Here at the foot of the cross, one image is seared into our memories. It’s an image that is gentle yet powerful enough to outlast betrayal and a change from light into darkness. It’s the look of our Lord, kneeling at our feet and washing them, as he did for us last night. As he washes away their dirt, as we let him serve us and as he calls us to serve others, we remember that loving look, which is not from above but from below. Jesus looks up at us as he washes our feet. And that look is worth a thousand words.
We, who know how this story ends, who’ve heard it countless times, can’t forget that look. We humans know how to communicate all kinds of things with just a look, especially when we can’t say anything. In the most furtive of circumstances, sometimes, a look is all we can give or receive. In this cruel world of ours, we must keep that look alive. With that look, we announce to those who have eyes to see that there is a truer story than the one that purports to be true.
Throughout the entire drama of this holiest of weeks, there are two narratives happening. There’s the plain, obvious narrative of the drama, of a man unjustly brought to a fake trial, sentenced to death, and crucified on a cross. But there’s another narrative, the narrative we know that threads its way through the brutal events of this week, and this narrative is guided by that loving look from Christ, as he gazes upon us while washing our feet.
These two narratives are in deep juxtaposition and tension on this day. It’s as if John’s Gospel is written in code. On the level of the world—the cosmos—everything is fighting against the truth of God. This is the world without eyes to see or ears to hear. To encounter the precious story this way is to experience it from creation to the cross, as a treacherous undoing of God’s work. But with eyes re-formed by that loving look from below, we can experience the story from the cross back to creation. Two narrative strands are twisting together on this day, vying for our attention and a place in our hearts. Which one will win?
With Jesus’s loving look from below in our minds, we enter the story. Judas with his band of soldiers seek Jesus out, a chilling foil to the disciples who would honorably seek and follow Jesus. Judas and his cronies pursue Jesus in the garden with lanterns and torches and weapons. The garden is just a garden, but we know it’s more. We know that creation and light and goodness start in the garden, and so we have a hint that flowers are ready to bud. We know that if those dishonorably seeking Jesus had believed that he was the light of the world, they wouldn’t have needed torches and lanterns.
We know that when Jesus is dressed up like an earthly king and Pilate introduces him to those calling for his death, he says, “Behold the man!” We know that he is true man, but we also know that he is true God. We know that those calling for his death look upon him as an impostor, a human criminal. But we know that what the world considers criminal in this case is indeed truth itself.
We know, too, that when Pilate says again to the people, “Behold your King!” that Jesus is indeed a king, but not the kind of king the people were anticipating. Recalling that loving look of Jesus from below as he washed our feet last night, we know that this king will not save by brute strength or revenge or violence. This king will die on the cross as the Passover lambs are sacrificed in the Temple. Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, is what John the Baptist said earlier about him. John knew something early on that no one else could understand.
And here we are, standing at the foot of the cross, as our sacrificial Lamb gives of his life willingly so that the entire world can be saved, so that we can be reconciled with God and one another. In the narrative of the world that encounters this story and has encountered this story from time immemorial, there’s only a wayward man hanging on a cross with a band of bereft former disciples wondering why they ever followed him.
But in the narrative propelled forward by that loving look from below in the washing of feet, there’s so much more to the story. Behold, the man hanging on the wood that will enable flowers to spring up from the dead earth! Behold, the Good Shepherd who has called his sheep by name, who know his voice, which is why they’ve followed him all the way to the foot of the cross! Behold, the Good Shepherd who gives his life for the sheep! Behold, the door, the gate of heaven! Behold, the bread of life whose broken body will be our eternal food for life’s journey! Behold, the light of the world that shines in the darkness of human cruelty! Behold, the vine whose blood becomes our spiritual drink! Behold, the way and the truth and the life, the one who gives us life in the face of death!
This entire week we have moved from fickle, faithless betrayal on Palm Sunday to allowing our feet to be washed by our Lord last night, to experiencing that loving look from below as Jesus reminds us of the truth of this story, our story. And today, we’ve made it all the way to the foot of the cross, closing that horrid distance between Palm Sunday and Good Friday.
And something remarkable happens out of the deep darkness. After the last act of betrayal, after Jesus has been nailed to the cross and his earthly garments divided as a visible sign of an undoing of creation, our perspective shifts. For those of us who know the true narrative of this story, who know the secret code of this Gospel, who remember the loving look of Jesus from below, darkness turns to light. The undoing that has happened since Judas’s betrayal last night is suddenly transfigured into a glorious remaking.
Until this point, everyone has been pointing fingers at Jesus. Behold, the Lamb of God! Behold, the man! Behold, your King! But now, in his final words, Jesus speaks. Reigning from the tree, he says the words that spark this new creation that his life, death, and resurrection will bring. Looking, now from above, at the Blessed Mother, he says, “Woman, behold, your son!” And looking, now from above, at John, he says, “Behold, your mother!”
At the foot of the cross, in the face of betrayal and violence and cruelty, Jesus forms the Church, his risen body that will continue his work in the world. And now, instead of looking at Jesus from the narrative of the world, we look at the world from the perspective of Jesus on the cross. We are there with him. All has changed. A new creation is born.
And having completed this final action, Jesus utters his last words, “It is finished.” As he looks down again, we look up into our new future, into heaven, which is our destiny. Now, we are living from the perspective of the cross looking at the world in love. It is finished. It is complete. To that angry, factious world of ours, those words are a death sentence, an end to the antics of this perceived troublemaker. But to us, who know the real story, who know Truth incarnate, who believe in him, who have followed the voice of the Good Shepherd all the way to his death, we know that in this end, the story is only just beginning.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
Good Friday
April 18, 2025