Thy Grievous Sin Bemoan

 Jesu Juva

Isaiah 53:4-5                                                    

March 29, 2024

Good Friday                         

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        The Prophet Isaiah wrote:  Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed Him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.  But He was wounded for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities . . . and by His wounds we are healed.

        Someone has said that Good Friday is not a funeral for Jesus.  And that’s correct.  We shouldn’t weep for Jesus.  We shouldn’t lament for our Lord as we would for some poor soul cut down in the prime of life.  The Christ is no longer a corpse on a cross.  Even in the darkness of Good Friday, we know and believe that Christ is risen, never to die again.  Jesus lives!  The victory’s won!  We shouldn’t pretend otherwise.

        Good Friday is not a funeral for Jesus; but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t mourn and weep.  Some of you are old enough to remember when shops and businesses would close for the day on Good Friday.  Schools would be closed too.  All this to make sure that people could do what you’re doing right now—namely, go to church.

        Good Friday is no funeral; but if it’s not a funeral, then what is it?  To answer that, let me take you back 300 years to Leipzig, in Germany.  At that time, Leipzig was a lovely Lutheran city.  On Good Friday, in Leipzig, the city gates were shut tight.  No traffic.  No commerce.  No school.  Only the solemn church services of Good Friday. And those churches would be full—full for services which probably lasted anywhere from three to four hours or longer.  And what did they do in church for all those hours?  They did what Lutherans do:  They sang and made music to the Lord.

        One hymn in particular was sung every Good Friday.  O Man, Thy Grievous Sin Bemoan.  Over the course of twenty-three stanzas (!), this hymn recounted the entire Passion of our Lord.  The Leipzigers loved this hymn; and they sang all 23 verses with gusto.  But it’s the first phrase of the first stanza that guides our observance of this dark day:  O man, thy grievous sin bemoan.  The verb “bemoan” in German is “bewein.”  It can be translated as “bewail,” “bemoan,” “lament,” or simply “cry over.”

        That hymn phrase teaches something important about Good Friday.  It’s not a funeral for Jesus—not at all.  But it is a day for weeping and mourning—a day for bemoaning, bewailing, lamenting, and crying over our great and grievous sins.  The word of the day is “bemoan.”  So significant is this word that when Bach composed an arrangement of this hymn for his choir in the St. Matthew Passion, the choir sang through ten different musical notes for this two-syllable word.  When you listen, it sounds like the choir is crying, bemoaning, and bewailing.

        Our sin is a crying shame.  Yet most days we give little to no thought to our sin.  We can’t—and shouldn’t—dwell on it every day, after all.  But neither should we casually dismiss our sin as no big deal.  No use crying over spilled milk, we say.  What’s done is done—water under the bridge.  The past is the past.  I once attempted to admonish someone concerning a particular sin, only to hear in response, “Well, Pastor, it is what it is.”  Sin happens.  Whatcha gonna do? 

        Yet the sin we so casually dismiss with a shrug of the shoulders, tonight—on Good Friday—we remember and recall. Tonight we bemoan and bewail that sin.  Tonight it’s appropriate to see our sin with repentance and regret, with remorse and sorrow.  Because tonight we see it all with clarity—monstrously magnified on the man who bears it all away.

        The Evangelists Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John all spilled vast amounts of ink to tell us what happened on Good Friday.  They each give us the facts on which our faith is founded—the facts of what happened and what was said.  Who?  What? When? And where?  And our faith rests firmly and securely on those facts:  Jesus suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried.  But the gospel writers don’t interpret Good Friday.  By and large, they don’t tell us what it all means.

        But the Prophet Isaiah, seven centuries before Good Friday—He saw what would happen.  He explains and interprets.  He tells us what it all means for me and you.  Isaiah tells us the facts too—the fact that the Messiah would be despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.  He tells of the Messiah’s appearance being marred.  Our Lord’s death was bloody, brutal, and cruel beyond compare.  With deep furrows in His flesh, thorns crowning His head, and nails piercing His hands and feet, His dying appearance was marred indeed, beyond human semblance.  O sacred head, now wounded.

        The enduring question is:  Why? Why must the Lord’s servant suffer so horribly?  Why was Jesus numbered with the transgressors when He Himself was without transgression?  Why does the sinless Son of God suffer as a sinner?  Isaiah gives the answer—the answer that grieves the Christian soul:  Why?  Because of our sin.  With brutal clarity Isaiah gives us plenty to bemoan:  Surely, He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows . . . . He was wounded for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities.  Do you hear what I hear?  Our griefs.  Our sorrows.  Our transgressions.  Our iniquities.  Our sins.  All the crushing weight of our sin came crashing down on the Christ.  All of it was laid upon God’s Son, our Savior.

        What did Jesus do to deserve that?  Nothing.  Jesus gave life to the dead.  Jesus healed all the sick and suffering.  Jesus welcomed little children.  Jesus fed the hungry and gave sight to the blind.  Jesus loved us.  What did He do to deserve such anguish and pain?  Nothing.

        But what about you?  What have you done to deserve it?  You know. . .  I know. . .  Each one of us knows with bitter sorrow exactly what we have done, and exactly what we have left undone—idolatries and adulteries—hate and pride—sins for which our Savior was stricken, smitten, and afflicted.  And even worse, we’ve done it all with smug self-satisfaction—counting on cheap grace to carry us through. 

        This is why.  Our Lord suffers in your place.  Our Lord goes to the cross in your place.  Our Lord goes to the grave in your place.  And what He earns for you is not cheap grace, but costly and lavish undeserved love.  What He earns for you is not piecemeal pardon, but full and free forgiveness for the totality of your transgressions.  It is finished.

        No, this is no funeral for Jesus.  But do see your sin on Jesus.  Watch with wonder as He shoulders it all to save you.  For 364 days of the year you can indeed confess your sin and receive absolution, and get on with life you’ve been given.  But, on this one, single, solitary Friday we call “good,” do this:  O man, thy grievous sin bemoan.