Good Friday's Call to Sacrifice

The Triduum continues. Today, we celebrate the Lord's passion, hearing again the sacred story of his death, this day hearing St. John's account. It is in this account that we hear that Jesus himself carried the cross, that he without question took it up. There is no agony here - he freely choses to give his life, to lay it down. And, as we recall, he has the power to take it up.

He is the innocent Lamb of God, our passover lamb that is without spot or blemish. Perfect as the Son of God made man, he alone has the ability to be our offering. He is put to death as across Jerusalem in the temple area, the priests were preparing the passover lamb, sacrifice the spotless lambs as a token reminder of the freedom symbolized by their ancestors first lambs' blood on their doors and lintels. But our Lamb is more - he makes the freedom happen. He becomes our sin offering, taking upon himself our sin, our shame, our death. He puts it to death, transforms it by his sacrifice. How many times have our sins crushed him? How many times have we pounded the nails with our iniquities? How many times have we crowned him with our disobedience?

But how many times have we come back to the font of his grace? How many times have we asked to be washed clean by the blood (of the Eucharist) and the water (of Baptism and reconciliation)? How many times have we peered into his most sacred heart which has so loved us?

We celebrate our salvation, wrought for us in Christ's sacrifice. It is no accident that he died. It was not an unfortunate episode in his life. No, it was for this reason that he lived! Now, he calls us to follow him, the way, the truth, and the life. He invites us to take up our own cross, now transformed from the instrument of death into a means of grace.

O sacred Head, now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with
thorns, Thine only crown;
How pale Thou art with anguish,
With sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish,
Which once was bright as morn!

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered,
Was all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior!
'Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor,
Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee,
Thou noble countenance,
Though mighty worlds shall fear Thee
And flee before Thy glance.
How art thou pale with anguish,
With sore abuse and scorn!
How doth Thy visage languish
That once was bright as morn!

Now from Thy cheeks has vanished
Their color once so fair;
From Thy red lips is banished
The splendor that was there.
Grim death, with cruel rigor,
Hath robbed Thee of Thy life;
Thus Thou hast lost Thy vigor,
Thy strength in this sad strife.

My burden in Thy Passion,
Lord, Thou hast borne for me,
For it was my transgression
Which brought this woe on Thee.
I cast me down before Thee,
Wrath were my rightful lot;
Have mercy, I implore Thee;
Redeemer, spurn me not!

What language shall I borrow
to thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever,
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
Outlive my love to Thee.

My shepherd, now receive me;
My guardian, own me Thine.
Great blessings Thou didst give me,
O source of gifts divine.
Thy lips have often fed me
With words of truth and love;
Thy Spirit oft hath led me
To heavenly joys above.

Here I will stand beside Thee,
From Thee I will not part;
O Savior, do not chide me!
When breaks Thy loving heart,
When soul and body languish
In death's cold, cruel grasp,
Then, in Thy deepest anguish,
Thee in mine arms I'll clasp.

The joy can never be spoken,
Above all joys beside,
When in Thy body broken
I thus with safety hide.
O Lord of Life, desiring
Thy glory now to see,
Beside Thy cross expiring,
I'd breathe my soul to Thee.

My Savior, be Thou near me
When death is at my door;
Then let Thy presence cheer me,
Forsake me nevermore!
When soul and body languish,
Oh, leave me not alone,
But take away mine anguish
By virtue of Thine own!

Be Thou my consolation,
My shield when I must die;
Remind me of Thy passion
When my last hour draws nigh.
Mine eyes shall then behold Thee,
Upon Thy cross shall dwell,
My heart by faith enfolds Thee.
Who dieth thus dies well.