Good Friday 2025

0. Context

Heaven is the direct presence of God.

Sin separates us from God.

When God made a way to be among the Israelites it required a large veil to separate them from His presence. Historians say the veil was four inches thick. Sixty feet tall. Thirty feet wide. And heavy enough that it took hundreds of men to hang it. A wall of fabric no human could tear.

That veil represented the barrier that sin put up between us and God.

So how can we hope to conquer the power of sin and death and be in God’s Presence?

Left to ourselves there is no hope. It is impossible.

Tonight we tell the end of the rescue story that began in a Bethlehem manger thirty three years earlier.

To limit distraction, there is no bulletin tonight. Here's what to expect: There will be 7 monologues taken straight from scripture but written from a first person perspective of people who would have been there. These will alternate with 8 songs. You are welcome to sing along with any or all of the songs if you like. You will not be asked to stand, though you are certainly welcome to if you feel so led by the Holy Spirit.

(prayer)

1. The Garden of Gethsemane (STEVE :: A Disciple’s Account – Matthew 26:36-50)

I failed my Master on the night He needed me most.

He took Peter, John, and me to Gethsemane, asking us to stay with Him while He prayed. I had never seen Him like this - His face was heavy with sorrow, His voice - for the first time since I'd met him - sounded.. stressed. He said to us, "My soul is crushed with grief to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me."

I wanted to stay awake. I truly did. But my body betrayed me. Sleep pulled me down, and though my heart longed to support Him, my eyes would not stay open.

When He returned and found us sleeping, His voice was filled with disappointment. He spoke to Peter, but I felt the sting as if the words were for me too: "Couldn’t you watch with me even one hour? Keep watch and pray, so that you will not give in to temptation. For the spirit is willing, but the body is weak."

I hated myself for my weakness. I saw His pain, His anguish, and still, I slept. Twice more He went to pray, and twice more He found us asleep. I heard His voice again, but this time there was no rebuke - only a sorrowful acceptance: "Go ahead and sleep. Have your rest. But look-the time has come. The Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Up, let’s be going. Look, my betrayer is here!"

Then came Judas, leading a crowd armed with swords and clubs. Judas walked straight to Jesus and greeted Him with a kiss - a kiss of betrayal. And yet Jesus, with love I cannot fathom, looked at him and said, "My friend, go ahead and do what you have come for."

I wanted to fight, to protect Him. Peter drew his sword, striking a servant of the high priest, but Jesus stopped him. "Put away your sword," He said. "Those who use the sword will die by the sword. Don’t you realize that I could ask my Father for thousands of angels to protect us, and He would send them instantly? But if I did, how would the Scriptures be fulfilled that describe what must happen now?"

I watched, helpless and ashamed, as they seized Him. The weight of my failure pressed down on me like the very stones of Gethsemane. He had asked for so little - to stay awake, to pray, to watch - and I could not even give Him that. He went willingly, and I fled in fear.

Even now, the memory burns in me. He loved me, and I abandoned Him. How could He still call me friend? How could He still love a man who failed Him so completely?

SONG: DARK GETHSEMANE

2. Peter’s Denial (NATE :: Peter’s Account – Luke 22:54-62)

I followed him - but from a distance. I wasn’t brave enough to walk beside him, not anymore. When they took him to the high priest’s house, I hung back in the shadows. I couldn’t leave. I had promised him. I told him I would never leave, that I would die for him if I had to.

But I was afraid.

The courtyard fire was warm against the cold night air, but I felt frozen inside. I sat with the guards, hoping to blend in. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything. How could this be happening? He was supposed to be our Messiah - how could they take him like that?

Then the girl noticed me. A servant girl, barely more than a child. She stared at me through the firelight. I saw her eyes narrow, and my stomach twisted.

“This man was one of Jesus’ followers!” she said.

I felt my throat tighten. My voice came out faster than I could think. “Woman, I don’t even know him!”

The words tasted bitter, but the fear swallowed the shame. I couldn’t stop shaking. I kept my head down, hoping that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Someone else pointed at me. “You must be one of them!”

