Were you there when they crucified my Lord?  Were you there?  You might not remember it, but you were.  So was I.  We were there, alright.  We were there in the insults of the crowd.  We were there in cruel treatment of the soldiers.  We were there in the pounding of the nails.  We were there alright.  Because all the sinful things our hands have done were heaped in a pile and carried that day by Jesus to the cross.

And these hands of ours have been busy.  These hands have been clenched in anger.  These hands have made rude gestures.  These hands have written hurtful words.  These hands have struck people.  These hands have refused to help people in need.  These hands have spent money selfishly instead of giving God what is God’s.  These hands have taken things home that aren’t ours.  These hands of ours have shown no love.  They’ve cheated.  Lost control.  Abused others.  These hands of ours have done unspeakable things.

But these hands forgave them all.  (pointing to cross)

And that is the beauty of Good Friday.  That is what we are here to give thanks for.  It is difficult, though, to find beauty in death, isn’t it?  It’s even more difficult to find beauty in a death camp.  Like Auschwitz.  Four million Jews died there in World War II.  But for all the ugly memories of Auschwitz, there is one of beauty. In February 1941 Maximilian Kolbe was imprisoned at Auschwitz.  He was a priest.  In the harshness of the death camp he portrayed the gentleness of Christ.  He shared his food.  He gave up his bunk.  He prayed for his captors.

That summer there was an escape from the prison.  It was the custom at Auschwitz to kill ten prisoners for every one who escaped.  All the prisoners would be gathered in the courtyard, and the commandant would randomly select ten men from the ranks.  These victims would be immediately taken to a cell where they would receive no food or water until they died.

The commandant began his selection.  Each time he called a name, a prisoner stepped forward to fill the sinister quota.  The tenth name he called is Franciszek Gajowniczek.  As the SS officers check the numbers of the condemned, the tenth one begins to sob, “My wife and my children!”  The officers turn as they hear movement among the prisoners.  The guards raise their rifles.  A prisoner has left his row and is pushing his way to the front.

It is Kolbe.  No fear on his face.  No hesitancy in his step.  The officers shout at him to stop or be shot.  “I want to talk to the commander,” he says calmly.  For some reason, the officer doesn’t club him or kill him.  Kolbe stops a few paces from the commandant, removes his hat, and looks the German officer in the eye.  “Herr Commandant, I wish to make a request, please.”  It’s a miracle no one shot him.  “I want to die in the place of this prisoner.”  He points at the sobbing family man, Gajowniczek.  He continues, “I have no wife and children.  Besides, I am old and not good for anything.  He’s in better condition.”  Kolbe knew how they thought.

“Who are you?” the officer asked.  “A priest.”  Everyone was stunned in silence.  The commandant was uncharacteristically speechless.  After a moment, he barks, “Request granted.”  Prisoners were never allowed to speak, so Gajowniczek couldn’t even thank him. He remembers: “I could only thank him with my eyes.  I was stunned and could hardly grasp what was going on.  The immensity of it: I, the condemned, am to live and someone else willingly and voluntarily offers his life for me – a stranger.  Is this some dream?”

Maximilian Kolbe outlived the other nine.  In fact, he didn’t even die of starvation.  He died only after carbolic acid was injected into his veins on August 14, 1941.  Gajowniczek survived the Holocaust.  He made his way back to his hometown.  Every year, however, he goes back to Auschwitz.  Every August 14 he goes back to say thank you to the man who died in his place.  The man who died so he could live.1

You and I have something in common with Franciszek Gajowniczek.  A Jewish teacher also died in our place.  A man died so we could live.  But He was more than just a Jewish teacher.  He was more than just a frail old man.  The man who died for us happens to be the perfect, eternal Son of God.  And that is why we gather here every Good Friday to thank Him.

You and I had been numbered for death.  Our hands had committed sins that numbered us with the transgressors.  That should have separated us from our eternal family and our real home.  That should have separated us from our wife and kids.  From our friends.  From our God.  But God’s own Son stepped in our place.  He made the ultimate Sacrifice.  And because his hands were nailed to that cross, our sins are forgiven.

So yes, we were there when they crucified our Lord.  And thank God we were!  We were there, because the sins our hands committed were being forgiven by the hands of the one hanging on that cross.  We were there, alright.  Thanks be to God.   Amen.