Dear brothers and sisters, today is the most solemn day in the Church’s calendar. There is no Mass, no consecration, no final blessing—only silence, the solemn reading of the Passion, the veneration of the Cross, and our prayers. Today, we stand at the foot of the Cross and look upon the one whom they have pierced. And we are invited to contemplate the depth of God’s love revealed in suffering.
Saint John’s account of the Passion, which we just heard, is striking in its clarity and power. Jesus is not a passive victim. He is in control. When the soldiers arrive to arrest Him in the garden, He steps forward and asks, “Whom are you looking for?” They say, “Jesus the Nazorean.” And He replies with the divine name: “I AM.” The soldiers fall to the ground—not because of a sword or an army, but because of His divine presence and authority.
This is not a story of defeat. It is a story of divine love willingly poured out. Jesus, the innocent Lamb, embraces the cross, not because He must, but because He chooses to. He chooses to enter into our suffering, our sin, our death, so that none of it will have the last word.
There are many characters in today’s Passion narrative, and each one invites us to reflect on ourselves. There is Judas, who betrays Jesus for thirty pieces of silver. He reminds us how easy it is to sell out our faith for worldly gain or convenience. There is Peter, who in his fear denies Jesus three times, reminding us of our own failures in moments of weakness or fear. There is Pilate, who knows the truth but washes his hands of responsibility, choosing popularity over righteousness.
And then, there is Mary, standing at the foot of the Cross, silent, steadfast, faithful to the end. With her is the beloved disciple. And to them, Jesus gives a new relationship—“Woman, behold your son… Behold your mother.” In His final moments, Jesus is still giving, still forming the Church, entrusting us to the care of His Mother and giving her to us as our own.
The heart of this day is not simply the horror of the Cross, but the love that it reveals. The Cross is not a symbol of defeat—it is the throne of mercy. Jesus is lifted up, not in shame, but in glory. This is how God reigns: not by domination, but by self-emptying love. This is how sin is conquered—not by force, but by forgiveness. This is how death is defeated—not by avoidance, but by entering into it and transforming it from within.
When Jesus says, “It is finished,” it is not a cry of despair. It is a declaration of fulfillment. His mission is complete. The work of our redemption is done. The curtain of the Temple is torn. Heaven is opened. Nothing now separates us from the love of God.
But Good Friday is not the end of the story. As we reverence the Cross today, we do so not with hopelessness, but with profound gratitude and quiet confidence. The Cross leads to the empty tomb. Suffering leads to resurrection. Death leads to life.
So today, we gaze upon the Cross not as a relic of the past, but as a living sign of God’s love for us here and now. Whatever cross you carry—whether it is sorrow, illness, anxiety, or sin—know that Christ has gone before you. He is with you. And through His Passion, He has made all things new.
Let us then venerate the Cross with hearts full of reverence, humility, and love. Let us lay our burdens before it, trusting that from this place of suffering flows mercy, healing, and peace.
We adore You, O Christ, and we praise You,
because by Your Holy Cross, You have redeemed the world.