A silence louder than all the speeches
Good Friday is a day apart. A day when everything seems to stop. The Church does not celebrate mass. The bells fall silent. The altar is bare. The tabernacle is empty. Everything is bare, silent, serious. And yet it is in this silence that the greatest cry of love in all history resounds: that of Christ who gives his life. Nothing shines, nothing consoles, nothing reassures. There is only one man, on a cross, at the top of an abandoned hill, who carries all the pain of the world with him. He does not flee. He does not curse. He loves. To the end. Until he has nothing left to give but his life.
Nothing shines, nothing consoles, nothing reassures. There is only a man, on a cross, at the top of an abandoned place, who carries all the world's pain with him. He does not flee. He does not curse. He loves. To the end. Until he has nothing left to give but his life.
The humiliated Christ: God lowered to the extreme
That day, Jesus is betrayed, hastily judged, beaten, mocked, nailed to a tree. He whom the crowd had acclaimed a few days earlier is now rejected as a criminal. But he does not defend himself. He does not revolt. He accepts, not out of fatalism, but out of love.
The scandal of Good Friday is this God who does not stay away from our pain, but takes it upon himself. Who does not dominate suffering, but passes through it. He does not look at evil from afar: he absorbs it. He does not look away: he looks into our eyes.
This day tells us that God is never so close to man as when he seems farthest away. In the night, in abandonment, in suffering, he is there. He does not take away the pain, but comes to bear it with us. He enters it so as not to leave us alone.
A love disarmed, but stronger than all
Jesus does not respond to violence with violence. He does not shout his anger. He does not take revenge. He loves. He prays for those who strike him. He entrusts his mother to the disciple. He promises paradise to a criminal. He forgives. He loves.
This silence of Jesus on the cross is stronger than all the speeches. It reveals a love that does not impose itself, but gives itself. A love that goes to the very end of self-giving. A love that expects nothing in return.
Good Friday is not a failure. It is not the end. It is the victory of a love that stops at nothing. A love that enters even into death to break its chains from within.
We too, invited to remain at the foot of the cross
It's easy to look away. The cross is not beautiful. It is frightening. It disturbs. But on this day, we are asked to stand there. Not to flee. Not to try to understand. Just to look.
To be at the foot of the cross is to recognise that we do not deserve this love, and that it is given to us anyway. It is to see, in the crucified man, not a broken man, but a God who loves to the point of silence. It is to be silent within ourselves in order to hear the last words of a Saviour who gives everything.
We are not being asked to explain the cross. We are simply asked to stand there, in silence, with an open heart. And to let that love transform us.
A day that is already preparing the light
Even if everything seems over, Good Friday is not the end. It is the passage. The threshold. The earth is still dark, but the sky is beginning to quiver. The light is not yet visible, but it is coming. Slowly. Discreetly. Faithfully.
It is in this silent day that the Resurrection prepares. Not to erase the cross, but to cross it. Not to make us forget suffering, but to transfigure it.
Conclusion
Good Friday is a call. To stay. To be silent. To watch. To love. It is not a day to understand, but to surrender. To recognise that God does not save us by force, but by love. And that this love, silent, humbled, crucified, is stronger than anything that would lock us up in fear, shame or despair.
So, even if our words stop, even if our faith wavers, even if our hearts clench, let's stay there. Just for a moment. For a little while. And let this wounded love touch what is most fragile in us. For that is where life will spring from.
