Updated February, 2025
In place of our usual Service Planning column, in which we offer a series of sendee ideas for several weeks, we present in this issue a single, complete Good Friday service. The service centers around the final sayings of Jesus on the cross, and was developed by organist Robert Busch for the 1991 Good Friday Service at theFlatbush Church of the Redeemer in Brooklyn, New York.
The structure is very simple—Scripture, meditation, and a hymn for each word from the cross. Busch excerpted the meditations or readings from Howard Hagemans We Call This Friday Good (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, copyright © 1961, used by permission of Augsburg Fortress), now unfortunately out of print.
Using the themes of these meditations as his guide, Busch carefully selected the hymns, often looking to older sources. Many of those hymn texts are also "out of print," since modern hymnals do not contain as many penitential hymns or hymns on the suffering of Christ as do those of previous generations. We included only one set of hymns from among those Busch suggested; other appropriate hymns could be substituted from other hymnals.
The service was designed for three speaking participants. The pastor begins and ends the service. An "evangelist" reads the Scripture (the term evangelist is traditionally used in a Passion for the narrator who recites the Scripture text). Then a third person reads the meditations. However, if necessary, the service could be led by one worship leader and the organist.
Although the service was intended for Good Friday, it would be possible to use these seven segments to construct a series of Lenten services.
Organ Prelude: "O Sacred Head Now Wounded"
[Johann Sebastian Bach]
Pastor: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
People: Amen.
Pastor: The Lord be with you.
People: And also with you.
Pastor: Dear people of God, our heavenly Father sent his Son into the world, not to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved; that all who believe in him might be delivered from the power of sin and death, and become heirs with him of everlasting life.
Let us pray:
Holy God, before you our hearts are open, and from you no secrets are hidden. We bring you now our shame and sorrow for our sins. We have forgotten that life is from you and unto you. We have neither sought nor done your will. We have not been truthful in our hearts, in our speech, and in our lives. We have not loved you as we should. Help us and heal us, we pray. Raise us from our sins to a better life. Through Jesus Christ our Lord.
People: Amen.
Pastor: O merciful God, who in compassion for your sinful children sent your Son, Jesus Christ, to be the Savior of the world, grant us grace to feel and to lament our share in the evil that made it needful for him to suffer and to die for our salvation. Help us by self-denial, prayer, and meditation to prepare our hearts for deeper penitence and a better life. And give us a true longing to be free from sin, through the deliverance wrought by Jesus Christ, our only Redeemer.
People: Amen.
Pastor: Join with us now as once again we stand at the foot of the cross. We shall not be watching the unfolding of some tragic scene or listening to the dying words of a martyr. We shall be learning how God's love works through human weakness, failure, and sin, bringing light and love, peace and joy.
Hymn: "Go To Dark Gethsemane"
Go to dark Gethsemane,
all who feel the tempter's power;
your Redeemer's conflict see,
watch with him one bitter hour:
turn not from his griefs away—
teach us, Lord, how we should pray.
Follow to the judgment hall,
view the Lord of life arraigned.
Oh, the wormwood and the gall!
Oh, the pangs his soul sustained!
Shun not suffering, shame, or loss—
help us Lord, to bear our cross.
Calvary's mournful mountain climb;
there, adoring at his feet,
mark the miracle of time,
God's own sacrifice complete:
"It is finished!" hear him cry—
save us, Lord, when death draws nigh.
Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.
Evangelist: Luke 23:32-34
Reader: The more I think about it, the more it seems to me that this first word from the cross is a kind of creed, small in size, but tremendous in what it comprehends. For here in this one sentence is the Christian understanding of God and the Christian understanding of humans. And I should like to begin at what may seem the wrong end. I should like to begin with what this word has to say about us, so that we may understand in sharper outline and clearer detail what it has to say about God.
Have you never been puzzled about the meaning of the second part of this first word from the cross, "They know not what they do"? To whom was our Lord referring? Where can you draw the line? Did he simply ask forgiveness for the soldiers who must do their duty and go through with this bloody business of crucifixion, even though they had no understanding of its moral meaning? Can you limit his forgiveness that narrowly?
