Welcome.
This morning as we catch the first of the day’s light, we enter the story that changed the world— the road to the cross, winding, weighty, full of sorrow and mystery.
It is not the victory march we would have scripted, not the hero’s journey we would have chosen for the King of all things. And yet, this is how the Kingdom breaks in— not by taking power, but by pouring it out. Here, in the broken body of Jesus, God’s dream for the world is revealed. Liberation, restoration—poured out not in domination, but in self-giving love.
A new way to be human. A new way to reign.
As you walk today, may you find yourself caught up in this relentless, unshakable Kingdom—the love that meets us at the cross and whispers: I am making all things new.
When you're ready, begin your journey to the cross by moving gently to Station 1.
Step into this moment with stillness—quiet your mind, steady your heart, and become aware of God’s presence. There’s no hurry. Let this be a slow, sacred walk.
At each station read through your booklet to read, reflect, and pray. Linger as long as you need, then move on when you're ready.
When you've walked through all eight stations, join us at the communion table. We will begin at 9:45 am, or earlier if we all arrive.
READ
Begin by reading the scripture that will take you into the story of Good Friday. It is Tom Wright’s translation from Matthew (so it might be different to what you are familiar with). Let your imagination take you in to the moment.
PAUSE
Stay in this part of the story for a moment, be still.
REFLECT
Read the reflection and ask the Holy Spirit to guide your thoughts. Listen—What stood out? What caused a reaction?
PRAY
We’ve had some people from our church communities to write prayers to help us respond to the Scripture. Pray what is written and then add your own prayers.
So Jesus went with them to the place called Gethsemane. ‘You sit here,’ he said to the disciples, ‘while I go over there and pray.’ He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee with him, and began to be very upset and distressed. ‘My soul is overwhelmed with grief,’ he said, ‘even to death. Stay here and keep watch with me.’ Then, going a little further on, he fell on his face and prayed. ‘My father,’ he said, ‘if it’s possible–please, please let this cup go away from me!
‘BUT… NOT WHAT I WANT, BUT WHAT YOU WANT.’
He came back to the disciples and found them asleep. ‘So,’ he said to Peter, ‘couldn’t you keep watch with me for a single hour? Watch and pray so that you don’t get pulled down into the time of testing. The spirit is eager, but the body is weak.’ Again, for the second time, he went off and said, ‘My father, if it’s not possible for this to pass unless I drink it, let your will be done.’ Again he came and found them asleep; their eyes were heavy. Once more he left them and went away. He prayed for the third time, using the same words once again. Then he came back to the disciples. ‘You can sleep now,’ he said, ‘and have a good rest! Look– the time has come, and the son of man is given over into the hands of wicked people! Get up and let’s be going. Look! Here comes the one who’s going to betray me!
"The greatest challenge we face is not ‘doing’ what Jesus said, but wanting to do it—wanting it enough to abandon everything else for it." — Dallas Willard
In Gethsemane, Jesus prays honestly: If there’s another way… Yet, even in his sorrow, he surrenders: Not what I want, but what you want. This is not defeat—it is trust.
Surrender doesn’t come easily. We cling to control, to certainty, to our own way. But Jesus shows us that true strength is found in letting go, in entrusting ourselves to the Father who loves us.
God knows surrender is hard. He does not rush us or shame us. He invites us—patiently, lovingly—to trust that his way leads to life.
O Christ, you knelt in the dark, weary and overwhelmed.
You asked for another way—yet still, you stayed.
Teach us to stay with you.
To bring our sorrow, our fear, our weakness to the Father.
To watch, to pray, to trust—even in the dark.
Wake us up, Lord. Keep us near you.
And when the hour comes, give us the grace to follow. Amen.
