At noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And at three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”).

When some of those standing near heard this, they said, “Listen, he’s calling Elijah.”

Someone ran, filled a sponge with wine vinegar, put it on a staff, and offered it to Jesus to drink. “Now leave him alone. Let’s see if Elijah comes to take him down,” he said.

With a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last.

The curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. And when the centurion, who stood there in front of Jesus, saw how he died, he said, “Surely this man was the Son of God!”

- Mark 15:33-38

Even the execution of a guilty man is a tragic thing. How off-course does a life have to be to contemplate such punishment as the best possible outcome? The death of an innocent man could be nothing less than appalling.

What then, is this Good Friday? Why does Jesus' death take centre stage when people began to share the good news? Why does the apostle Paul, writing to the church in Corinth, say, "I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified".

Because the cross says that God loves us. Nothing else that we rely on - nothing else that we look to for our identity or purpose - can compare to the complete self-giving love we see on Calvary. We all desire human love, but human love is always limited. As good as it is, it isn't good like the love we see on Calvary's hill.

Because the cross says that power and brute force doesn't win out in the end. It says that the arc of the universe is indeed long, but it really does bend toward justice - and more, toward our good. It says that a life of service really is the most significant life - even the Son of Man came to serve, and give his life as ransom for many.

The cross says that we can stop reaching and start receiving. We don't have to transcend ourselves to find God, because God has descended to us. He meets us not when we escape our own failings and brokenness, but when we're at our lowest, weakest and most defeated. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

The Church will remember this day as long as it exists. We will sing it, preach it, and pray it until the end of time and beyond. It truly is Good Friday.

Very early in the morning, the chief priests, with the elders, the teachers of the law and the whole Sanhedrin, made their plans. So they bound Jesus, led him away and handed him over to Pilate.

‘Are you the king of the Jews?’ asked Pilate.

‘You have said so,’ Jesus replied.

The chief priests accused him of many things. So again Pilate asked him, ‘Aren’t you going to answer? See how many things they are accusing you of.’

But Jesus still made no reply, and Pilate was amazed.

Now it was the custom at the festival to release a prisoner whom the people requested. A man called Barabbas was in prison with the rebels who had committed murder in the uprising. The crowd came up and asked Pilate to do for them what he usually did.

‘Do you want me to release to you the king of the Jews?’ asked Pilate, knowing it was out of self-interest that the chief priests had handed Jesus over to him. But the chief priests stirred up the crowd to get Pilate to release Barabbas instead.

‘What shall I do, then, with the one you call the king of the Jews?’ Pilate asked them.

‘Crucify him!’ they shouted.

‘Why? What crime has he committed?’ asked Pilate.

But they shouted all the louder, ‘Crucify him!’

Wanting to satisfy the crowd, Pilate released Barabbas to them. He had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified.

- Mark 15:1-15

As we approach Easter, we are invited to step into the story of Jesus' trial and crucifixion—not as distant observers, but as participants. By situating ourselves in this story, role-playing key characters in the Gospel of Mark, we’re challenged to consider the competing claims of truth presented by the Jewish leaders, the Roman authorities, and Jesus himself.

The passage from shows us Jesus standing before Pilate, silent in the face of false accusations. The crowd, stirred by the chief priests, demands the release of Barabbas and the crucifixion of Jesus. Crucifixion was not just execution—it was total humiliation, a public declaration that a person’s life and message were utterly worthless. For the Jewish people, it carried an added spiritual horror: to be hung on a tree was to be cursed by God.

The sermon guides us to imagine the perspectives of three groups:

• The Jewish Leaders: Motivated by fear of losing control and influence, they saw Jesus as a blasphemer and a threat to the religious system. Their “truth” was about protecting tradition and power—even at the cost of an innocent man.
• Pilate and the Roman Authorities: Representing the power of empire, Pilate ultimately chose political convenience over justice. His truth was that might makes right, and public order must be preserved.
• Jesus: Silent yet resolute, Jesus embodied a truth that was not about dominance but about love, peace, and human flourishing—even if it led to the cross.

Each viewpoint presents a different “truth,” and each leads to different consequences. The leaders' choice led to the destruction of the temple. Rome’s path of violence ultimately collapsed. But Jesus’ way, vindicated in resurrection, leads to transformation—a new kind of humanity.

The sermon concludes by challenging us: Whose truth are you living by? Where are your choices leading you? Jesus invites us to build our lives on solid ground—a foundation of wisdom, love, and eternal hope.

43 Just as he was speaking, Judas, one of the Twelve, appeared. With him was a crowd armed with swords and clubs, sent from the chief priests, the teachers of the law, and the elders.

