Good Friday begins in silence. The presider lies face down at the foot of the sanctuary, before the cross. The assembly kneels. There is no greeting, no sign of the cross, no opening hymn. The liturgy doesn’t wait for us to speak; the ritual is itself the voice. It invites us to listen, to witness and to immerse ourselves in the mystery of Christ’s passion.
In a recent conversation with Scripture scholar Luke Timothy Johnson on “Preach: The Catholic Homilies Podcast,” I invited him to reflect on the accounts of Jesus’ Passion in the Gospels of Luke and John. While this is the Year of Luke and we heard his account on Palm Sunday, we always hear John’s Gospel proclaimed on Good Friday.
What follows is a distilled summary of our exchange, along with lightly edited excerpts, intended to highlight the insights Professor Johnson shared about the liturgy of Good Friday and the Passion narrative in John’s Gospel, proclaimed every year on this solemn day.
1. Silent witness: The cross is the preacher’s voice
Holy Week is the most significant and meaningful time in our Christian calendar, stretching from Palm Sunday through the Easter Vigil. These liturgies demand the full attention of the faithful as they gather multiple times throughout the week. With so much happening, it’s essential that our preaching during this time aligns with the purpose of the liturgy. The General Instruction of the Roman Missal offers guidance on how homilies should be brief and focused, ensuring they draw the congregation into the mystery of Christ’s death, suffering and resurrection. But what is the preacher’s role these days?
Professor Johnson: Fundamentally, to get out of the way. I think your point about what is being asked of God’s people during the liturgies of Holy Week is on point. The readings are extensive. They are involving; requiring the congregation’s active participation. The whole point of the Holy Week liturgy, it seems to me, is to draw us into the mystery of Christ’s death, his suffering, and then on Easter Sunday, his resurrection. It is highly participatory, and although there's lots of words said, it is also a time of very significant liturgical movement, very significant ritual action.
I think preaching should be very succinct—if practiced at all. Speaking as a layman, sitting at the pew for many, many experiences of Holy Week, I can assure you that preaching tends to take away from the drama of liturgy rather than add to it. Now, if we are going to preach, the entire point seems to me to be the reminder of what this liturgy invites us to do, and that is to enter into the mystery, to participate in the suffering and death, to practice silence, to practice attentiveness, and so forth. I mean, so don’t do it. Do it briefly and point back to the liturgy.
2. It’s more than words
The hear-a-pin-drop silence of a packed congregation at the start of the Good Friday liturgy speaks louder than any words could. The presider’s prostration is not merely a dramatic gesture; it is an act of surrender. The people's kneeling joins in that same surrender. Together, we—the worshiping Body of Christ—embody the humility and reverence that prepare us for the mystery ahead.
How might we, as preachers and ministers of God’s Word, invite our communities into that same silence and surrender, allowing the ritual to speak to their hearts before we even open our mouths?
Professor Johnson: It speaks for itself. This is an example of where I think words don’t add anything. The whole point of ritual behavior is that the ritual does the speaking.
3. Jesus is a steadfast witness to the truth
In John’s telling, Jesus walks to the cross willingly, steadfast in his mission. His conversation with Pilate is not just about political power; it is a confrontation with the truth. Jesus’ calm clarity in the face of questioning stands in stark contrast to Pilate’s cynicism and uncertainty.
How might we embody that same clarity and conviction when speaking about suffering, steadfastness and truth in our own communities?
Professor Johnson: Probably one of the most striking features of John’s Passion account is the extended dialogue with Pilate, and so dramatically, it’s extraordinarily gripping.
Two aspects of it that I would like to point out. Jesus is portrayed as a steadfast witness to the truth. “This is the reason I was born—to bear witness to the truth.” Over against Pilate, of course, who famously asks, “What is truth?” Cynical political leader. “What’s the narrative?” we would say today.
But, in terms of preaching, if one must preach, I think the point could be made that the solitary vocation of every human person is to bear witness to the truth. It is a vocation that nobody can do for us. We can’t witness to somebody else’s truth, and we have to be able to witness it before the powers of the world that don’t want us to witness to the truth.
The second aspect of the Pilate scene is another disputed text in Greek, which is when Pilate takes Jesus for the last time, dressed in his robe, crown of thorns. Does Pilate sit in his seat of judgment, on the Bema, or does he put Jesus in that seat and say, “Behold, your King” and the Jewish population says, “We have no king but Caesar?”
In contrast to Luke, this is a very sharp rejection of the kingship of Jesus by the population in Jerusalem. That whole Pilate scene is dense in John’s Gospel—the betrayal, the denial—which is a threefold betrayal—of Peter, in John’s Gospel, is neatly juxtaposed to the witnessing of Jesus. It leads to a reflection on genuine discipleship, genuine following. It’s a classic instance of caving in to popular opinion. “Surely, you’re not one of his disciples—are you?” And Peter says, “Oh no, not me, man. I’m just from the same area.” So Jesus is steadfastly witnessing, and Peter is caving in every direction.
4. Don’t overlook the women who stayed to the end
In John’s Passion, the women—Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of Jesus, and the “daughters of Jerusalem,” who mourn as Jesus carries his cross—are not distant bystanders. They are present, standing with Jesus in his suffering. Their presence is not passive; it is a testament to love and faithfulness that endures in the face of pain.
