Good Friday 2026: Learning from the preachers

Good Friday 2026 hit me hard. The year 2025 was a difficult one for our family, and that pain accompanied me to Good Friday 2026.

Except for two COVID-canceled years, I’ve attended Good Friday services every year since 2008, when the School of Divinity at Wake Forest University began inviting a group of graduating seniors to preach at such a gathering, focusing on the Seven Last Words of Jesus.

This year the event was held at Providence Baptist Church in Greensboro, the oldest African American-founded Baptist congregation in North Carolina (1866).

For me, these Good Friday preachers, now master of divinity graduates, address those seven biblical texts in ways that move from the first to the 21st century. Hearing their words and experiencing their hearts, I realized that they:

• Called us, called me, to recognize that “forgiveness is paramount, but so is justice”
• Challenged us to “be remembered not only for our words, but for courageous acts of faith”
• Reminded us to “listen to God’s voice in broken bodies”
• Dared us to “see the face of Jesus in everyday crucifixions”
• Insisted that we follow Jesus in “solidarity with those residing on the underside of society”
• Asked us to remember that “the love of God has been fully revealed — not in power, not in domination, but in self-giving love”
• Sent us out on Good Friday “not to mourn a victim, but to commemorate a revolutionary”

May the Spirit guide your reading of these sermonic excerpts, appropriate, not just for Good Friday, but for our daily living.

 

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they are doing.” Luke 23:34

Kelly Jenkins Davis

In Luke, and in our own biblical imagination, and here today, the call for forgiveness comes first. … Why does Jesus start here? I think Jesus is trying to illustrate the significance of forgiveness. …  Jesus cries out, “Father, forgive them.” Why? …  My guess is Jesus knows deeply how hard forgiveness is and that we are going to need God’s help to forgive.

Now, who here can’t identify with this?

Calling out to the “Father” reminds us that without God, we struggle to forgive. Especially today, as yet again the American Empire drives wedges among its people, drops bombs onto innocent school children and spreads hatred and instability across the globe. For some of us, the only hope of forgiving is for us to cry out like Jesus, “Father, forgive them,” because we can’t. …

The Cross says that forgiveness is the first step, but it’s not the last. And although people will tell you all you need is forgiveness. The Cross says, “Hold up.” It tells us that accountability and justice are also demanded by God.

The Cross says forgiveness is paramount, but so is justice. So, in closing, let us follow the model of Christ: The call for forgiveness, knowing that call is never to be separated from the call for justice on earth.

 

“Today you will be with me in paradise.”  Luke 23:43

Thomas Maxwell

In the Scriptures leading up to this event, we learn the criminal on the cross uses his voice to rebuke the other criminal, who is talking as if he does not know what he is doing. Maybe the blasphemous criminal needs proof of that by way of Christ saving them? … Nevertheless, the other speaks out, rebuking his words and actions. …  He said, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” And, he said, “Jesus, remember me when thou comest in thy kingdom.”

​Building on this, one could argue that to be remembered, one must act. One must use one’s voice to speak out against injustice, against violations of human rights, against those who claim to love the Lord yet are far from love itself.

The criminal had a voice. I, too, have a voice — one that can free or bind, heal or harm. A voice like John Lewis’ echoes, “When you see something that is not right, not fair, not just, you have to speak up.” How will you use your voice? …

Because of his confession, Christ affirmed that he would be with him in paradise. So, as you leave, remember your voice matters. Use it to speak truth, offer hope and show faith. Let us aspire to be remembered not only for our words, but for courageous acts of faith that draw us closer to God’s promise.

