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Women at the Cross: Leaders Turn Up
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Connected by scripture or shared themes.
Women at the Cross: Leaders Turn Up
Continue exploring
Connected by scripture or shared themes.
Good morning. My name is Jenny, and I want to talk with you about something that's been on my heart: leaders turn up. This is true at absolutely every level.
I spent twelve years as a secondary school teacher, and I remember our school's union representative. He was the mildest-mannered, gentlest guy you could imagine. When you walked into that staff room of about fifty teachers, you might have picked several others who seemed more vocal or assertive to be the union rep. But when I asked him why he had taken on the role, he said simply: "I was the only one actually willing to go into the headmaster's office and talk to him about these things."
That's leadership. It's not about the title or the job role. It's about showing up and doing the difficult thing.
We see this demonstrated in our culture too. When there's a crisis or tragedy, we photograph leaders who turn up. We remember the ones who are present where the pain is. Conversely, when leaders fail to show up, they face criticism—even queens.
Today I want to focus on a remarkable group of people: the women who stood at the cross when Jesus was crucified. All four gospels mention them. Let me read from Matthew 27:45–55:
From noon to 3 p.m., darkness fell across the whole land. At 3 p.m., Jesus called out with a loud voice, "Eli, Eli, Lema Sabachthani?"—which means "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" ... Then Jesus shouted again and he released his spirit. At that moment, the curtain in the sanctuary of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, rocks split apart, and tombs opened. Bodies of many godly men and women who had died were raised from the dead... The Roman officer and the other soldiers at the crucifixion were terrified by the earthquake and all that had happened. They said, "This man truly was the Son of God." Many women who had come from Galilee with Jesus to care for him were watching from a distance.
John's account adds: His mother's sister, Mary (the wife of Clopas), and Mary Magdalene were standing near the cross.
This is striking. Where were the other disciples? We know that Matthew tells us all the disciples left him. John suggests that John was still there, but the rest? They were absent.
I wonder what kept those disciples away. I suspect it was a combination of fear and disappointment.
Think about what they were facing. The leader they'd followed for three years had just been arrested. The most powerful people in Jerusalem had declared him guilty. The crowds were shouting, "Crucify him!" Being near Jesus was not a safe place to be.
They might have feared arrest or execution. They might have feared social exclusion, verbal abuse, or physical harm. But beyond the fear was something else: disappointment.
Only a week before, Jesus had ridden into Jerusalem to cheering crowds. He'd overturned tables in the temple. He'd been preaching and healing. Everyone expected him to save the day—to do it in a way that made sense, a way that kept him alive. And then he was arrested. And then he was executed.
I can understand why they weren't there. They felt let down. They felt disappointed in God.
Disappointment is such a natural emotion, isn't it? My son had his ninth birthday party last week. For two weeks leading up to it, he was imagining all the wonderful things that would happen. By 9 p.m. on the evening of his party, he was in bed in floods of tears, saying, "It wasn't the way I thought it was going to be."
We're all susceptible to it. Life doesn't work out the way we imagined. And when God doesn't do what we expected, it can drive a wedge between us and him.
But here's what I want to encourage you: bring your disappointment to God. He can handle it. He's not fragile. As a parent, I can handle my son's tears and frustration. God can certainly handle ours.
There's a remarkable moment in the book of Jonah. God has just forgiven the people of Nineveh—a sinful city that deserved judgment in Jonah's eyes. Jonah is furious:
Jonah was furious. He lost his temper. He yelled at God: "God, I knew it! When I was back home, I knew this was going to happen. That's why I ran off to Tarshish. I knew you were sheer grace and mercy, not easily angered and rich in love and ready to turn your plans of punishment into a program of forgiveness." ... God said, "What do you have to be angry about?" But Jonah just left. He went out of the city and sat down in a sulk. (Jonah 4:1–4, The Message)
Notice: Jonah brings his anger to God. And God doesn't reject him. God listens. God explains himself. God reframes the situation.
The passage ends on a cliffhanger—we don't know how Jonah responds. But the point is clear: we can bring our pain and frustration to God, and he will engage with us. He will listen. He will offer his perspective.