Did he also ask forgiveness for the priests, the scribes, and the Pharisees, whose jealous plotting had produced this terrible result, since they did not foresee to what a frightful end their scheming would lead? Can you in all conscience set any limits to the application of this word? Does it not rather reach out to include all of us so that for you and me, five thousand miles and two thousand years away from the actual event, Jesus Christ is still praying, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do"?
... This first word from the cross, this little creed, contains another affirmation—"Father, forgive them." If ignorance of soul be our Lord's verdict on human nature, here is his final belief about God: "Father, forgive." The two words belong together, do they not? It is because God is a Father that his very nature is forgiveness. And it is because forgiveness is the most basic experience that a person can have with God that you and I can say "our Father."
How do we know that God is our Father? Not just because in some vague way he created us and endowed us with life, but because time and again when we come back from the strange ways of our ignorance and stupidity, we find him waiting for us with a welcome heart. And how do we find the courage—the nerve, if you will—to come to God and ask his forgiveness after what we have been and what we have done? Because we have been persuaded that the heart of the Eternal is the heart of a Father.
Here in the first word from the cross is the answer to our searchings—the brutal truth about ourselves and the glorious truth about God. If you see only the brutal truth about human nature, you can easily become despairing and cynical. If you see only the glorious truth about God, you can easily assume a false optimism and a light responsibility. But if you see both, the full extent our ignorance mastered by the fuller extent of God's love, then you can hang on a cross and still keep faith!
"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." There we are, you and I, as we are. And there is God as he is, eternally. And to be able to say words like these, even from a cross —there are you and I as Christ can make us!
Hymn: "Father of Heav'n, Whose Love Profound"
Father of heav'n whose love profound
a ransom for our souls has found,
before your throne we sinners bend,
to us your pard'ning love extend.
Almighty Son, incarnate Word,
our Prophet, Priest, Redeemer, Lord,
before your throne we sinners bend,
to us your saving grace extend.
Eternal Spirit, by whose breath
the soul is raised from sin and death,
before your throne we sinners bend,
to us your quick'ning pow'r extend.
Thrice Holy! Father, Spirit, Son;
mysterious Godhead, Three in One,
before your throne we sinners bend,
grace, pardon, life to us extend.
Truly, truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.
Evangelist: Luke 23:34-43
Reader: I doubt that there is a character in all the pages of the New Testament who has been the subject of more speculation and more romancing than this penitent thief who hung in death with our Lord. Actually, all that we know about him is contained in this single incident, recorded only in Luke's gospel.
I do not pretend to know what suddenly prompted a change of heart on the part of this man whose entire life had been one of violence and murder—who, very likely, had never so much as seen Jesus Christ until they were led out together to die. I suspect that it may have been that he, too, heard that first word from the cross, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" and that such an unusual cry in this place of cursing and pain had started him wondering and thinking.
His is the next voice that we hear in an unforgettable request. "Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom."
Our Lord's reply is usually interpreted to mean that it is never too late to turn to him in faith and repentance. Here is a man whose entire career, we may safely assume, has been godless and wicked. And in the last hours of his life, by a single change of heart, he leaves the hell in which he has been bound and enters the paradise of which, up to that point, he had never even heard. Down to the end of the end, down to life's last breath, the possibility of paradise is there for all who will repent and believe, no matter what their previous record.
... The first thing I would notice is that here is a magnificent illustration of the way in which God's greatness exceeds our expectations. The request of the penitent thief had been, after all, a rather indefinite one. Remember me. He had not asked for anything in particular. He had not, like two of our Lord's own disciples, asked for some special place of honor in this kingdom which was to come. He had not even asked to be let off from the penalty he might have to pay for the kind of life he lived.
Nor was he, as is so often suggested, trying to evade whatever destiny justice would assign him in another world. His simple request was that he might not be forgotten in that other world, that this man next to him in death, who, events had convinced him, would be lord of that other world, would not forget these hours of pain when his crucified companion had recognized even in his dying something of his glory. Sir, remember me.
It was a very modest request. But look at the response! "Today shalt thou be with me in paradise." Not, "I'll remember you," which is all that anyone could have expected under the circumstances, but an answer that in every possible way was far more than anyone could have imagined. Not, "I'll remember you when I come into my kingdom," but today. You will not have to wait for your request to be answered; it will not be postponed to some distant future, but today.