Judas, one of the Twelve. He had come with a large crowd, with swords and clubs, from the chief priests and the elders of the people. The one who was intending to betray him gave them a sign: ‘The one I kiss–that’s him! Grab hold of him!’ So he went up at once to Jesus and said ‘Greetings, Teacher!’, and kissed him. ‘My friend,’ said Jesus, ‘what are you doing here?’ Then they came and laid hands on Jesus, and arrested him. At that, one of the men with Jesus reached out his hand, drew his sword and hit the high priest’s slave, cutting off his ear. ‘Put your sword back where it belongs!’ said Jesus to him. ‘People who use the sword die by the sword! Don’t you realise that I could call on my father and have him send me more than twelve legions of angels, just like that? But how then can the Bible come true when it says this has to happen?’ At that time Jesus said to the crowds, ‘Have you really come out with swords and sticks to arrest me, as if I were some kind of brigand? I sat there teaching in the Temple every day, and you didn’t arrest me! But all this has happened so that what the prophets said in the Bible would be fulfilled.’ Then all…
…the disciples abandoned him and ran away.
Judas’ kiss is not unfamiliar. We, too, have drawn close while keeping our hearts far away. We have pledged loyalty with our lips but denied him with our lives. We have chosen safety over truth, self over surrender.
And yet—Jesus does not flinch. He does not call Judas traitor, but friend. Even in betrayal, love remains. This is the way of Jesus—a love that does not withdraw, a mercy that refuses to give up on us.
Father,
Give me grace to forgive those who’ve hurt me.
You know my pain — you’ve felt betrayal, rejection, and abandonment.
Come, Holy Spirit, and heal the places in me that still hurt.
Free me from bitterness. Bring comfort where there’s grief, and speak truth where lies have lingered.
Show me where fear, shame, or selfish ambition hold me back.
Forgive me for the times I’ve turned from you.
Set me free to follow you with my whole heart.
Amen.
The people who had arrested Jesus took him off to Caiaphas the high priest. The scribes and elders had already gathered at his house. Peter, however, followed him at some distance, all the way to the high priest’s residence. He went in and sat with the servants, to see how things would work out. The high priest and the whole Council tried to produce false evidence against Jesus, to frame a capital charge and have him killed. But even though they brought in plenty of lying witnesses, they couldn’t find the evidence they wanted. Finally two people came forward and declared: ‘This fellow said, “I can destroy God’s Temple and build it again in three days!”’ Then the high priest stood up. ‘Aren’t you going to answer?’ he said to him. ‘What are these people accusing you of?’ But Jesus remained silent. Then the high priest said to him, ‘I put you on oath before the living God: tell us if you are the Messiah, God’s son!’ ‘You said the words,’ replied Jesus. ‘But let me tell you this: from now on you will see “the son of man sitting at the right hand of Power, and coming on the clouds of heaven”.’ Then the high priest tore his robes. ‘He’s blasphemed!’ he said. ‘Why do we need any more witnesses? Look–you’ve heard his blasphemy, here and now! What’s your verdict?’
He deserves to die.
…they answered. Then they spat in his face and hit him. Some of them slapped him, and said, ‘Prophesy for us, Mr Messiah! Who was it who hit you?’
Jesus stands before power—misrepresented, accused, struck in the face. He doesn’t defend himself. He doesn’t lash out. He absorbs the weight of their words, their violence, their need for control.
This is how the Kingdom comes. Not through dominance, not through proving who’s right, but through a love that refuses to play by the world’s rules. His silence speaks. His surrender is power.
Jesus, You stood silent before those who misunderstood You.
You did not defend Yourself.
You let love speak louder than words.
Teach us to follow You.
Teach us the strength of surrender.
Teach us the power of love.
Amen.
Meanwhile, Peter sat outside in the courtyard. One of the servant-girls came up to him. ‘You were with Jesus the Galilean too, weren’t you?’ she said. He denied it in front of everyone. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said. He went out to the gateway. Another girl saw him, and said to the people who were there, ‘This fellow was with Jesus the Nazarene!’ Once more he denied it, this time swearing, ‘I don’t know the man!’ After a little while the people standing around came up and said to Peter, ‘You really are one of them! Look–the way you talk makes it obvious!’ Then he began to curse and swear,
‘I DON’T KNOW THE MAN!’
And then, all at once, the cock crowed. And Peter remembered. He remembered the words Jesus had spoken to him: ‘Before the cock crows, you will deny me three times.’ And he went outside and cried like a baby.
Peter thought he knew who he was—loyal, brave, unshakable. Then the pressure came, and he crumbled. Not in some dramatic betrayal, but in small, instinctive denials. “I don’t know him.” Fear spoke before faith could catch up.
