On Good Friday afternoon, everything seemed so certain. The Lord had died in agony on the Cross, as his mother and Beloved Disciple and the women watched helplessly. His lifeless body was taken down and laid in Mary’s lap, before being carried to the new tomb. A heavy stone was rolled into place. Roman guards stood watch. Death had done its work, the Chief Priests and Scribes and Pharisees had got what they wanted. And all came sorrowfully away.

Very early on Sunday morning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to the tomb expecting that same reality they had witnessed on Friday. They came expecting death. They came bringing spices, ready to care for the body. They came grieving, hearts heavy with loss and disappointment.

But instead of death, they heard life. The angel of the Lord announced, “He is not here, for he has risen, as he said.” Those words change everything. Jesus had promised this would happen. He told his disciples he would suffer, die, and rise again on the third day. At the time, they didn’t understand. It seemed impossible. Death doesn’t reverse itself. Graves do not open. The dead do not walk out alive. But, “he is not here, for he has risen, as he said.”

That is why the rolled-back stone is so absolutely, life-changingly, earth-shatteringly important. Jesus could’ve passed through the heavy stone blocking the entrance to the tomb, as he passed through the locked door of the Upper Room to appear to his disciples. There was no need for the stone to be moved. The stone was rolled back not so Jesus could get out, but so that the women — and the whole world — could see into the empty tomb. 

The Lord’s resurrection proves that his promises are true. When he said he would pay for sin, he did. When he said he would defeat death, he did. When he said he would rise, he did. And that means his promises to us are also true.

When we feel crushed by the weight of guilt on our conscience, the empty tomb assures us that our sins are forgiven. The Lord’s resurrection is the Father’s declaration that nothing remains to be paid. When grief overwhelms our hearts, the empty tomb assures us that death is not the end. Because Jesus lives, those who believe in him will also live. When fear whispers that God has forgotten us, the empty tomb reminds us that Jesus keeps every word he speaks – and every word he speaks is true.

The stone was rolled back not so Jesus could get out, but so we could see in. The tomb is empty. Sin, death and the Devil are defeated. Our Saviour lives. And because he lives, we have peace, forgiveness, and eternal life. Just as he said.

On this day, Wednesday of Holy Week, Judas Iscariot went to the High Priest and the scribes, who had been plotting to do away with Jesus, and agreed to give away his Lord for a mere thirty pieces of silver. Our Lord’s Passion really begins today, with that first blow that Judas dealt him: the treacherous betrayal of him into the hands of the authorities.

As one prays through the Stations of the Cross, one finds so many different ways of responding to Our Lord’s sufferings. Where, I wonder, do we find ourselves?

Are we like Pilate in the first Station, when through weakness he condemned Christ to die on the Cross? All Pilate wanted was for the crowd to go away and leave him alone — he was happy for them to do whatever they wanted, as long as he got a quiet life. For the sake of that quiet life, an innocent man was put to death. It was just unlucky for Pilate that that innocent man happened also to be God. Have we betrayed Our Lord in the same way, by denying him and his power by our sins?

Still yet worse, are we like the priests and the scribes who brought Jesus to Pilate? The priests were responsible for the worship of God in the Temple; they represented the people and offered prayers and sacrifices to make atonement for their sins. They had been waiting for the Messiah for centuries. Now he has come into their midst — God has entered his Temple. Pilate, at least, can be excused as someone who did not understand the significance of the person before him: he was not a Jew, he did not know the prophecies concerning the Messiah. These were God’s own servants; but when God came among them, they took him to be nailed to a Cross.

How could they do such a thing? The answer is very simple: it was for our sins. In a warped way, by betraying their God over to death, the Temple priests bring the oblation that is Christ to the altar of the Cross, where he will offer himself to his Father for the redemption of our sins. Our sins — your sins and mine — caused Christ to die on the Cross. The sins of the human race broke off the relationship of love which God created us to enjoy with him; but it did not end God’s love for us. The Eternal Word took on our fallen nature, knowing that he would not be greeted as the saving Messiah, knowing that he would be put to death on a Cross, but also knowing that by his self-sacrifice, we would be brought back into that loving relationship with him that he desires for us all.

The characters we meet through the Stations of the Cross are not all ‘baddies’, either. This Good Friday we might, I hope, find in ourselves a little of the holy Daughters of Jerusalem, who weep for Our Lord’s sufferings in the eighth Station. In our service of the poor, like our donations to the monthly Oratory Outreach food bank collection, we might find in ourselves a little of St Veronica, who wiped Our Lord’s agonised face with a towel in the hope of relieving at least some little portion of his suffering. When we are put to difficulty or hardship in our efforts to help those we encounter, we can find in ourselves something of St Simon of Cyrene, who rejoiced to suffer under the weight of the Cross in order to help Our Lord on his way.

Look, we pray, O Lord, on this your family,
for whom our Lord Jesus Christ
did not hesitate to be delivered into the hands of the wicked
and submit to the agony of the Cross.