A Homily for Good Friday of the Lord’s Passion
Readings: Isaiah 52:13—53:12  Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9  John 18:1—19:42

In 1842, the English poet Alfred Tennyson wrote a coda to the life of the mythical hero, Ulysses, the champion of the Trojan War.

Tennyson was still grieving the untimely loss of Arthur Hallam, the closest companion of his youth. Perhaps that is why he offers us a still restless hero. His Ulysses forgoes the warmth and security of Ithaca, his hard-won home, only to depart again for adventure, perhaps even to reconnect with the dead. 

…for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western starts, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And the great Achilles, whom we knew…

But this new journey is akin to a long-delayed Hollywood sequel, one with a now-aged star. The hero is not who he once was. Or rather, the hero is all that he was but now without the powers that once propelled him to victory.

Nonetheless, when the hero resolutely begins his last quest, Tennyson’s “Ulysses” gives the English language some of its most famous verses. 

…tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

The Gospel is the deepest truth of both God and man. It should come then as no surprise that it is foreshadowed, corroborated and echoed by so many of our great tales. Indeed, Tennyson’s immortal words could easily be slipped into the sad spectacle of Christ upon his cross. He is, more than anyone before or since, 

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Two truths should be reverently pondered when we remember our Lord’s death upon the cross. Whatever the emphasis each receives, one without the other eliminates the saving mystery at the core of our faith.

The first truth is this: Christ comes to complete destruction on the cross. In the violent ridicule that was his death, the mission and person of Jesus are utterly repudiated, annihilated.

The second: Christ dies in full submission to, and with utmost confidence in, the will of his Father. 

St. John carefully crafts his Gospel to insist upon the congruence of these two truths: Christ goes down into the darkness of his ruin confident in the goodness of his Father. 

Matthew and Mark convey this truth in their use of Psalm 22. Dying from exsanguination and asphyxiation, Christ can only begin to recite the psalm:

My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?

Both evangelists trusted that those who heard their accounts would recognize that this psalm begins in abandonment and lamentation but concludes with an attestation of confidence in God.

Save me from the lion’s mouth,
my poor life from the horns of wild bulls.
Then I will proclaim your name to my brethren;
in the assembly I will praise you…
For he has not spurned or disdained
the misery of this poor wretch,
Did not turn away from me,
but heard me when I cried out.
I will offer praise in the great assembly;
my vows I will fulfill before those who fear him (22:22-23, 25-26).

In contrast, St. Luke encapsulates both our Lord’s capitulation to death and his complete confidence in his Father in his final, brief cry from the cross.

Father, into your hands I commend my spirit (23:46).

As is so often the case, St. John goes his own way, carefully constructing a paradox that is meant to trouble and confound us before it gives way to graced insight. 

In the fourth Gospel, Christ repeatedly calls his upcoming death upon the cross his “Hour of Glory.” In this Gospel, it can be said that Christ, rather than his enemies, chooses the cross. 

For example, in the garden, Jesus must put himself into their hands. His armed assailants do not even know whom to arrest until Christ identifies himself, using the revealed name of God to Moses. His revelation terrifies them.

Jesus, knowing everything that was going to happen to him, went out and said to them, “Whom are you looking for?”

They answered him, “Jesus the Nazorean.”
He said to them, “I AM.” 
Judas his betrayer was also with them.
When he said to them, “I AM,” 
they turned away and fell to the ground (Jn 18:4-6).

In terms of balance, the last words of Christ in this Gospel lean away from horror and into resolution. Almost as though “it” were a small thing—this violent, humiliating death—at least small in comparison to the will of the one who embraces it, Christ dies saying ever so simply, “It is finished” (19:30).

Tho’ much is taken, much abides.
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

The story of Christ is starker than the tale of a weary Ulysses, sailing into the western sea. In the passion of Christ, everything is taken, which is why, in the triumph of divine tragedy, everything abides—forgiveness of sin, salvation, resurrection into eternal life—never to be undone. 

We are more likely to die in our old age, like Ulysses. The great question is whether we will die with firmness of purpose and confidence in God. That is no small feat. Indeed, it would be a great triumph of grace, one only made possible in the death of this man upon the cross, the one who came among us, in obedience to the will of his loving Father 

to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Can we die like him, surrendering all to the Father? Can we do that now? And what of the days yet to come when we are not 

that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven 

Then, “made weak by time and fate,” will we be “strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield”?

The Rev. Terrance W. Klein is a priest of the Diocese of Dodge City and author of Vanity Faith.