We often hold this service at night so more people can attend. But I was purposeful in scheduling it at noon today. Sure, Jesus was handed over at night be he died in broad daylight. At noon his hands were nailed to the cross. He died for three hours. As those minutes of agony ticked by, the shadows grew longer. As we sit in the nave today, we now see those same strange shadows begin to creep.

Jesus’ has had many opponents in his story but really only one enemy. It has hidden in the dark until today. At the beginning of Lent you were asked to confront your own mortality. You were reminded that every life lives in a shadow. We all live in the shadow of death. We remind ourselves as a community that we cannot deny death’s existence. We do this together because as individuals we are all too quick to put death in the back our minds and try to forget it. And Death loves to hide there, out of sight always in the shadows.

But here on Good Friday, the shadows cannot hide. The other players are off the board. It is Jesus and death now.

Like us, Jesus has lived his life in the shadow of death. Halfway through the Gospel story, Jesus tells us death is real and has great power. His disciples do not want to admit it. Those whom he has taught the most miss this crucial part of Jesus’ saving plan. Death must be confronted. But of all of Jesus’ opponents, why is death the hardest to accept?

Unlike other opponents, Death gives us power.

Death empowers us to make our worst decisions.

Our primal fear of survival helps us to justify what we could safely call myriad sins.

We do what we must to survive.

Death whispers lies in our hearts “it was either them or you, you did what you had to do.”

“You must lie. If you didn’t lie, you might get in trouble.” “You might lose your job and we all know where that road leads to..”

“Do it. Do it now. If not now, when? You might never get another chance. Do it or you’ll regret it!”

“Don’t trust them! They always mess it up! You know it all depends on you!”

“I cannot believe they get all of that.” “Can no one see we need it more?” “We’re dying here!”

“Those people want to overpower you.” “They want to take away your way of life.” “Hurt them before they can hurt you!”

Death addicts us to control.

And from this addiction we make systems of that perpetuate our control. Death hides in cruel philosophies of racism, empire, colonialism, classism, and sexism. It comforts our wincing consciences by saying these are all necessary to keep us safe, to keep death at bay. These things help us stay in control.

Or at least to the illusion of control. Really, we just become subject to the control of our worst instincts, our lesser angels.

If we had sense, we might ask ourselves “why would we want someone like us in control anyway?”

But there is another way. We need not choose death. Today, Jesus invites us to follow the way of love.

Love frees us to give up control.

It empties itself of power, glory, and might.

The holy one emptied himself of all of these that he might join us in our humanity. He followed the path of love his whole life. He did not choose rich parents, a posh hometown, or powerful friends. He did not choose a place of privilege in the Roman Empire. He was surprised and disappointed in his incarnation. He made and lost friends. He confronted religious figures who let him and others down. He forgave the sins of those who felt they were beyond atonement.

He was executed by an elaborate web of fear, jealousy, empire and control, all conspiring to put love down once and for all.

And indeed, Jesus’ crescedoing love peaks here on Good Friday. Today, Love confronts death. Jesus so fully embodies love that he surrenders all control to these powers. His love never stops, it never flinches.

As we linger in the shadows, I ask that you confront the ways death controls you. Who do you diminish to stay big? Who do you hurt to stay safe? Who and what do you kill to stay alive? How do you sin to save your control? Who do you let sin on your behalf?

These are hard questions to face but Jesus is on hard wood that you might have faith; faith in his love so that you might interrogate yourself as he was interrogated; that you might confront the power death has in your life as Christ confronted the power death had over the world. He walked toward death that you might walk away. He followed love so that you might follow too. Will you follow? Are you ready to leave the shadows?

Sanctus Christus de Capel-y-ffin 1925 David Jones 1895-1974 Presented by the Friends of the Tate Gallery 1983 http://www.tate.org.uk/art/work/T03677