John’s version of the Passion, Jesus is in control of his destiny, making the decisions that took him to the death he knew he’d have to face right from the start of his ministry when he predicted it after upsetting people by trying to clear the merchants and money-changers from the Temple. He packed a lot into the three years since then, but in his last twenty-four hours the pace picked up: condensing his teaching into the commandment to love God, and love our neighbour as ourselves; showing folk what it means to serve others in the humble acts like washing feet; and sharing his unshakable belief that he and his heavenly Father were one.

Then from his arrest onwards we join him as he resolutely completes his work, overturning expectations and offers of help. Rejecting Peter’s attempt to protect him by force, he goes quietly when under arrest. On trial, he refuses to shop his friends or back-track on anything he has said even when slapped about. Before Pilate, Jesus takes control of the conversation, describing the nature of his own kingship and the kind of power he has, as opposed to the Pilate who bows to mob rule.

Time and again we’re told that what he did was to fulfil scripture, even in remaining silent, and freely accepting the pain. Yet it is only when he is lifted up on the cross, wearing a crown thorns and sign overhead readingKing of the Jews that his true quality and identity are made public. No jeering crowds or mocking passers-by undermine his glory and dignity. Instead, John portrays his one last solemn act of handing over the care and protection of his mother to the disciple he loved, so that as she was about to lose one son, she gained another and a new family of relationships was born – the family we are part of.”

“OK, that’s very moving, but how can this save the world?”

“Remember when I arrived, how you asked me to turn off the TV because of all the suffering and death being dished up constantly? If we add into the mix our own pain, our own loss and loneliness at times, our own fears, worries and concerns, it can become overwhelming – numbing our ability to feel love and compassion for others, or when it is being offered. Afraid to look outside, this can make our world shrink, until we feel trapped.

But if we look at Christ on the cross long enough to let the love he showed his mum, the love of God that carried him through his ordeal, the love he showed that never dies and will be with us always, even as we reach the threshold of death, we can see it as the key to new life – free from guilt and regrets because all that is past is forgiven and can be left behind.”

“Great, so when we’re gone, all are worries go away. Why don’t I find that very comforting?”

“Actually, we don’t have to wait, to enjoy new life because when we share in his death, thro’ quiet contemplation, music – whatever medium opens our hearts and minds, we are free to live in the knowledge we are loved by God, and gradually that love will define us, even as love defines God. By embracing death like life the way he did, Jesus stepped up to then broke through the final barrier folk fear, showing us his complete trust in God’s power to create new life, eternal life, through a love that cannot be destroyed. He revealed that limitless love in human terms right up to the end on the cross. That was his mission – mission accomplished! I believe lives can be transformed by knowing, accepting and expressing that love.”

“How will that save the world?”

“As it always has – one step, one soul at a time.”