It’s Holy Week. Today is Good Friday…
“And Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.’” ~ Luke 23:34
The most destructive displays of sin are often hidden in the brutality we inflict on one another—in words and in deeds. In the warring and the verbal assault. In the hatred and venom we cloak in self-righteousness. We use God’s Word as a window to judge others, rather than as a mirror to examine our own hearts—our ignorance and our complicity.
Good Friday causes us to linger where we would rather rush past: the suffering of the Innocent and the sin of the guilty. In Luke’s telling, Jesus does not wait for the world to understand Him before He loves it. While the injustice is still happening, Jesus speaks:
Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.
Not because they are innocent—but because sin blinds us. It sears the conscience, baptizes cruelty as “duty,” and convinces us our anger is righteous and our hands are clean.
So when we hear Jesus utter—amid His suffering—the compassionate plea, “Father, forgive them…,” we envision the soldiers who crucified Him; the priests who condemned Him; the magistrate who washed his hands; and the crowds who went from cheering to jeering in a matter of days. We hear the laughter and taunts—the smug satisfaction of those who think they have silenced Him.
There is a “them” of power, a “them” of piety, a “them” of the crowd—and a “them” of silence.
Jesus says from Calvary’s cross: Father, forgive them…
Who is this “them” for whom Jesus intercedes?
Who is this “them” to whom Jesus commends forgiveness?
Who is this “them” that compels Jesus to stop dying—just long enough—to breathe out blessing?
And while staring through this glass, dimly, I realize: what I first perceived as a window is actually a mirror. The cross is not only about what they did long ago; it exposes what sin still does in us—how we wound and justify, exclude and spiritualize, stay silent and excuse.
The ‘them’ to whom Jesus surrenders His hands and His feet…
The ‘them’ for which Jesus bows His head…
The ‘them’ for whom Jesus intercedes…
This “them” is not a “them” at all…
This ‘them’ is us…
This ‘them’ is you…
This ‘them’ is me…
It’s me when I choose convenience over courage.
It’s me when I choose comfort over character.
It’s me when I would rather be right than be reconciled.
It’s me when I can live with somebody else’s suffering—as long as it doesn’t disrupt my peace.
Amid intense pain, overwhelming grief, and sorrowful isolation, Jesus gives His dying breath to declare grace upon those who conspired, colluded, or were complicit in His suffering.
Jesus does not pretend the nails are not nails, and He does not call evil “good.” He tells the truth about what is being done to Him—and then He prays anyway.
This is not optimistic denial. Jesus breaks the cycle of sin by declaring grace and embodying mercy in the face of reality.
Father, forgive them… for they know not what they do…
Father, forgive us…
Father, forgive me…
For insolence—when we behave like we are beyond reproach. For individualism—when we forget we belong to each other. For insularity—when our circle gets so small that compassion can’t get in.
For isolation—when we retreat and call it “peace.” For inconsideration—when we resist acknowledging who we’ve bruised. For egotism—when everything must revolve around us. For ignorance—when we refuse to know, because knowing would require change.
Jesus entreated the Father for grace…
Before we confess it right. Before we feel it deeply. Before we fix what we broke. Before we ever find the words— Jesus finds the prayer.
Father, forgive them…
So, for a moment, let’s not rush. Let’s not rationalize. Let’s not become defensive. Let Jesus’ prayer land where He intended.
Father, forgive them…
He offered before we ask,
He offered beyond our actions,
He offered even when we were at our worst,
He offered—without regard for the cost—
Forgive them…
Forgive us…
Forgive me…
For they, we—I know not what I do…
The haunting image of our Suffering Savior
Pierces me through to my very soul…
When turning aside in horror,
In my own hands I behold
The hammer and the nails,
I hold.
Father… Forgive them?
Father, forgive us…
Father, forgive me…
Especially when we don’t know what we are doing.
Good Morning, I love you all!