My heart slammed against my chest. “No, man, I’m not!” I said, my voice sharper this time. Harsher. Like I could convince myself if I sounded angry enough.

Time passed - I don’t even know how long. My head was spinning. And then another voice rose from the crowd. This one didn’t sound doubtful. It sounded certain.

“This must be one of them, because he is a Galilean, too.”

I panicked. I heard the words come out of my mouth, but it didn’t even feel like me speaking anymore. “Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

And then - the rooster crowed.

The sound cut through the night like a knife. It was as if the world stopped. I felt sick, my chest tightening so hard I could barely breathe. And then he looked at me.

Jesus turned and looked right at me.

His eyes… oh, his eyes. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t even look surprised. He looked hurt. And worse than that - he looked sad for me. Like he knew this would happen, and he loved me anyway.

His words came back to me all at once. “Before the rooster crows tomorrow morning, you will deny three times that you even know me.” I swore to him I wouldn’t. I promised. And I failed.

I couldn’t stay there. I ran. I didn’t care where - I just ran. My legs felt weak, but I ran until I couldn’t anymore. And then I collapsed, sobbing. Bitter, broken, ashamed.

I told him I’d never leave him. But when it mattered most, I denied him. I denied my friend. My Lord. And he saw it all.

God, forgive me. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.

SONG: PETER’S LAMENT

3. Jesus on Trial ( KAREN :: A Member of the Crowd – Matthew 27:11-26)

I stood in the crowd, watching him - waiting for him to speak. He always knew what to say. I’d seen him silence the Pharisees with a single question. I’d heard him tell stories that turned the whole world upside down. He could make the smartest men look like fools. He could command demons to flee with a word. Surely, he would speak now.

Pilate asked him, “Are you the king of the Jews?”

Jesus answered, “You have said it.”

That was it? That was all he said? My stomach tightened. The priests and elders threw accusations at him, one after another. Lies, slander - it didn’t matter. He didn’t defend himself. He didn’t say a word. Pilate even asked him, “Don’t you hear all these charges they are bringing against you?”

Still, nothing. He just stood there.

Why wasn’t he fighting back? He could, I knew he could. He wasn’t afraid to call them hypocrites before - why stop now? I felt my throat tighten. This wasn’t like him. It wasn’t right.

Then Pilate gave us a choice.

Barabbas or Jesus. A murderer, or the man who healed our sick and fed our hungry. It seemed obvious. People murmured around me, and I clung to hope. They would never choose Barabbas. Not over Jesus.

But the priests moved through the crowd, whispering. Stirring. I saw heads nodding, faces hardening. Pilate asked again, “Which of these two do you want me to release to you?”

“Barabbas!”

The word hit me like a slap. My mouth fell open. Barabbas? No - no, they couldn’t mean it. This was Jesus. He raised the dead. He calmed storms. He taught us about love, about God. I turned to the people around me, waiting for someone to object, to shout for Jesus instead. No one did.

Pilate tried one more time. “Then what should I do with Jesus who is called the Messiah?”

“Crucify him!”

I felt like the ground dropped out from under me. Crucify him? No. No! My chest tightened, and I wanted to scream, to stop them. But the roar of the crowd swelled again, louder and angrier. “Crucify him!”

Pilate seemed confused. He asked, “Why? What crime has he committed?”

The mob didn’t care. “Crucify him!” they shouted, louder and louder, until it was all I could hear.

My heart pounded, fear rising in my throat. I felt trapped in the noise, in the fury, in the hopelessness of it all. And before I even realized what I was doing, I heard my own voice - my own voice - shouting with them.

“Crucify him!”

I froze. My voice caught in my throat, and I felt sick. What had I done? How did this happen? I didn’t want him to die. I wanted him to speak. To fight back. To win.

But he didn’t. He just stood there, silent, as Pilate washed his hands and handed him over. Silent, as the soldiers grabbed him and led him away.

And I watched him go, my legs trembling, my heart breaking - and all I could feel was shame.