... While I would be the last in the world to minimize those good things which God has prepared for them that love him, none of us needs to sit mooning and pining for their coming when the most heavenly possibilities are available to us right here and now.
"Today shalt thou be with me in paradise" is no idle promise for an indefinite future, but a simple statement of what Christ can and will do here and now if we put our trust in him and open our lives to his presence and power.
Hymn: "Lord, When Thy Kingdom Comes, Remember Me!"
Lord, when thy kingdom comes, remember me!
Thus spoke the dying lips to dying ears:
O faith, which in that darkest hour could see
the promised glory of the far-off years!
No kingly sign declares that glory now,
no ray of hope lights up that awful hour;
a thorny crown surrounds the bleeding brow,
the hands are stretched in weakness, not in power.
Hark! Through the gloom the dying Savior saith,
"Thou too shalt rest in Paradise today."
Oh, words of love to answer words of faith!
Oh, words of hope for those who live to pray!
Lord, when with dying lips my prayer is said,
grant that in faith thy kingdom I may see;
and, thinking on thy cross and bleeding head,
may breathe my parting words, "Remember me."
Remember me; and, ere I pass away,
speak thou the assuring word that sets us free,
and make thy promise to my heart, "Today
thou too shalt rest in Paradise with me."
Woman, behold your son.
Behold your mother.
Evangelist: John 19:25-26
Reader: There is something very human and appealing about this third word from the cross. Perhaps it does not blind us with the brilliance of its glory like the word which came before it. Perhaps it does not shake us to the depths of our being like that searching cry which will follow it. But in its human tenderness it has a quality all its own.
Sometime after his conversation with the penitent thief, our Lord looked down from his cross and saw his mother standing at his feet in the company of several other women and the disciple whom he loved. I must underscore the fact that the evangelist says deliberately that Mary was standing at the foot of the cross. She was not swooning or carrying on, indulging herself in some emotional display, but was standing in all the pride of motherhood, with a sorrow that was too deep for tears.
What was going through her mind we can only guess. Was this the time when she remembered that word spoken to her long ago in the temple when the aged Simeon had predicted that the day would come when the sword would pierce her heart also? Was this the time when she felt that stabbing pain in her soul, yet knew a peace beyond the pain, because she believed that even this awful hour had its place in God's purpose?
We can only surmise what she felt as she saw her son hanging in death. But we know what he felt when he saw his mother standing loyally by his cross. Obviously by this time she was a widow, for there is no mention of Joseph anywhere in the story. And when the father of the family was gone, it became the duty of the eldest son to provide for his mother or, if he was unable to do so, to see that she was provided for.
It was this filial duty that our Lord now performed, commending his mother to the care and responsibility of John, the disciple whom he loved above all others. You may well ask why he did not give the responsibility of his mother to those to whom it belonged, his younger brothers and sisters. But the fact that they were not there at the end should answer that question. Whether it was fear of shame or their old dislike of him that kept them away, they had absented themselves from Calvary and so had forfeited their right and responsibility to another.
... Being the mother of Jesus had not been easy. And now here on the cross the worst that she had feared had finally come to pass. And yet, there she is by the side of her dying son. She might have said, "He made his own bed; let him lie in it." She might have said, "He didn't need me then; let him get on without me now." She might have done as apparently her other children did, and gone home to hide herself for shame at having a criminal in the family She might have, but she didn't.
The evangelist records no word from Mary on this occasion. She stands before the cross a silent figure only to discover that even in death Christ was more concerned with what he could give to her than what she could bring to him. And beyond that insight into the heart of God we cannot go.
God's concern for us always outruns and outreaches our concern for him. Here is the abiding meaning of this third word from the cross.
For he who on the cross could not forget his mother can and will never forget us, his brothers and sisters.
Hymn: "At the Cross, Her Station Keeping"
At the cross, her station keeping,
stood the mournful mother weeping,
close to Jesus to the last.
Through her heart, his sorrow sharing,
all his bitter anguish bearing,
now at length the sword has passed.
Oh, how sad and sore distressed
was that mother highly blessed
of the sole begotten one!
Oh, the depth of her affliction
as she saw the crucifixion
of her dying, glorious Son!
Who, on Christ's dear mother gazing,
pierced by anguish so amazing,
born of woman, would not weep?
