Sermon: I Am a Nail

I Am A Nail

Good Friday, April 21, 2000

A sermon by Rev. Dr. John K. Luoma

We gather here tonight to meditate on the suffering and death of Jesus. We meditate on it because it was the means by which he brought us back into fellowship with God.

We know that when Jesus was crucified they used three iron nails. Each nail was about seven inches long. One went through his feet and one went through each hand.

The story of the crucifixion is so familiar to us that I'd like to try and look at it from a different perspective than usual so that we can appreciate it afresh. In fact, I would like to look at it from the perspective of the nail.

So, each of you has been given a nail, and I would encourage you to hold the nail in your hand as you listen to my words.

I am a nail. I am hard. I fastened Jesus to the cross. As the rough Roman soldiers sat on him to hold him down, as his screams ripped through the air, I did not care. I am a nail. I am hard.
As I bore his weight, as he writhed and twisted, as he gasped for air to keep on existing, I felt it not. I am a nail. I am hard.
As they played games beneath the cross, gambling for his clothes, indifferent to his pain, it moved me not. I am hard. I am a nail.
As his own people jeered and sneered, as they made fun of him and God, as they mocked and challenged him ("Save yourself, O Son of God!"), I did not care. I am a nail. I am hard.
As Roman soldiers offered wine and joined the chorus ("Save yourself if you are king!"), it mattered not to me. I am hard. I am a nail.
As even criminals derided him ("Save us you Messiah!"), I was not moved. I am hard. I am a nail.
It troubled me not that he felt forsaken, crying out to God and feeling abandoned, for I am hard. I am a nail.
As his mother stood before him weeping, she had believed he was in God's keeping, I felt nothing, for I am hard. I am a nail.
As he showed his love for others ("Father, forgive them", he said with passion), I was not moved, for I am hard. I am a nail.
It moved me not to see him put aside his pain in order to help those around him suffering, the criminal beside him hanging, the mother below him weeping, for I am a hard. I am a nail.
No, I am not moved by this story of love and suffering, for I am hard I am a nail.

BUT WHAT OF YOU? YOU ARE NOT NAILS!

Back from Whence I Came