SONG: IS HE WORTHY

4. The Scourging & Mocking (DERREL :: A Roman Soldier – Matthew 27:27-31)

I don’t know why I’m writing this - maybe to get it out of my head. I was there, one of the soldiers. We brought him inside, Jesus, into the governor’s hall. Someone barked the order, and before I knew it, the whole regiment was gathering around. It felt less like duty and more like… a spectacle. Like we were hungry for something, though I’m not sure what.

We stripped him down. He didn’t fight it. Didn’t say a word. Someone found a scarlet robe and threw it over his shoulders. It barely stayed on him, hanging loose over his torn-up back. Then someone else twisted together a crown from thorn branches - shoved it right down onto his head. Blood ran down his face, but he didn’t scream.

One of the guys handed him a reed stick, like it was a royal scepter. And that’s when it really started. We knelt before him, laughing - calling him “King of the Jews.” It wasn’t funny, though. Not really. It felt wrong, but the laughter kept going, like none of us wanted to be the first to stop. Someone spat on him. Then another. And before I could think, I did too. It was like the room had a mind of its own.

The stick - we took it back from him and struck him with it. Over and over. I can still hear the dull crack of it against his skull. He fell to his knees, but no one cared. It didn’t feel like we were beating a man anymore. He felt like something less than human.

Or maybe… maybe we were.

Eventually, we got tired. The room went quiet, except for our heavy breathing. We pulled the robe off him - it stuck to his wounds. We gave him his clothes back. I remember his eyes, though. He didn’t look at me like he hated me. He looked at me like he was… sad.

Then we led him out to be crucified.

I can’t stop thinking about it. I was just following orders. We all were. So why do I feel like I’ll never be clean again?

SONG: STRICKEN, SMITTEN, AND AFFLICTED

5. The Crucifixion Begins (LYNN :: Mary, Jesus’ Mother – John 19:16-27)

My heart feels like it’s been torn from my chest. I watched them take him. Pilate handed him over, and they led him away like a lamb to slaughter. He carried the cross himself - I don’t know how he even managed to stand, let alone walk. His body was broken, his face swollen and bloodied. Each step looked like agony. I wanted to run to him, to help him, but I couldn’t. My legs wouldn’t move. I could only follow, watching helplessly.

They took him to the Place of the Skull - Golgotha. I’ll never forget that name. It’s burned into me. They laid him down on the cross, and I heard the hammer strike. The sound… it wasn’t like wood. It was like it hit my very soul. My son didn’t scream. He was quiet. But I felt like I was screaming in my bones.

They lifted him up, nailed between two criminals like he was no better than them. My beautiful boy stripped completely naked, exposed to all. Above him, they nailed a sign: Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. I heard the priests protest, demanding Pilate change it, but he refused. “What I have written, I have written,” he said.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

My son was hanging there, his body sagging under its own weight.

The soldiers took his clothes, dividing them up. I watched them cast dice for his robe - the robe I had seen him wear so many times. They laughed, like it was some sort of game. They didn’t see him. They didn’t see the boy I held in my arms, the child I rocked to sleep. They didn’t see the man who healed the sick, who gave sight to the blind, who loved so deeply. They only saw someone to mock.

I stood there, so close but feeling an impossible distance between us. My sister was beside me, and Mary Magdalene too, but I felt alone. More alone than I ever thought possible. My son, my sweet boy, looked down at me. His eyes - oh, his eyes - they still held love, even through the pain. He saw me. He saw me.

He spoke, his voice strained and weak. “Dear woman, here is your son,” he said, nodding to John, the disciple beside me. And to John, he said, “Here is your mother.” Even then, in his suffering, he made sure I wouldn’t be alone. He gave me someone to hold onto.

But no one can replace him. No one ever will.

I don’t know how I’m still breathing when he is not.

SONG: MARY DID YOU KNOW?

6. The Final Words (JOE :: John’s Account – John 19:28-30, Luke 23:44-46)

I can still hear his voice. It’s burned into me - those final words.

I was there, standing as close as they’d let me. Mary was beside me, leaning on me for strength. I wasn’t sure who was holding who up anymore. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart piece by piece.