We’ve been there too. Maybe not in a courtyard with accusations flying, but in conversations where we stayed silent when we should have spoken. In choices where we protected ourselves instead of standing firm. In moments where we looked back and thought, I can’t believe I did that.
And then the rooster crows. A wake-up call. A reminder of who we thought we were—and who we actually are. But this isn’t where the story ends. Jesus isn’t surprised by our failures. He sees us, even here, and still invites us forward.
Jesus, we’re sorry for the times we’ve denied you — whether by what we said, or by staying silent.
For when we’ve cared more about what others think than being faithful to you.
Holy Spirit, give us courage to live our faith with honesty and boldness, even when it’s hard.
Thank you that you never shut us out — you meet us with grace, not shame.
Remind us that faith is a gift, not a performance.
Gracious God, thank you that nothing — not fear, failure, or anything else — can separate us from your love in Christ Jesus.
Amen.
Jesus stood in front of the governor. ‘Are you the King of the Jews?’ the governor asked him. ‘If you say so,’ replied Jesus. The chief priests and elders poured out their accusations against him, but he made no answer. Then Pilate said to him, ‘Don’t you hear all this evidence they’re bringing against you?’ He gave him no answer, not even a word, which quite astonished the governor. Now the governor had a custom. At festival-time he used to release one prisoner for the crowd, whoever they chose. Just then they had a famous prisoner, called Jesus Barabbas. So when the people were all gathered there, Pilate said to them, ‘Who do you want me to release for you? Jesus Barabbas, or Jesus the so-called Messiah?’ (He knew that they’d handed him over out of sheer envy.) While he was presiding in the court, his wife sent a message to him. ‘Don’t have anything to do with that man,’ she said. ‘He’s innocent! I’ve had a really bad time today in a dream, all because of him.’ The high priests and the elders persuaded the crowds to ask for Barabbas, and to have Jesus killed. So when the governor came back to them again, and asked, ‘Which of the two do you want me to release for you?’ they said, ‘Barabbas!’ ‘So what shall I do with Jesus the so-called Messiah?’ asked Pilate.
‘LET HIM BE CRUCIFIED!’ THEY ALL SAID.
... ‘Why?’ asked Pilate. ‘What’s he done wrong?’ But they shouted all the louder, ‘Let him be crucified!’ Pilate saw that it was no good. In fact, there was a riot brewing. So he took some water and washed his hands in front of the crowd. ‘I’m not guilty of this man’s blood,’ he said. ‘It’s your problem.’ ‘Let his blood be on us!’ answered all the people, ‘and on our children!’ Then Pilate released Barabbas for them.
HE HAD JESUS FLOGGED, AND HANDED HIM OVER TO BE CRUCIFIED.
Reflecting on this passage, Nicky Gumbel writes: “In this (Scripture), Barabbas represents you and me, the guilty. He is a notorious criminal. It was a question of ‘Barabbas or Jesus’.”
Take a moment to reflect silently on your own sin, your failings, the times you have fallen short recently. Bring these before Jesus in a quiet prayer of confession.
Jesus, sometimes we forget how much we need You.
We make mistakes. We carry regrets.
We try to fix things ourselves.
And we miss the life You’re offering us.
Today, we remember — we’re a lot like Barabbas.
Guilty, but somehow set free because of You.
We don’t come with perfect words.
We just come as we are — grateful, humbled, and still learning how to live loved. Thank You for grace we could never earn.
Thank You for trading places with us.
Help us walk in that freedom today.
Amen.
Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the barracks, and gathered the whole regiment together. They took off his clothes and dressed him up in a scarlet military cloak. They wove a crown out of thorns and stuck it on his head, and put a reed in his right hand. Then they knelt down in front of him. ‘Greetings, King of the Jews!’ they said, making fun of him. They spat on him. Then they took the reed and beat him about the head. When they had finished mocking him, they took off the cloak, dressed him in his own clothes again, and led him off to crucify him. As they were going out they found a man from Cyrene, called Simon. They forced him to carry his cross. When they came to the place called Golgotha, which means Skull-Place, they gave him a drink of wine mixed with bitter herbs. When he tasted it, he refused to drink it. So then they crucified him. They divided up his clothes by casting lots, and they sat down and kept watch over him there. And they placed the written charge above his head:
‘THIS IS JESUS, THE KING OF THE JEWS.’
