I led this afternoon’s Good Friday reflection at church. In a quiet service with long periods of silence, it can be quite nerve-wracking to press the buttons to move through a series of slides without ending up rushing through them, so I set the whole thing up as a video instead. As well as the option of just ignoring the screen and making use of the space, I invited participants to either read one or more of the Holy Week narratives from the gospels or to sing verses from My Song is Love Unknown, with a short reflection and suggested passage shared after each one.

If you want, you can find the narratives on the left of the video, each encompassing the story from the triumphal entry on Palm Sunday until death and burial the following Friday). Lyrics and readings will be displayed on the rest of the screen and I will put the short reflections afterwards. The swelling background sound was my cue to play and lead the singing of each verse but that was done live. The whole video lasts an hour although the main content runs from about 7:30 until about 45:00.

Unknown? How can we sing a song describing what Jesus did as ‘love unknown’? Isn’t it because we grasp something of what that love is that we have chosen to come and sit inside a church when we could be enjoying the beautiful weather outside? But look how few we are, a tiny fraction of those who live in Thorpe Acre, Dishley and wider Loughborough. How many of the Palm Sunday crowd really knew who they were cheering for? We understand so little and reflect it so poorly but it is Christ’s love for us which makes us worthy of that love.

Strange? Without knowing what was to come, the whole affair seems strange. Has that Galilean preacher gone completely off his rocker? Any fool can see that Jerusalem is the very last place he ought to be if he values his skin. Jesus knew not only the value of his skin but of his body and his blood. It would pay a debt that must be settled but, to receive the benefit, we must walk in his footsteps, choosing a path that still seems strange to others.

Crucify? For all that we talk of crucifixion, do we realise what an ugly word it is? Torture and murder nailed together in one, ugly, agonising package? In this time and place we are relatively insulated from the horror of what a crucifixion is. Perhaps we have an echo when our bodies and our minds betray us or when we are cut to the quick by the suffering or loss of a loved one? Jesus chose to walk that path to his crucifixion, even for those who hated him and called it to be inflicted on him, thinking it would be the end of him.

Cheerful? In what sense can we imagine that Jesus went this way cheerfully? Perhaps by remembering that the words of this song are old and do not always have the first meaning that come to our modern minds? Perhaps also by recalling that it was not the pain but the purpose that Christ kept in mind. God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.

Mine? This used to be the verse I would skip over to stop the song running on too long. As I’ve grown older though and perhaps a little wiser, I realise I have developed a more compassionate view of people like Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus. They were friends of Jesus who lived among the enemies of Jesus. We don’t know what became of them in the end but we can hope that they held true to the faith shown at their best moments. We can hope that we, too, will manage that.

Stay? If I say the word ‘rest’, do you think of the rest Jesus promised us or the rest of the things you need to get done before Easter? Other gospel accounts recount how Jesus asked the disciples to watch and pray with him and how, instead, they fell asleep. John gives us the privilege of listening into some of Jesus’ prayers from that evening in more detail. Try to rest and stay with him; Jesus longs to stay with you.