44 Now the betrayer had arranged a signal with them: “The one I kiss is the man; arrest him and lead him away under guard.” 45 Going at once to Jesus, Judas said, “Rabbi!” and kissed him. 46 The men seized Jesus and arrested him. 47 Then one of those standing near drew his sword and struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his ear.

48 “Am I leading a rebellion,” said Jesus, “that you have come out with swords and clubs to capture me? 49 Every day I was with you, teaching in the temple courts, and you did not arrest me. But the Scriptures must be fulfilled.” 50 Then everyone deserted him and fled.

51 A young man, wearing nothing but a linen garment, was following Jesus. When they seized him, 52 he fled naked, leaving his garment behind.

- Mark 14:43–52

This passage explores one of the most poignant and painful moments in the life of Jesus—his betrayal by a friend, his refusal to retaliate, and the abandonment he experienced from those closest to him. We see Jesus receive Judas’ kiss, endure Peter’s misguided attempt at violence, and watch as all his disciples flee into the night.

It’s a story that still speaks powerfully today. Many of us know the sting of betrayal, or the urge to take control when things fall apart. Some of us are carrying shame for the times we’ve run from responsibility, distanced ourselves from faith, or let fear dictate our choices. This passage invites us to see ourselves in the story—and more importantly, to see Jesus’ response.

Jesus does not lash out. He does not abandon his mission. He chooses the path of surrender, even when it costs everything. In doing so, he opens the door to forgiveness—not just for those in the garden that night, but for each of us.

Wherever you are in your journey—wounded, weary, or wandering—this message reminds us that grace is still extended. Jesus stayed so we could come home. Whether you’ve been betrayed, wielded the sword, or fled in fear, the invitation remains: come back to the One who never left.

They went to a place called Gethsemane, and Jesus said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took Peter, James and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,” he said to them. “Stay here and keep watch.”

Going a little farther, he fell to the ground and prayed that if possible the hour might pass from him. “Abba, Father,” he said, “everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.”

Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. “Simon,” he said to Peter, “are you asleep? Couldn’t you keep watch for one hour? Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
- Mark 14:32-38

There are two cups in Mark 14: the cup that all the disciples drink from—the cup of the new covenant—and the cup that Jesus will drink from. The latter is an Old Testament image representing God's judgment:

"Awake, awake! Rise up, Jerusalem, you who have drunk from the hand of the LORD the cup of his wrath, you who have drained to its dregs the goblet that makes people stagger." (Isaiah 51:17)

The idea of judgment as a cup to be drunk originates from the rebellion of Israel at the foot of Mount Sinai. While Moses is on the mountain receiving the Ten Commandments—which begin with the commands not to worship other gods or make idols—the people below are doing exactly that: making an idol and worshipping it. In response, Moses grinds up the idol, sprinkles the powder into the water, and makes them drink it. Symbolically, they are forced to consume the consequences of their idolatry.

Will we experience the consequences of our sin? No. At the heart of the Christian faith is the belief that Jesus takes upon himself the consequences of human rebellion. He drinks the cup of wrath so that those who trust in him do not have to. Instead, we are given the cup of grace—a gift that combines not receiving what we deserve (judgment) with receiving what we do not deserve (eternal life in the love of God).

While they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, “Take it; this is my body.”

Then he took a cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, and they all drank from it.

“This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many,” he said to them. “Truly I tell you, I will not drink again from the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.”
- Mark 14:22-25

The seder feast dating back to the first Passover involved unleavened bread and wine. The bread reminded them of the haste they had to leave Egypt, the wine reminding them of the joy of liberation. Jesus made connections between his new Christian ceremony and the whole of the Hebrew past. Jesus lifted up something from their past (the Exodus) and extended it. He set up something new, something for the future (for the new community).

Even briefly looking at a few of the many themes that Jesus packed densely into this feast can be overwhelming. These things are there not with the expectation we will all understand everything immediately. It is a call to meditate on these words during the week, meditate on Easter, think of Jesus' passion so that as we come to the table our experience will become richer. This table is a place we can come back to again and again for a lifetime knowing that in every weekly cycle there will be another beauty to see, more depths to gaze at.

Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, ‘Take it; this is my body.’

We must stop and make ourselves aware of a sense of sacredness at this point, of something that must be treated with utmost respect, we must position ourselves properly to be in the presence of a holy God.

‘This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many,’ he said to them.

Here we have a link to a core theme of the Hebrew bible: covenant. This goes all the way back to the first pages of the bible, to Noah and Abraham, the people at Mt. Sinai and King David - a formal partnership between God and humanity.

The first Passover feast was celebrated before the Exodus, before the liberation of the people because their identity was to be the people who were liberated from slavery by Yahweh. This table is to form our identity. We become the people who participate in the feast. It must form our past and become our future.