Who, on Christ's dear mother thinking,
such a cup of sorrow drinking,
would not share her sorrow deep?
For his people's sin chastised,
she beheld her Son despised,
scourged, and crowned with thorns entwined;
saw him then from judgment taken,
and in death by all forsaken,
till his spirit he resigned.
Jesus, may her deep devotion
stir in me the same emotion,
source of love, redeemer true.
Let me thus, fresh ardor gaining
and a purer love attaining,
consecrate my life to you.
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
Evangelist: Matthew 27:39-46
Reader: Can you stand on Calvary, listen to this fourth word from the cross, and not feel that it marks the end of humankind's one last slender hope? The man who for three years has preached trust in God, the burden of whose message for three years has been faith in the loving heart of a Father in heaven, is dying. And in his last moments on earth he is apparently unable to practice what he has been preaching.
For all the world it looks as though, at the decisive moment, Jesus Christ's faith failed. And if that be true, then our last hope has vanished with these words. For if at the point of agony and suffering our blessed Lord himself was not able to keep his faith and his trust unbroken, what hope can there be for ours? If climbing Calvary was more than his faith could take, what must become of ours when we climb our lesser Calvaries?
"My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" is a very different question from "Why has God forsaken me?" Even there in that place of despair and anguish, our Lord did not speak about a God of whom he had heard and in whom he had been led to believe. Even on Calvary, he spoke with a God whom he personally knew and personally trusted ... not God, but my God... not, "Why has he?" but "Why have you?" Even though he questioned his ways, failed to grasp his purpose, was unable to fathom his activity, of this one thing he was certain, of this one thing he would not let go—this darkly mysterious God was still his Father. My God. Never once did he permit even the direst circumstances to make God a stranger or an enemy. Even in loneliness, lostness, and forsakenness, my God.
I cannot question fate. It is completely arbitrary and knows no law. Today it does one thing, tomorrow another. What can I say? I cannot question the God of the universe, that vast and unknowable being who spins the stars like tops and spreads out galaxies like blankets. He is too vast for my tiny mind to comprehend. How could I possibly think that such limitless intelligence heeded my queries?
But I can question my God, not because I have the right to answers, not because he owes me anything whatsoever, but because he is my God whom I know, whom I trust, whom I love. Whenever I question him I know I shall always receive an answer which, though it may not at the time solve the superficial riddles posed by my intelligence, will always meet those deeper needs posed by my heart. Here is the only satisfying answer to life's intricate and troubling questions—to have the faith to bring them to a God who is personally known, personally trusted, personally loved. He will make his own way plain.
Hymn: "Throned Upon the Awful Tree"
Throned upon the awful tree,
King of grief, I watch with thee;
darkness veils thine anguished face,
none its lines of woe can trace,
none can tell what pangs unknown
hold thee silent and alone.
Silent through those three dread hours,
wrestling with the evil powers,
left alone with human sin,
gloom around thee and within,
till the appointed time is nigh,
till the Lamb of God may die.
Hark that cry that peals aloud
upward through the whelming cloud!
Thou, the Father's only Son,
thou, his own Anointed One,
thou dost ask him—can it be?
"Why hast thou forsaken me?"
Lord, should fear and anguish roll
darkly o'er my sinful soul,
thou, who once wast thus bereft
that thine own might ne'er be left,
teach me by that bitter cry
in the gloom to know thee nigh.
I thirst.
Evangelist: John 19:28-29
Reader: Seven times he spoke while he hung on the cross. But of the seven words which he spoke, here is the only one that you or I could have said. Who of us, in the moment of crucifixion, would have called upon his God, even to ask why he had forsaken him? But what is expressed here is a need so human that any of us could have spoken it. This fifth word had nothing to do with religion, morality or character, but entirely with sheer physical need. I am thirsty.
Who would not have been, hanging for three hours beneath a blazing Eastern sun while his life's blood ebbed away? I am told that of all the needs of the human body, thirst is far and away the most agonizing. One can endure hunger for a fairly long period of time. It is amazing how much physical pain the human body can take. But thirst is like a consuming fire. The most devastating, the most intense agony anyone can know is to feel one's tongue thickened and one's throat parched for lack of water. I thirst.
