April 18, 2025

Good Friday, Year C

Epiphany, Winnipeg

On Thursday morning I set out for a walk around the neighbourhood here to see what I could see in this Holy Week. The first thing I walked by were those apartments on the other side of the parking lot from us, that stretch west along Dalhousie. Some of it’s subsidized Manitoba Housing, some of it is market value, all of it is inhabited by people with a story. Some beautiful stories, some heartbreaking stories, some stories of their own making, some stories written by culture or politics or economics or family. They’ve all got a story.

Next stop along the way was the daycare next door as I walked east and then south on Dalhousie. The playground was filled with kids: such adorable kids. I didn’t stop and look, because that would be creepy, but as I strolled along I saw kids on slides and kids on their knees digging in the sand, and kids running around and chasing each other and yelling and laughing. All those kids, those little kids who are so new to the world, have a rich and complicated story. A story that will make your heart overflow, or a story that might bring you to tears, or maybe a little or a lot of both. But every one of those kids has a story.

As I walked further down Dalhousie I was passed by a rusty ’06 or so Honda Civic, and then a spanky new Land Rover drove by the other way. I walked around the parking lot and the building just south of the church. It appears to be a hospital for sick vehicles, and around the back it looks more like a cemetery for cars that have just suffered too much trauma. What are the stories of the people who used to drive those cars? What happened to the driver of that one with the front end mostly gone? Can the owner of that other one over there afford the repairs? They’ve all got a story.

Last stop: the main entrance to the church, and the ongoing saga of the garbage bins – did one get stolen again? – and the graffiti that was there a few months ago and then that window in my office that’s screwed shut to hold it in place since someone broke in last fall. And I thought to myself – you can probably see this coming – every garbage bin stealer and tagger with a spray can and pryer-open-of-church-windows has a story or two. Sure, they may be responsible and need to be accountable for what they’ve done, but they’ve got a story, and the story isn’t that they’re worse sinners than me or you or anyone who respects church property. They’re people with stories that might warm your heart or chill you to the bone or just make you sad. Who knows? Stories that they’ve written themselves or stories written by culture or politics or economics or family. But they’ve all got a story.

The ones on the news – the ones we love, the ones we hate, the ones doing so much harm, the ones doing what they can to bring joy and love and justice and peace. They’ve all got a story. All kinds of stories.

And those stories matter so much to the one who has just now been taken down from the cross and laid in a tomb.

There is something familiar about all that. Each of us has a story, don’t we? Stories everybody knows or that we keep to ourselves, stories that keep on breaking our heart, or stories that make it easy to go through another fabulous day. We carry them all with us, all at the same time.

Maybe the Passion of Jesus this Good Friday is as simple as this: All these stories, all around us and inside us, they matter to God. They matter so much that Jesus is born into the world to be a part of it all; not to watch from a distance but to be swept along somehow in so much joy. Remember when he was born, or when he fed all those people on the hillside, or when he healed a rich man's daughter, or when he raised a woman's son from the dead or sat at a feast with his friends?

All our stories matter so much that Jesus is born into the world to be a part of it all; not to watch from a distance but to be swept along with all the fear and troubles. Remember when he and his mom and dad were refugees running from Herod? Remember when he starved in the desert, or when his own hometown friends wanted to get rid of him, or when he saw how the society around him treats the poor or the sick or the prophets or the kids? Remember when the ones with power decided to get rid of him, and that trial and crucifixion?

It’s like that old Amanda Marshall song: Everybody’s Got a Story That’ll Break Your Heart. Today even Jesus has a story that might just break your heart. Like all those other stories. And they all matter enough that Jesus will stay in it right to the end and beyond.

But just before we leave, we’ll hear and speak a hint, just a hint, that the story is not over, and that it might just be a story that will heal the broken heart of us and all creation.