Good Friday: Rev. Aimee Baxter

When I was a little girl, my granddad used to tell me that I was sweet as lemons. Being the gullible child that I was, I just knew this was the best compliment anyone could receive. I frequently held this distinction over my sister’s head - that she was only as sweet as chocolate cake, but I was sweet as lemons.

It wasn’t until I was older than I’d like to admit, and I tasted a lemon, that I realized the joke my family had been in on all those years. I was devastated to learn that lemons were not in fact sweet at all, but just the opposite - really sour.

I stand before you on this day in our liturgical calendar feeling a bit like I am trying to convince you that being sweet as lemons is a glowing endorsement.

We call today Good Friday, but really there is an awful lot of bad involved with it. And that bad prompts so many questions.

How could the one who called Jesus his friend, betray him?

How could the ones who promised to stay with him leave?

How could Pilate neglect his responsibility and cower to the crowd?

How could the crowd demand Barrabas and shout, “Crucify him!”?

How does Mary watch all of it?

How could Jesus feel so alone?

These questions lead me to struggle with calling this day good because the bitter taste of agony casts such a huge cloud and looms large.

This Lent we studied the book, The Practice of Prayer, by Margaret Guenther. In her chapter on how to pray through desolation she writes,

I have a hard time with Good Friday. Every year I think, ‘If I were God, I would do this differently.’ When I let myself be vulnerable to the sights and sounds of the crucifixion, it is too much. Too much cruelty. Too much exposure. Too much pain. There is altogether too much suffering at Golgotha: the suffering of a tortured body…the suffering of betrayal…the suffering of waste and failure. All that has gone before – healing, preaching, teaching, friendship -seems now without purpose. So much suffering would be bearable, even meaningful, if Jesus had sensed God’s loving presence. Yet, as he hung on the cross, he cried out, ‘My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?’…I am haunted by that cry.

I share many of her sentiments about this day. If I let myself really go there, I find it all to be too much. It’s difficult to reconcile it all.

Over the years, I’ve come to embrace the sweet as lemons description. What once felt a little bit like betrayal, is now endearing. And what it makes it so, is that while my grandfather was definitely taunting me, it was done with
deep love and affection.

I think that’s what makes this day good. The bitterness of the crucifixion is sweetened with one of the greatest acts of love we can imagine.

I’m reminded of a picture that Isabel drew when she was little of Jesus on the cross. Jesus is in the center of it with arms outstretched and a bearded frowny face.

But, all around him are these giant hearts that are like the things you see in a cartoon where the character is emoting what is happening on the inside. One of these hearts sits above Jesus with an arrow pointing at the cross.

It is a beautiful portrayal of Jesus’ act of love on the cross.

It isn’t void of the reality of the suffering, but it is clear, that love is the main takeaway.

When I look at that drawing, I think, maybe this day really is as sweet as lemons. Amen.