It ought not to surprise us, therefore, that sooner or later there should come from the lips of the Crucified this cry of human need. The surprise comes only when you set the whole scene in the context of our Christian faith about Jesus Christ.
How many I wonder, when they hear the word "God" would see a man nailed to a cross, murmuring with parched lips, "I thirst?" Yet that is exactly the picture of God presented to us in this scene. Each of these seven last words is a precious photograph of the mind and heart of God. But this one is a picture that requires considerable study. I said earlier that this fifth word was one which had to do not with religion, morality, or character, but the sheer physical need. And that, of course, is true. But the fact that the gospel presents us a picture of God in a position of purely physical need has everything to do with religion. The fact that at the center of our faith you find not the figure of some remote and awful deity, not some heroic superman, not some discarnate spirit who lives beyond human pain, but One divine enough to forgive and human enough to be thirsty—that fact makes our Christian faith unique, different from all the religions of the world.
Here is the God of the gospel, a poor, pathetic, dying man who pleads for a little water to moisten his cracked and burning lips. You can never stand at the foot of the cross, hear this fifth word, and say that the God of the gospel is impervious to human suffering, unconcerned with human pain, too big to be bothered with human need.
That's the God of the gospel, caring for every human need because he has shared every human need, even the simplest and most elemental of all. I thirst.
Here at the old rugged cross are no sentimental pretense, no mock heroics, no effort to make angels or supermen, but honest facing of the full facts of human existence in all of their grim reality. And with that I can begin and of that I can be certain. A God who bid me be a hero when I am a coward could not help me. But a God who has honestly faced and felt the same suffering, him can I follow. I do not know where it will come out. But at least I have a guide I can trust, since he has been where I must go.
And is not just this the power of the Christian faith? It presents us in Jesus Christ with a God not too big to care and not too far away to know. The only God who can meet our need is the God who has honestly known our need.
We thirst for certainty. We thirst for assurance. We thirst for meaning and significance. We thirst for peace and contentment. Our hearts are hot and dry and sometimes grow so parched we think we can no longer stand the pain. Here at the cross are no answers, no easy speeches, no quick solution. But here is One who has opened the way to the waters of healing.
Hymn: "Ah, Holy Jesus"
Ah, holy Jesus, how have you offended,
that mortal judgment has on you descended?
By foes derided, by your own rejected,
0 most afflicted!
Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon you?
It is my treason, Jesus, that has undone you.
'Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied you;
I crucified you.
For me, dear Jesus, was your incarnation
your mortal sorrow, and your life's oblation;
your death of anguish, and your bitter passion,
for my salvation.Therefore, dear Jesus, since I cannot pay you,
I do adore you and will ever pray you,
think on your pity and your love unswerving,
not my deserving.
It is finished.
Evangelist: John 19:30
Reader: And what was finished? The meaning of this sixth word from the cross is rather uncertain if we look no further than the word itself. Just these three words, taken by themselves, could constitute a very pathetic yet very human cry of weakness and defeat. It is finished. It is all over now—the suffering, the pain, the scorn. Death will soon draw its merciful curtain across the scene. There are no more burdens to be borne. There is no more pain to be suffered, no more torment to be endured. The powers of death have done their worst. It is finished.
But now, exactly what was finished? His life, to be sure. But what had he accomplished, what had he completed with the ending of his life? What was this goal the achievement of which gave our Lord such a conviction of victory as he died, transforming his very death into a triumph?
To be sure, there are many ways in which we could answer that question. To be surer still, there are many answers to that question which lie beyond the poor power of our minds to grasp and understand. But no one who studies the life of our Lord even casually can fail to perceive that he was a man with a mission. Even as a boy of twelve he was conscious that he ought to be about his Father's business. And in the maturer years of his ministry, his Father's business was the motive for every word that he spoke and every deed that he did.
Anyone can talk about God in the quiet of a church or the calm of a study hall, speculating as to his nature, theorizing about his character. But our Lord lived the life of God in all the heat and dirt, the blood and tears of our human situation without the betrayal of his mission. One failure in his task, one surrender to some lesser goal, and he would have been a failure, presenting a false God to the human mind and heart.
