Ruth Greenaway-Robbins

John 18–19 | Psalm 22:1–11 | Hebrews 10:16–25 | Romans 8:31-39

Today is not an easy day.

Good Friday confronts us with the rawest edges of human experience:
grief, abandonment, brutality, injustice.
We have just heard it in the Passion according to St John,
betrayal, denial, violence, humiliation, death.

It is stark.
It is uncomfortable.
It hurts.

And perhaps that is part of the truth of today:
that we are not meant to rush past it.

Psalm 22 gives us words for this moment:
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

This is not distant suffering.
This is not theoretical pain.
This is the cry of one who feels utterly alone.

And if we are honest, it is a cry many of us recognise.

Because Good Friday does not just tell us about Jesus’ suffering,
it brings us face-to-face with our own.

The grief we carry for those we have lost.
The relationships that have broken or never healed.
The quiet burdens of shame or regret.
The exhaustion of living in a world where injustice feels relentless.

All of it comes close to us today.

And yet,
and this is where it becomes almost too much to comprehend,
this same moment, this same cross,
is also the place where love is most fully revealed.

It feels incongruous.

How can it be
that in the midst of such brutality
we encounter the deepest, most profound love?

And yet we do.

We see it even within the Passion itself.

In the midst of agony,
Jesus looks down from the cross
and sees his mother,
and the disciple whom he loved.

And he says:
“Woman, here is your son.”
“Here is your mother.”

Even now.
Even here.
Even as everything is falling apart,

love breaks through.

Relationship is formed.
Care is given.
A new family is created.

This is not love as sentiment.
This is love as self-giving, costly, unrelenting presence.

And this is the love that the cross reveals.

There is a prayer that many of you will have been praying this Lent if you use the daily prayer app/podcast Pray As You Go.

It is a prayer from St. Ignatius of Loyola, often called the Suscipe:

You have given all to me
To you, Lord, I return it
Everything is Yours
Do with it what You will
Give me only Your love and Your grace
That is enough for me

It is a simple prayer.
But it is also a radical one.

Because it is a prayer of surrender.
A prayer of letting go.
A prayer of trust.

And today, on Good Friday,
we begin to see why such a prayer is possible.

Because before we are ever asked to give anything to God,
God has already given everything to us.

That is what the cross shows us.

Christ holds nothing back.
Not his dignity.
Not his safety.
Not even his life.

“You have given all to me…”

Good Friday tells us: yes.
God has.

But here is where it becomes deeply personal.

Because the cross is not only something we look at.
It is something we are invited into.

The letter to the Hebrews tells us that through Christ,
a new and living way has been opened.
That we can draw near with full assurance of faith.

Draw near.

Not stand at a distance.
Not watch from afar.
But come close.

And in a few moments, we will do exactly that.

We will come forward to venerate the cross.

Some of us may bow.
Some may genuflect.
Some may kneel or even prostrate.
Some may kiss the feet of Christ.

And it is important to say:
we are not worshipping the wood of the cross.

We are responding to what it represents
the love of Christ,
the sacrifice of Christ,
the offering of Christ.

FOR THE LOVE.

But veneration is only part of what is happening.

Because the cross is not only a place of recognition
it is a place of release.

And this is where the Suscipe prayer becomes real for us.

“You have given all to me
To you, Lord, I return it…”

As we come to the cross,
we are invited not only to honour Christ’s offering
but to bring our own.

To lay down
that which we have been carrying.

The grief.
The shame.
The guilt.
The pain.
The injustice.
The exhaustion.

All those things that weigh us down
and quietly separate us from the life God longs for us to have.

Because carrying these things endlessly
is not what Christ asks of us.

The cross is not just where Christ suffers for us,
it is where we are invited to place our suffering with him.

To let it be held.
To let it be transformed.
To let it be redeemed.

There is a moment in the anointing of the sick where these words are spoken:

“As you are outwardly anointed with oil,
so may our heavenly Father grant you the inward anointing of the Holy Spirit. Of his great mercy may he forgive you your sins
and release you from suffering.”

Release you from suffering.

That is what the cross is about.

Not that suffering magically disappears
but that it no longer defines us.
No longer traps us.
No longer separates us from love.

Because at the cross,
love is stronger than suffering.

And this is why St Paul can say with such boldness:

that nothing, nothing, 
can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

Nothing.

Not death.
Not life.
Not angels or rulers.
Not things present or things to come.

Literally Nothing.

And we might wonder – how can he be so sure?

Because of this day.

Because of the cross.

Because here we see that there is nowhere we can go,
no depth we can fall to,
no pain we can carry,
that Christ has not already entered into.

And if Christ is there
then love is there too.

So today, as we come to venerate the cross,
I invite you to do so with honesty.

Come as you are.

And as you come,
hold before God whatever it is you carry.

And perhaps, quietly, in your heart,
pray the words of that ancient prayer:

You have given all to me
To you, Lord, I return it

Return to God your grief.
Return to God your shame.
Return to God your fear.
Return to God the burdens you were never meant to carry alone.

Everything is Yours
Do with it what You will

Trust, perhaps just a little
that God can hold it.
That God can transform it.
That God can redeem it.

Give me only Your love and Your grace
That is enough for me

Because in the end,
that is what Good Friday reveals.

That love is given, completely,
costly,
without reserve.

And that love is for us.

For each of us.

More than we can imagine.

And as we leave this place today,
we do not leave pretending everything is resolved.

Good Friday does not rush to Easter.

We leave still in the shadow of the cross.

But we leave knowing this:

that we are loved,
that we are forgiven,
that we are held.

And that as we are released from what we carry,
we are made free.

free to love,
free to forgive,
free to live differently in the world.

A world that so desperately needs
people who know this love.

So, come.

Come to the cross.

Come with all that you are.

And lay it down.

For Christ has given all to you.

And his love
his grace

is enough.

You have given all to me
To you, Lord, I return it
Everything is Yours
Do with it what You will
Give me only Your love and Your grace
That is enough for me.