 

“Woman, behold your son!” “Son, behold your mother.” John 19:26-27

James Dolf

“Woman, behold thy son.” These words cut through the noise of everything else that has happened up to this point. He was betrayed; he’s been whipped; he’s carried his Cross. … Yet, while actively dying, he still notices the people surrounding him. He does what any child who loves their parents would do: he makes sure his mother will be cared for once he is gone. He looks at his mother and says, “Here’s your son.” Then he looks at his Beloved Disciple and says, “Here’s your mother.” …

This image of Mary and the Beloved Disciple being chosen for each other to carry on in life reminds me a lot of the concept of chosen family. … For some, their chosen family is simply their family. Unfortunately, there are many who … walk away from their biological families,  … for physical safety, internal peace or any other number of reasons. Yet, there are still others whose families make that choice for them.

In our country today, up to 40% of youth who are experiencing homelessness are queer despite being only 7% to 10% of the general population. And around 40% of that other 40% have reported they were kicked out of their homes simply for being queer.

One thing I have learned through spending time with unhoused folks is that they consider each other family. … It is this chosen family that gives unhoused queer youth a chance at survival. …

Jesus’ body bore his scars from the Cross, from what had been done to him. Likewise, the bodies of unhoused queer youth bear the scars of what has been done to them.

They are crying out for us to do something, anything, to help. And God is speaking to us through their bodies, calling us to act, to do something to change the circumstances; not just for unhoused queer youth, but for all who are marginalized, all who live in bodies that hold the scars and trauma of what has been done to them. Are we willing to listen to God’s voice in broken bodies?

 

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Matthew 27:46

Mallory Challis

Some of you may know that I am a journalist for Baptist News Global. Among a number of topics, the thing I cover most is sexual abuse. …

And sometimes people listen. Usually with faces of discomfort and only the occasional call to action. But what most people tell me about my work is that it is just too depressing. The stories I tell are too devastating. They are too scary to spend much time thinking about.

Suddenly, I hear the cry of dereliction ringing in the back of my mind — to the tune of survivors’ voices.

“My God, my God, why have you ignored us? Why are we abandoned? We are so run-down!”

In today’s age of social media, where stories of tragedies like abuse and police brutality and ICE raids on innocent communities and another foreign war are just one scroll away from a “relaxing AI-generated cat video,” it is all too easy to see the run-down faces of our suffering siblings and simply scroll past. …

Jesus’ cry of dereliction rings beyond his Cross. His crying out — shouting, even — from the mouth of his marginalized brown Jewish body which hangs from the tree of injustice is but one loud shout in the midst of a chorus around the world.

In her book Knowing Christ Crucified, M. Shawn Copeland explains that, yes, it is our whole world that is being crucified. She says: “If we would follow the moans and tears of children, women and men brutalized and burned, raped and mutilated, enslaved and trafficked across the centuries, we cannot but find ourselves standing in a crucified world and standing before a crucified people.”

Church, what does it mean to be a crucified people in a crucified world? I think it means we see the face of Jesus in the everyday crucifixions. It means we stop for a moment beneath the Cross to listen for these cries of dereliction. … We the people of this crucified world, we know that it is not the final word.

 

“I Thirst.” John 19:28

Dennis White

No water, brown or otherwise. No faucet for Jesus. No glass, no Solo, Dixie, Yeti or Stanley. With all the other ways Jesus was mocked, perhaps it would’ve made more sense if … he received it in a chalice or some other royal beverage accessory.

But no. Jesus said, “I thirst.” And instead of Jesus getting the exact thing that would meet the need, in a vessel and by a means that would affirm the little humanity he had left, Jesus is given something other than and forced to make do.

Sound familiar?

So Jesus, whose solidarity with those residing on the underside of society.  … carries that solidarity forward in the death that he is in the midst of dying — as a victim of state-sanctioned violence.

Sound familiar?

