The Passion of the Lord Jesus Christ
It is late in the evening of Good Friday as I sit to write this reflection. My day has been filled with the Passion liturgies. I feel tired, relieved and profoundly moved to vulnerability, pain and sadness after a day of immersion in Our Lord’s Passion, Crucifixion, Death and Burial.
My day started early this morning as I shared a short reflection with a group of international Christian meditators via an online gathering. I felt a deep sense of anxiety speaking on such a sacred occasion, aware of the weight of the moment and the audience. It was a profound grace to be part of a community united in silent prayer and reflection on the mystery of the Cross.
Then mid morning I participated in the re-enactment of the Via Dolorosa, the Stations of the Cross. I was deeply saddened by the reflection on Jesus’ journey of humiliation and suffering as he moved towards Calvary, where he was crucified, died and was buried.
My liturgical day ended with the celebration of the Passion of the Lord. This is the heart of the Paschal Triduum, of these three days leading up to Christ’s resurrection. As I stood before the congregation during the Veneration of the Cross, holding the crucifix high for all to see, I felt the weight not only of the wood but of the sorrow, the silence, and the shared grief of the gathered faithful.
One by one, they came forward—some kneeling, others bowing, a few gently touching or kissing the cross—each gesture a silent prayer, a personal surrender, a profound acknowledgment of love poured out. The solemn chants, the bare altar, the stripped sanctuary—all spoke of loss, yet hinted at hope.
As night falls and the church lies in stillness, I carry with me the echo of that collective lament, and a quiet expectation that even in this darkest hour, light will break forth.
Good Friday invites us not to rush past the pain but to sit with it—to witness the suffering of Jesus, to ponder the weight of sin and the mystery of love that overcomes it. At the foot of the cross, we stand with Mary, John, and the others, silent and stunned, not fully understanding, yet refusing to walk away.
In our daily experiences whenever something dirty comes into contact with purity, the purity and cleanliness is defiled. Yet, with God, the purity is so complete and vast that all impurity is consumed into purity and becomes pure. On the cross the purity of Jesus absorbs all our impure sins and yet remains pure. On the cross we are made clean. In Him we become an unblemished offering to God the Father in atonement for our sins.
On the cross, Jesus transforms us. He says to God the Father ‘Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do’. This is pure gift, not deserved. Yet, as with all gifts, it has to be accepted and embraced. It has to be internalized. We have to open ourselves to transformation.
To be transformed by Jesus on the cross means allowing the truth of Christ’s pure love to penetrate the hardened places within us—the wounds we bear, the grudges we carry, the guilt we harbour. It means daring to believe that we are truly forgiven, even when we feel unworthy. It also means forgiving others, just as we have been forgiven, and choosing to live not from fear or pride, but from mercy and humility.
Today we also reflect on the crosses we’ve borne and the ones we still carry—the heartbreaks, the failures, the betrayals, the long silent nights of grief or loss. Jesus says ‘Take up your cross and follow me’ (Matthew 16:24-26, Luke 9:23). We remember when life didn’t turn out as we hoped, when we felt abandoned, when we cried out like Jesus, ‘My God, why have you forsaken me?’ Jesus is inviting us to offer up these crosses on His cross.
Probably we are facing such crosses this Holy Week, times when hope feels distant and love feels costly. If so, I urge us to accept Jesus' invitation and loose ourselves in Him as He gives Himself completely, holding nothing back. In His suffering, we are healed. In His death, we are not without hope. Let us kneel at His cross today—not just in sorrow, but in awe of a love so obedient to the Father, so faithful, that it cleans us of our sins.