There were two crowds that doleful Friday that we call Good. The one was apparently composed of supporters of the religious and political leadership. It was their voices that screamed “Crucify him. Crucify him.” There was another crowd, often overlooked that lined the Via Dolorosa, the way of sorrows, to mourn the Lord as he, stumbling, dragged his cross to the site of crucifixion.

“Do not weep for me,” the Lord said to these who followed him mourning and lamenting. This was the path that the Father and he had chosen. Others had tried to divert him. In the wilderness Satan had suggested an easier way. When Jesus asked the disciples who the people said that he was, he received a Gallup poll report. When he asked who they thought he was, Peter voiced their conviction loud and clear: “You are the Christ, the Son of God.” And then Peter was aghast at the Lord’s description of what being the Christ actually entailed. Again in the Garden of Gethsemane, when confronted by the enormity of what was being asked of him, the Lord quailed, but committed himself to the task, “Thy will be done.”

His feet were firmly on the path, and the path led outside of the city of Jerusalem. As the Scottish theologian, George MacLeod put it, “Jesus was not crucified in a cathedral between two candles but on a cross between two thieves; on a town garbage heap; at a crossroad of politics so cosmopolitan that they had to write His title in Hebrew and in Latin and in Greek … and at the kind of place where cynics talk smut, and thieves curse, and soldiers gamble. Because that is where He died, and that is what He died about.

On that day, in that place, Jesus was precisely where he needed to be. Jesus Christ, the child of Bethlehem, was born for this moment. God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself. Yes, this is a story of pain, but it is pain suffered for our benefit. The suffering and death of Jesus Christ was undertaken in order that you and I might be free to live as the children of God.

“Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children,” the Lord said. And the tears would be justified. In the not too distant future the city of Jerusalem would once again be destroyed.   The people forced to flee. The magnificent temple constructed by Herod reduced to rubble, so that only part of the foundation remains.

The daughters of Jerusalem would have ample reason to weep for themselves. The reason for tears continues. During the interfaith concert at Temple Kol Ami Emmanu-El, there were two LED monitors, one on either side of the choirs as they performed. On the screens was a live feed from the Western Wall, the wailing wall in Jerusalem. As I watched people approach the wall, I noticed that there was a fence running out from the wall, a hundred foot long fence which separated one group of prayers from the other—men from women. Yes, you can write a prayer on a piece of paper and push it into a crevice in the wall. It will be gathered by a caretaker and buried in a 2,000 year old cemetery on the Mount of Olives to become an eternal prayer. You can write your prayer, but you can’t pray together. That is the story not only of Jewish people who gather at the wall, but of so many followers of the Christ today.

“Father, forgive them,” the Lord spoke from the cross. We immediately assume that he had in mind the soldiers who nailed him to the cross and hoisted it into place. Possibly he was speaking of the rulers who mocked him in his pain, “He saved others. Let him save himself if he is the Christ of God.” Even the soldiers took up the cry, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself.” Or was his plea for forgiveness all-encompassing, reaching across the years to those who would bear and too often dishonor his name?

Over the past several weeks we have talked about the prodigal son, the waiting father, and the elder son. What thoughts must have run through his mind, as the prodigal trudged home? He was prepared to accept responsibility for his actions. He already had his speech of repentance firmly in hand. He knew his destination, but he was unsure of his reception. It’s a bit like the country and western song about a man who has spent the last three years in prison. He wrote his wife that if she would still have him, to tie a yellow ribbon ‘round the old oak tree. “If,” he wrote, “I don’t see the ribbon, I’ll stay on the bus and forget about us.” Can you imagine the trepidation that he would have felt as the bus approached the point at which his life would be decided? He was afraid to look. “Look for me,” he said to the bus driver. Then the whole bus was cheering. For there was a hundred yellow ribbons round the old oak tree.

The waiting Father may not have tied ribbons around a tree, but the welcome was just as heartfelt. Beyond the tears of the daughters of Jerusalem was an assured reconciliation and homecoming. It was a homecoming for us. It was for this that Jesus died.

As our Lenten journey draws ever closer to the cross, we do need to acknowledge the depth of pain that was entailed in the Lord’s suffering and death. The crucifixion took place in a very harsh world. Those who were crucified were meant to suffer a cruel and lingering death. But the point of Holy Week is to remind us that all of this was done for our sake. The Gospel message is that Jesus Christ suffered and died that you and I might live.