Jesus says, “I thirst,” and they give Jesus wine on a hyssop branch. The hyssop branch was not a random twig but rather a tool used to distribute liquids during ritual ceremony. … They used an instrument whose purpose is practically identical to the way our siblings and kindred who practice offering libation to the ancestors would use a pot or jar to pour out liquid in remembrance of those who’ve come before us. … What I’m really saying is that Jesus became a human living libation. …

Instead of … pouring one out for the homie who was dead, they gave a sip to the homie who was dying. Jesus became a human libation. A human testimony to the past, while dying in the present, in solidarity with past, present and future victims of state-sanctioned, and state-manufactured conditions of violence. And in case it hasn’t landed yet, being thirsty because of your skin color, ZIP code and what people in power won’t do to alleviate your thirst is violent. …

Jesus isn’t trying to satiate himself for the sake of situational comfort, he’s trying to slicken his saliva for the sake of his subsequent salvific statements. In other words, Jesus is just trying to clear his throat.

 

“It is Finished!” John 19:30

Rick Wetzel

Today I have been asked to reflect on the sixth word from the Cross, from the Gospel according to John, chapter 19, verse 30. Jesus says, “It is finished.” At first, those words can sound like defeat. A man dying. A life ending. A mission cut short. “It is finished.” It can sound like the end.

But the Gospel of John tells a different story. These are not words of failure. They are words of completion. In the original Greek, the word is tetelestai. It means not just finished, but completed, accomplished, fulfilled. Every act of healing. Every word of truth. Every moment of love. All of it leads here.

And now, from the Cross, he declares: “It is finished.” God does not abandon the work of love. God completes it. Even when the path leads through suffering, … when it leads to a cross. God’s love does not stop halfway. It goes all the way. Nothing has been held back. …

And because of that, something new becomes possible. The work of reconciliation is complete. The door to grace is open. The love of God has been fully revealed. Not in power. Not in domination. But in self-giving love.

We live in a world of unfinished things. Unfinished work. Unresolved conflict. Unhealed wounds. But the Cross tells us: God’s work is not incomplete. God’s work is finished. And because it is finished, we do not have to earn it. … We are invited to receive it. Receive the grace. Receive the love. Receive the mercy.

So on this Good Friday, we hear again the word from the Cross.

Not a word of defeat. But a word of victory.

Not a word of ending. IT IS FINISHED.

 

“Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Luke 23:46

Tyra Bethea

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God, not to mourn a victim, but to commemorate a revolutionary, to celebrate the life and legacy of the King of the Jews, Son of Nazareth, Yeshua Hamashiach, Jesus the Christ. This man whom we love was endeared by many. …

From being a helping hand to being handed over by one of his own. … From using his hands to heal the sick and raise the dead, to now being held to this tree by the nails in his hands, today we gather to commemorate the lynching of our beloved Messiah who was martyred at the hands of an unjust empire. …

And in his divine nature, when mockers employed him to display one last miracle, … Jesus decided to exercise his divine right and take his rest in the hands of the Father.

Tricia Hersey reminds us in Rest is Resistance: A Manifesto: “We are socialized into systems that cause us to conform and believe our worth is connected to how much we can produce. Our constant labor becomes a prison that allows us to be disembodied.”

So after being dismembered by the hands of his oppressors, Jesus decides to perform one last act of liberation by resting in the hands of the Almighty. …  So in his final breath, he lets out a loud cry, a cry not of despair, a cry not of defeat, but a cry of release and a cry for rest. …

Jesus knew he could take all he was carrying, the corruption of the laws, the callousness of his crucifiers, the crown of thorns, the Cross along with the lynching tree, and cry out, “Father into thy hands, I commend my spirit.”

Sleep on, Brother Jesus, you can take your rest. You were wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities. … The chastisement of our peace was upon your shoulders … so you can take your rest because we know that’s not how the story ends. Because early one Sunday morning … after your rest, there’s going to be a resurrection.

 

On Good Friday 2026, a new generation of preachers led us toward Jesus and his Cross. And somewhere along the way, hope and grace broke through. It was a Good Friday. Thank God.

 

Bill Leonard is founding dean and the James and Marilyn Dunn professor of Baptist studies and church history emeritus at Wake Forest University School of Divinity in Winston-Salem, N.C. He is the author or editor of 25 books. A native Texan, he lives in Winston-Salem with his wife, Candyce.