Jesus looked different now, barely recognizable. The man I had followed for years - my teacher, my closest friend, my brother - was barely holding on. His body trembled with every breath. The sun beat down on us, and I could see the sweat and blood mingling on his face. He was so pale. His eyes, though… his eyes still held that same kindness, even through the agony.

He spoke, his voice weak and hoarse. “I am thirsty.”

It felt wrong, hearing him say that. He’s the one who once told me, “Whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst.” He gave water to the Samaritan woman at the well, offering her living water. And now… now he was parched, his lips cracked and dry. The soldiers grabbed a jar of sour wine, soaked a sponge, and lifted it to him on a hyssop branch. It was the same plant they used to brush lamb’s blood on the doorposts during Passover. A lamb’s blood, marking salvation. It didn’t feel like a coincidence.

He tasted it. Then he lifted his head, just a little - as much as he could. His voice came stronger than I expected, though it was still strained and raw.

“It is finished.”

He bowed his head, and I don't know how to describe it. It wasn’t like he died - it was like he gave his spirit away willingly. His life couldn't be taken from Him, He surrendered it willingly.

I couldn’t move. My legs wouldn’t work. He was gone, and the world felt wrong without him in it. My best friend - the one who called me to follow him, who loved me like a brother - was gone.

SONG: THE WONDERFUL CROSS

7. The Death & Silence (RONNALEE :: A woman in the crowd – Matthew 27:50-54)

I didn’t mean to stay. I only came to see what was happening. Word spread fast - they were crucifying Jesus. I’d heard of him. Who hadn’t? The teacher, the miracle worker. Some said he was the Messiah. I didn’t know what to believe. I just wanted to see him for myself.

I wish I hadn’t.

He didn’t look like a king or a prophet. He barely looked human. His body was torn and bleeding, and his face was so swollen I could hardly recognize him. But his eyes… his eyes were still clear. There was pain in them, yes, but also something else. Something I didn’t expect. He looked at the crowd - at us - like he loved us anyway.

I stayed when others left. I couldn’t walk away. I wanted to turn my head, to shut my eyes, but I couldn’t. I watched him suffer. I watched him cry out. And I watched him die.

The moment he gave his last breath, the air changed. It was like the whole world held its breath with him. Then the earth itself groaned. The ground shook so hard I fell to my knees. Rocks split open, and somewhere in the city, I heard people screaming. The sky, already dark, felt heavier, like it was crushing us. It wasn’t just an earthquake. It felt like God himself had come down to punish us.

I was terrified. We all were. I looked at the soldiers, and even they were pale with fear. Hardened men, killers - they looked as broken as I felt. One of them spoke, his voice shaking. “This man truly was the Son of God.”

I believed him. In that moment, I knew it too. I didn’t understand it all, but I knew we had done something terrible.

I can’t stop thinking about him. About the way he looked at us, even as we watched him die. He didn’t deserve any of it. And somehow, I think he forgave us anyway.

God, I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. But I do now. I do now.

SONG: IT IS FINISHED

8. It is finished (Ben)

It is finished.

The work of restoring what was lost. The work of tearing down every barrier between us and God.

The earth shook. Graves opened. Rocks split.

And in the heart of the Temple, something impossible happened.

The veil - the massive, thick veil that had separated the presence of God from the world - was torn in two. From top… to bottom. Not by the hand of man. No priest cut it with a blade. No rebel reached up and yanked it down. No - God Himself reached down and ripped it in two. Because the barrier was never His desire. It was a result of our sin.

From heaven to earth - God tore it down. Because the Lamb had been slain. Because the blood had been poured. Because the debt was paid. Because the curse was broken. No more separation. No more sacrifices. No more fear.

The Holy of Holies is no longer hidden behind a veil - The presence of God is open to all. To the sinner. To the seeker. To the weary, the wounded, the wandering.

To me

To you.

With his final breath and his last heartbeat, Jesus has made a way where there was no way.

So come.

Come into the light. Come into the presence. Come, not with shame, but with confidence. Because of Jesus, we are not left hopeless. Because of Jesus we can go out tonight in brilliant, dazzling joy ready to meet back together Sunday morning to celebrate his resurrection because death has no power over the Lamb who was slain, Jesus Christ.