They mocked him at his weakest. It’s confronting. It’s uncomfortable. It’s unjust. They torture him and with nails driven through his flesh—they mocked him still. Our Jesus.
Twas I that shed the sacred blood; I nailed him to the tree; I crucified the Christ of God; I joined the mockery. Of all that shouting multitude I feel that I am the one; And in that din of voices rude I recognise my own. Around the cross the throng I see, mocking the sufferer’s groan; Yet still my voice it seems to be, as if i mocked alone.”
—Horatius Bonar
Jesus, you are my King, and yet so often I want you to rule on my terms. I shrink you down, make you small, deny you the honour you deserve.
I’m sorry.
And yet, you call me your child. You draw me close, and cover me in grace.
Amen.
From noon until mid-afternoon there was darkness over the whole land. About the middle of the afternoon Jesus shouted out in a loud voice, ‘Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani!’ – which means,
‘My God, my God, why did you abandon me?
Some of the people who were standing there heard it and said, ‘This fellow’s calling Elijah!’ One of them ran at once and got a sponge. He filled it with vinegar, put it on a reed, and gave him a drink. The others said, ‘Wait a bit. Let’s see if Elijah is going to come and rescue him!’ But Jesus shouted out loudly one more time, and then
B R E A T H E D HIS.
LAST BREATH.
At that instant the Temple curtain was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks were split, and the tombs burst open. Many bodies of the sleeping holy ones were raised. They came out of the tombs after Jesus’ resurrection, and went into the holy city, where they appeared to several people. When the centurion and the others with him, keeping watch over Jesus, saw the earthquake and the things that happened, they were scared out of their wits. ‘He really was God’s son!’ they said.
And then—silence. A heavy, aching stillness. His last breath is gone. But don’t lose hope—this isn’t the end. It’s the deep inhale before resurrection changes everything.
Honestly, so often our hope matches the disciples in this moment. Where are you, where have you gone, How long Oh Lord till you move?
How long, Lord?
Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
The temple curtain rips from top to bottom. The thing that kept people at a distance from God? Gone. No more separation. No more barriers. God’s presence isn’t locked away—it’s loose in the world, reaching for the ones who never thought they belonged.
At this moment, everything shifts. The old way—ruled by sin, shame, and distance—starts to crack. A new creation is breaking in. What was broken will be made whole. What was lost will be found. Heaven is moving in. And nothing will ever be the same.
We weep at the evil our sins have caused, but we also rejoice in the glory of God. We remember the price by which we were purchased and the life it opened up to us.
We find our strength at the cross, where God's Son became weak for us.
—Esau McCaulley
When evening came, a rich man from Arimathea arrived. He was called Joseph, and he, too, was a disciple of Jesus. He went to Pilate and requested the body of Jesus. Pilate gave the order that it should be given to him. So Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth. He laid it in his own new tomb, which he had carved out of the rock.
THEN HE ROLLED A LARGE STONE ACROSS THE DOORWAY OF THE TOMB, AND WENT AWAY.
Things are quiet. We are silent. We stand at the tomb wondering what God will do next.
God either has the power to raise Christ from the dead, or he does not.We are Christians because we have concluded that he does.
That means we can rest. ... We can be at peace because God reigns even over the death that unnerves us.
—Esau McCaulley
The Messiah’s love makes us press on. We have come to the conviction that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all in order that those who live should live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised on their behalf. . . .
It all comes from God. He reconciled us to himself through the Messiah, and he gave us the ministry of reconciliation. This is how it came about: God was reconciling the world to himself in the Messiah, not counting their transgressions against them, and entrusting us with the message of reconciliation. So we are ambassadors, speaking on behalf of the Messiah, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore people on the Messiah’s behalf to be reconciled to God. The Messiah did not know sin, but God made him to be sin on our behalf, so that in him we might embody God’s faithfulness to the covenant.
So, as we work together with God, we appeal to you in particular: when you accept God’s grace, don’t let it go to waste! This is what he says: “I listened to you when the time was right; I came to your aid on the day of salvation.” Look! The right time is now! Look! The day of salvation is here!
2 Corinthians 5:14–6:12