How might we invite our communities to reflect on the example of these women? How can we model a discipleship of presence—one that stays close to Christ and stands with those most vulnerable in times of crisis?
Professor Johnson: The scene of Mary and the women, not viewing from a distance but right there at the cross with the Beloved Disciple.… It’s a very poignant moment, to be sure, but also one in which Jesus’ care for others continues even to the moment of his death.
5. Reconsider who stays close: The case for Lazarus
Professor Johnson offers a new understanding of the Beloved Disciple: What if it’s Lazarus? The one Jesus loved, the one he raised, the one whose resurrection sets the Passion in motion. If that’s the case, resurrection isn’t just a triumphant ending—it’s the start of a discipleship that remains faithful to the end, even when the journey leads through suffering, and even death.
How do we preach resurrection not as a distant event, but as something we all live now? How do we invite others into a faith that walks with Jesus, even when the path leads through hardship?
Professor Johnson: More and more, I’ve come to think that the Beloved Disciple is Lazarus. We often think, “Oh, it’s the evangelist.” There’s no reason to think that. Lazarus is the one whom Jesus loved—it’s said from chapter 11 on. And the raising of Lazarus—not the cleansing of the temple—is the precipitating event for the opposition to turn against Jesus.
And it is the Beloved Disciple who lies on Jesus’ breast and asks, “Who is the one who is going to betray you?” And it is the Beloved Disciple who follows Jesus into the court of the high priest, following him faithfully. And there he is at the cross with Mary, his mother, and Jesus says, “Woman, behold your son.” And to the Beloved Disciple, he says, “Behold your mother.” Now the preacher might ask, whom is Jesus referring to when he says, “Woman, behold your son”? Is it a gesture of, “Hey Mary, look at Lazarus. He’s yours”? Or is it, “Woman, behold the one to whom you gave birth. Behold your Son”? There’s no question that the second phrase, “Son, behold your mother,” is a bestowal of Mary into the care of the Beloved Disciple.
6. Jesus is in control: The meaning behind ‘It is finished’
In John’s Gospel, Jesus is fully in control of his death. His final words, “It is finished,” are not cries of abandonment, but a declaration of fulfillment. He knows his mission is complete. His surrender is an act of will, not defeat. This contrasts sharply with the other Synoptic Gospels, where Jesus’ final words are filled with anguish and a sense of forsakenness. In Matthew and Mark, Jesus cries out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mt 27:46, Mk 15:34). These words reflect a moment of deep, relational suffering as Jesus experiences the abandonment of the Father. How do we preach a Christ who is not overwhelmed by suffering, but who remains purposeful even in the face of death? How do we help our communities find fulfillment in Christ, seeing in his surrender not defeat but the completion of God’s will?
Professor Johnson: In John’s Gospel, Jesus is totally in control. He knows that all things have been brought to fulfillment. He says, “It is finished,” and he hands over his spirit, which is the proper translation. The Greek word is paradidōmi—he handed over the spirit.
And the clear implication within the Gospel of John—when we realize that the soldier pierces his side didn’t break Jesus’ bones because he was already dead, but he pierces his side with the lance—and out of his side flows water and blood.What’s the significance of this?
Well, crucifixion didn’t kill people—it pushed them into a state of asphyxiation. Usually, nails were not used—it was usually ropes. And so your arms are extended, and your body weight…you have to constantly pull yourself up in order to breathe. And finally, fatigue keeps you from pulling yourself up in order to breathe. And obviously, breaking the legs prevents getting any leverage to pull yourself up, so it’s hastening the process of suffocation.
Often, crucified people were on the cross for days—through this slow, miserable, and horrible process of asphyxiation. So when they did not break his bones—which John quotes the Scripture about the Paschal Lamb: “You’re not going to break any of the bones of the Paschal Lamb”—[this] recalls John the Baptist calling Jesus the “Lamb of God” at the beginning of the Gospel.
In the course of our hour-long conversation, I asked Professor Johnson why we read the Passion account so many times in Holy Week; not just on Palm Sunday and Good Friday, but at daily Masses as well.
Professor Johnson: We can’t hear it often enough. This is the central reality of our lives, that we participate in the mystery of the suffering and death, in the hope of sharing also in the blessed resurrection. And so the function of the Passion account is to enable us emotionally, mentally, spiritually, to fully identify with the Messiah’s suffering and death.
As I reflect on this personal masterclass that was my conversation with Professor Johnson on the Passion narratives, and on my experiences—still, for most of my life, as a layperson in the pews—and now, having presided over Good Friday as a priest, I am convinced that the presider’s task in this liturgy is simply to walk alongside the assembly, gently and reverently through Christ’s Passion.
On Good Friday, we remain in the tension—even the pain—of this moment. We don’t try to explain the mystery. We hold silence and pray as we stand, sit, kneel and kiss the bare wood of the cross—and let the Passion of Jesus speak truth into our hearts. We receive the body of Christ, and welcome the Holy Spirit always present whenever we gather together.
So, preach—if you must—then step aside.