Many years ago I read a Jewish saying and ever since it has stuck with me and become a formative part of my life. It goes “The Jews didn't keep the Sabbath, the Sabbath kept the Jews.” In other words the Sabbath formed their identity as the people who kept God’s Sabbath. And through this formation they endured. It is the same with this table. We need the table. It is through the table we are formed. We don't do God a favour by keeping this table. But the table forms Christ in us and keeps us.

“But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Be on guard! Be alert! You do not know when that time will come. It’s like a man going away: He leaves his house and puts his servants in charge, each with their assigned task, and tells the one at the door to keep watch.

“Therefore keep watch because you do not know when the owner of the house will come back—whether in the evening, or at midnight, or when the rooster crows, or at dawn. If he comes suddenly, do not let him find you sleeping. What I say to you, I say to everyone: ‘Watch!’”

Mark 13:32-37

Jesus offers us a warning to be watchful for his return and being ready—not in a paranoid way, but in a way that keeps us spiritually awake and prepared.

He does this by comparing it to a master who goes away and could come back at any time. The point? No one knows when—not even the angels or Jesus Himself while He was on Earth. That means we shouldn’t get caught up in predicting dates or listening to people who claim they have secret knowledge. Instead, Jesus calls us to stay faithful, live with purpose, and focus on what really matters—prayer, repentance, loving others, and sharing His message.

Being watchful doesn’t mean living in fear, but rather staying spiritually aware, like keeping your house in order before a surprise visit. It’s easy to put things off, but if we truly believe in Jesus' return, our lives should reflect that—right now, not just someday. And if we ever find ourselves getting lost in distractions, Bonhoeffer’s words are a great reminder: Don’t wake up one day and realize you’ve lost your soul in the busyness of life.

So, the takeaway? Don’t worry about predicting the future—just stay awake, stay faithful, and live as people of the Day.

Jesus said to them: “Watch out that no one deceives you. Many will come in my name, claiming, ‘I am he,’ and will deceive many. When you hear of wars and rumours of wars, do not be alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come.
Mark 13:5-7

Mark 13 begins with the disciples marvelling at the grandeur of the Jerusalem temple. Yet Jesus had already condemned it: “Is it not written: ‘My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations’? But you have made it ‘a den of robbers.’” Now, he prophesies its destruction—not one stone will be left upon another. When the disciples ask when this will happen, Jesus answers.

The imagery in Mark 13 refers to the fall of the Temple, not the end of the world. Yet it prompts us to consider how disciples should endure upheaval. We may not be witnessing the world’s end, but we may be seeing the collapse of familiar structures.

Some of what we admire may be what God is dismantling—or allowing to fall. Yet this is no call to despair or withdrawal. Christians are called to pray for leaders, seek reform, and work for the common good, even when the church appears not to prevail. Jesus warned of trials and persecution; faithfulness comes at a cost. To declare “Jesus is Lord” is to reject false messiahs and worldly systems that demand our ultimate allegiance.

But faithfulness is not isolation. The church does not exist for its own sake but to bring life to the world, as Jesus did. Every community is surrounded by deep needs—addiction, loneliness, broken families. The church must engage, listen, and respond with meaningful action.

At the end of a world, we are still called to love—our neighbours and our enemies. Like the exiles in Babylon, we build, plant, and live with hope. Nations will rise against nations, but the kingdom of God remains our true foundation.

Jesus called his disciples to him and said, “I tell you the truth, this poor widow has given more than all the others who are making contributions. For they gave a tiny part of their surplus, but she, poor as she is, has given everything she had to live on.”
Mark 12: 43-44

This portrait of the poor widow can be alarming.

I love her radical trust in God, her radical generosity but also…

This lady is off her rocker!

I need my money. I’ve got kids. A mortgage. I need to eat. There are so many situations I have to take into account when it comes to how I spend my money.

And so, I dismiss her example as an impossible ideal.

Because if I don’t dismiss her story and do so quickly the gap between what I say and what I do might begin to trouble me.

The starting point of how we might begin to live into the radical freedom of the widow is that we realise we cannot.

And we encounter the God who can. A God who put his Spirit in us so that we can live in a manner worthy of all that he has done for us.

We are all called to be fully alive, full of trust and radically generous.

Avoid the temptation to water down the passage by making it abstract. It's an example of being radically different with how we use our money to the culture around us.

Draw near to the presence of God - at church with one another and through reading Scripture. Righten your perspective of your relationship with God whether for the first time or the hundredth time. Then IN right relationship with him, listen and obey.

Ask God and look for the simple next step you can take into a life of radical trust in the abundance and generosity of God.