But that had not happened, not even in the pain and agony and weariness of these last three hours. Finished! In Jesus Christ, God has found us. In Jesus Christ, we have found God. What matters that it cost him h is life? It was worth it to be able to show his brothers and sisters a finished sketch, in lines which they could not possibly misread, of the mind and the heart of God.
We need to see not just once but often the love of God hanging triumphantly on a cross. With all of our doubts and fears, we need to be assured once again that God so loves the world. We need some tangible token that all this is not somebody's hopeful guess, some empty preachment, but burning reality. That is why we take bread and break it, lift the cup and drink it. This is my body broken for you. This is the blood of the New Testament shed for you.
The God who found us in Jesus Christ will never leave us. The love that grasped us at Calvary will never let us go. The victory of the cross is true today, tomorrow, always. It is finished!
Hymn: “O Perfect Life of Love”
O perfect life of love!
All, all is finished now;
all that he left his throne above
to do for us below.
No work is left undone
of all the Father willed;
his toils, his sorrows, one by one,
are prophecies fulfilled.
No pain that we can share
but he has felt its smart.
All forms of human grief and care
have pierced that tender heart.
And on his thorn-crowned head,
and on his sinless soul
our sins in all their guilt were laid,
that he might make us whole.
In perfect love he dies;
for me, his awful death!
O all-atoning Sacrifice,
I cling to you in faith.
In every time of need,
before your judgment throne,
your work, O Lamb of God, I'll plead,
your merit, not my own.
Yet work your way in me,
my self-will, Lord, remove;
then shall my love and service be
the answer to your love.
Father, into thy hands
I commend my spirit.
Evangelist: Luke 23:44-46
Reader: There is not one of the seven last words of our Lord which contains stranger contrasts than this, the seventh and the last. Here in this final word from the cross there is pathos and there is power. There are tears, but there is triumph. And if we really are to have a full picture of the last moment in the earthly life of our Lord, we must see them both.
For if we see the pathos without the power, the tears without the triumph, the death of Jesus Christ becomes nothing but history's great tragedy, a sad song that must be played throughout in a minor key. And if we see the power without the pathos, the triumph without the tears, the death of Jesus Christ becomes nothing but a piece of divine play-acting, completely unrelated to the suffering and sorrow of our human lives. It is only when we see both that we can understand how the death of Jesus Christ can be what the Christian faith has always asserted—an event in which God shared the misery of our human existence to the full and by this very sharing of it redeemed it into glory.
But there is something more about this last word from the cross. Do you know what every little Hebrew child was taught to say by his mother before he closed his eyes at night, much as you and I were taught “Now I lay me down to sleep”? Into thy hands I commend my spirit. That very Friday night in countless homes in Palestine when the mothers had tucked their little ones in their beds and blown out the lights, they would hold their hands and listen while little lips formed this prayer. Into thy hands I commend my spirit.
Thirty years before in such a home in Nazareth, time after time Mary had kissed her son good night and then listened while he said this evening prayer. Into thy hands I commend my spirit. And now that same son, grown to manhood, climaxing his ministry on a cross, can find no better way to take farewell of life than that which he had learned at his mother's knee. Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.
I find something infinitely moving in that picture—and equally instructive. It brings the cross down from those theological heights where we so often isolate it to our level of understanding. In his final moment of suffering Jesus Christ spoke not some lofty discovery of the mature religious mind, some bit of esoteric wisdom to be shared only by the few, but a childhood prayer, very likely the first prayer that he had ever learned, one that had stayed with him through the years and now at the end was still able to nourish his soul.
The shadows have lengthened and the evening has come. The busy world is hushed, the fever of life is over, and his work is done. The wheel has turned full circle. Did he in those last moments see once again the old familiar home in Nazareth, the face of his mother bending over him, as like a tired child he rested his weary head? Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.
In the darkness, confusion, and mystery of our lives, the hand of God is something extended for us to grasp, for us to hold. Sometimes the path is rough. Sometimes the water is cold and deep. We may wonder why it should be that way. But it is that way, and there is no better answer. Yet no matter how rough and dark the path, no matter how chill and deep the stream, there by your side, if you will reach out to grasp it, is the hand of Almighty Love. And if there is anything in life and death of which you may be sure, it is this. That hand is always there and will always be there.
