It Is Finished

At the cross, the sin of the world meets the mercy of God. What appears to be the darkest moment in history becomes the moment when salvation is accomplished.

Good Friday confronts us with a reality we would rather avoid. The Church gathers on this day not to celebrate in the usual sense, but to remember the suffering and death of Jesus Christ. The tone is quiet, often somber. The readings from Scripture move steadily through the events of the Passion. The altar is stripped. The liturgy slows almost to a halt. Everything about the day invites us to look directly at the cross.

But the cross isn’t easy for us to face. At first glance it appears to be nothing more than an execution. The Roman authorities carry out the sentence. Soldiers nail Jesus to the wood, Passersby mock Him, and even the religious leaders who had demanded His death stand nearby in bitter satisfaction. To the world, this looks like utter and complete defeat.

But the Gospels insist that something far deeper is taking place. The cross is not simply the story of what human beings did to Jesus. It is the story of what God was doing for the world through Jesus. The truth becomes painfully personal in the liturgy that many churches observe on Good Friday. At one point in the service, the congregation hears the question that echoes through the trial of Christ:“What shall we do with this man Jesus?”

And the congregation answers with the words that once rang through the streets of Jerusalem:

“Crucify Him!”

It is a moment that often lands with a jolt.

We know the words belong to the crowd gathered before Pilate. We know they were shouted by the people who demanded Jesus’ death. Yet in the liturgy the Church places those same words on our lips. The reason for this is not theatrical effect. It is theological honesty. Good Friday reminds us that the cross is not merely the result of someone else’s sin. It is the result of human sin. Our sin. Your sin. My sin.

“When we cry ‘Crucify Him,’ we confess our sin. But the cross reveals something greater: Christ endured that cry to redeem the very ones who spoke it.”

It is easy to imagine that we would have stood apart from the crowd that day, that we would have recognized Jesus for who He truly was. Memes and gifs and Reels are all over the internet that depict a scenario someone is a time traveler going back to stop the crucifixion only to be stopped by Jesus by a look, by a hand up in a stop gesture. But Scripture paints a different picture of the human heart. When those of us read this liturgy, we hear the words on our lips, we realize that we would have crucified Him just as surely as those who were physically present did.

I will never forget the hollow in my chest the first time I heard myself say those words: “Crucify Him!” The reality of the fact that I put Him on the cross just as much as the Jews, just as much as the Romans, just as much as those who were present was mind-blowing. I had understood it rationally before that, but it wasn’t until that moment that I saw the depth of my own sin and guilt in His death.

And the reality is that everyone who was there played a part in His death. The disciples themselves flee in fear, with only John remaining at the foot of the cross. Peter denies that he even knows Jesus, blaspheming with a curse to make his point. The crowds that once welcomed Him with palm branches quickly turn against Him.

The uncomfortable truth is that the same brokenness runs through all of us. When the Church speaks the words “Crucify Him,” we acknowledge something that the apostle Paul later expresses clearly: “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). The cross exposes the depth of that reality.

But Good Friday does not end with the exposure of sin. At the very moment when the sin of the world reaches its most violent expression, the mercy of God is revealed in its fullest form. Jesus doesn’t resist the path that leads to the cross. He walks it willingly. He isn’t merely a victim of human cruelty. He is the Lamb of God who bears the sin of the world. The prophet Isaiah had spoken of this centuries earlier: “He was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities… and with his wounds we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5). The suffering of Christ is not some meaningless tragedy. It is the very means by which God reconciles sinners to Himself.

This is why the final words Jesus speaks from the cross carry such weight. Just before He dies, He cries out, “It is finished” (John 19:30). These words do not express resignation or defeat. They announce completion. The work of redemption has been accomplished. The burden of sin has been carried. The sacrifice that reconciles humanity to God has been offered once and for all. There is that remains to be added. The debt is paid, the power broken, the devil crushed.

Martin Luther spoke often about the finality of Christ’s work on the cross. Salvation is not something human beings complete through their own efforts. It’s something Christ has already accomplished in full. The Lutheran Confessions also echo this same truth when they teach that we are justified before God freely for Christ’s sake through faith (Augsburg Confession IV). Our standing before God rests entirely on the work that was completed on Good Friday. This is why the cross stands at the center of the Christian faith. It tells us the truth about our sin. It reveals to us the depth of our need for mercy. But it also declares to us that mercy has already been given. When we hear the words “It is finished,” we hear the announcement that nothing remains for us to earn. The forgiveness we need has already been secured.

The cross therefore transforms the meaning of the cry we spoke earlier in the liturgy. When the congregation answers “Crucify Him,” we acknowledge our part in the story of sin. But the cross immediately reveals something even greater, that Christ willingly endured that cry and its result in order to redeem the very people who spoke it. The same voices that demanded His death are the voices for whom He died. And that includes us.

Good Friday stands before us as both a judgment and a promise. It judges the illusion that we can save ourselves. It exposes the depth of human sin and the futility of relying on our own righteousness. But it also proclaims the greatest promise the world has ever heard: the Son of God has given His life for sinners. The sacrifice is complete, and the debt is paid. And because Christ has finished the work of redemption, the cross is no longer merely a symbol of suffering. It is the place where salvation was accomplished, for us. For me.

For you.