You may not know where you are going. You may not know how you will get there. But this you can always know: the hand of God is stretched out to you in all of his strength. And once you grasp it, he will never let you go—no, not even when you must enter that darkest valley and cross that coldest stream. Even then you can walk without fear, in full confidence that the same hand that has led you all the way will lead you safely across and up into those eternal hills and shine in their glory on the other side.
This last word from the cross is no dying man's philosophy of life, no mere echo of a childhood prayer. It is the secret of victorious living, to be renewed every day of our lives. Do we face problems that we cannot even begin to solve? Into thy hands. Do we experience sorrow we are sure we cannot bear? Into thy hands. Do we face temptations stronger than we can endure? Into thy hands. Is life with its many complications too much for us? Into thy hands. Are we staring across the great sea of eternity wondering what lies on the other shore, wondering if there is another shore? Into thy hands.
This is the word of One who first learned his faith at his mother's knee, who proclaimed it gladly to the thronging people who spoke it tenderly to hearts that were sore and perplexed, who tested it in the harsh experience of crucifixion, who used it to shatter the barriers of darkness, sin, and death, and let in the unquenchable light of life and love.
It is the word of Jesus Christ our Lord, guaranteed by his life's blood. For see, the hand that is stretched out to you in the darkness still bears the marks of the nails!
Hymn: “O Sacred Head, Now Wounded”
O sacred head, now wounded,
with grief and shame weighed down,
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, your only crown.
O sacred head, what glory
and blessing you have known!
Yet, though despised and gory,
I claim you as my own.
My Lord, what you did suffer
was all for sinner's gain;
mine, mine was the transgression,
but yours the deadly pain.
So here I kneel, my Savior,
for I deserve our place;
look on me with your favor
and save me by your grace.
What language shall I borrow
to thank you, dearest Friend,
for this, your dying sorrow,
your mercy without end?
Lord, make me yours forever,
a loyal servant true,
and let me never never
outlive my love for you.
Prayer:
Let us pray:
A few hours more,
A few minutes more,
A few instants more.
For thirty-three years it has been going on.
For thirty-three years you have lived fully minute by minute.
You can no longer escape, now: you are
There, at the end of your life, at the end of your road.
You are at the last extremity, at the edge of a precipice.
You must take the last step,
the last step of love,
the last step of life that ends in death.
You hesitate.
Three hours are long, three hours of agony,
longer than three years of life
longer than thirty years of life.
You must decide, Lord, all is ready around you.
You are there, motionless on your Cross.
You have renounced all activity other than embracing these
Crossed planks for which you were made.
And yet, there is still life in your nailed body.
Let mortal flesh die, and make way for Eternity.
Now, life slips from each limb, one by one, finding refuge in this
still-beating heart,
immeasurable heart,
overflowing heart,
heart heavy as the world, the world of sins and miseries that it bears.
Lord, one more effort.
Humankind is there, waiting unknowingly for the cry of its Savior.
Your brothers and sisters are there, they need you.
Your Father bends over you, already holding out his arms.
Lord, save us.
Save us.
See.
He has taken his heavy heart,
and,
slowly,
laboriously,
alone between heaven and earth,
in the awesome night,
with passionate love,
he has gathered the sin of the world,
and in a cry,
he has given All.
“Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.”
Christ has just died for us.
Lord, help me to die for you.
Help me to die for them.
Amen.
[From Prayers by Michel Quoist. Available for $8.95 from Sheed & Ward, P.O. Box 419492, Kansas City, MO 64141. Used by permission.]
The Lord's Prayer
The Benediction
Closing Hymn: “We Sing the praise of Him Who Died”
We sing the praise of him who died,
of him who died upon the cross.
The sinner's hope for all decide;
for this we count the world but loss.
Inscribed upon the cross we see
in shining letters, “God is love.”
He bears our sins upon the tree;
he brings us mercy from above.
The cross! It takes our guilt away;
it holds the fainting spirit up/;
it cheers with hope the gloomy day
and sweetens ev'ry bitter cup.
It makes the coward spirit brave
and nerves the feeble arm for fight;
it takes the terror from the grave
and gilds the bed of death with light.
The balm of life, the cure of woe,
the measure and the pledge of love,
the sinner's refuge here below,
and angel's theme in heaven above.