Isaiah says:
My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. (Isaiah 55:8–9)
Do we believe that? Do we believe that God sees things differently from us? Do we trust that even when we don't understand his timing or his methods, he is working toward something good?
I wonder if one reason those women turned up at the cross was that they had a glimmer of hope—that this wasn't the end, that something was coming that they couldn't quite understand yet, but it was worth sticking around for.
When we grieve our disappointments and bring them to God, he can reframe them and give us hope. And with that hope, we can go back out and be an influence for his glory.
Now let's talk about fear. It's also deeply natural. Fear is an ingrained, life-protecting response.
But here's something important: we don't have to completely overcome fear before we act. We act in the midst of fear, trusting in God.
I've been listening to Brené Brown, who has interviewed hundreds of leaders around the world. One consistent finding: courageous leaders are not fearless leaders. Courageous leaders are people who act courageously while still experiencing fear. The difference is how they deal with that fear.
From a Christian perspective, it's about trusting in God and his ways more than we trust in the fear. The fear might not completely disappear, but we can trust that God is with us in the outcome.
Consider Paul. As he's traveling to Jerusalem, a prophet warns him:
"The Holy Spirit says, 'In this way the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem will bind the owner of this belt and hand him over to the Gentiles.'" When we heard this, we and the people there pleaded with Paul not to go to Jerusalem. Then Paul answered, "Why are you weeping and breaking my heart? I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus." (Acts 21:11–13)
I don't imagine for a moment that Paul felt no fear or no disappointment about what awaited him in Jerusalem. But he demonstrates something crucial: the ability to say, 'The Lord's will be done,' and to go where he feels led even if the risk is unto death.
For most of us, stepping out in faith won't cost us our lives. We live in comfort and relative safety. But Paul lived with real danger. And he went anyway, because he trusted God. He knew that he lived for eternity with Jesus, and that trust helped him overcome whatever fear and apprehension he felt.
Let me show you something beautiful about Jesus. In the garden, he prays:
"My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will." (Matthew 26:39)
Jesus is God. He almost certainly knew that the answer wasn't going to be, "Oh, I've just come up with another idea." But he prays it anyway.
Why? Because it reveals his humanity. He says to his disciples:
"My soul is crushed with grief." (Matthew 26:38)
I think sometimes we imagine Jesus floating through his crucifixion on some kind of Holy Spirit cloud, untouched by suffering. But that's not the story the Bible tells us. His soul is crushed with grief.
I wonder if he was at least a little disappointed that there wasn't another way. I wonder if he was at least a little afraid of the process he was about to go through.
Some of you might think: "But Jenny, 1 John 4:18 says perfect love casts out all fear." Yes, absolutely. And 2 Timothy tells us that God doesn't give us a spirit of fear. I believe those things completely.
But I don't think that being God meant Jesus's emotions just shut down. I expect he still felt humiliated as he was dragged from place to place and ridiculed. I imagine he still felt every punch, every kick, every thorn. I expect there was apprehension—even fear—about the pain of dying on a cross, even though he knew the outcome.
And that's Jesus. That's our ultimate model for leadership. He turned up. He did it anyway.
Here's what I find most beautiful: how does perfect love cast out fear? By gazing.
Jesus, even on the cross, gazes at his Father. And the Father gazes back. Not with disappointment. Not with judgment. With perfect love.
This is what the Trinity means. God is not separate from Jesus on the cross. God is not away from him in his moment of greatest suffering. God is there with him.
And the Father gazes at us with the same love. We are not secondary. We are not less than. The Father gazes at us as we go through our difficulties with as much love as he gazed at Jesus on the cross.
As we gaze back at Jesus, as we gaze at the Father gazing at us, we can overcome what's happening around us.
So why does all of this matter? Because we are called to make a difference. We are called to be an influence for Jesus—at work, in our football group, cycling group, queueing at the bus stop, getting fish and chips. Wherever we are, we're called to be an influence.
I do think we're at risk in our generation of imagining that if we're kind enough to the planet, if democracy spreads far enough, if we're charitable and socially conscious enough, then the world will be saved. Those things are wonderful. I'm not against them. But they won't save the world.
We are called to make a difference for Jesus. That's what brings hope. That's what brings life. That's what transforms communities.
And here's why the women at the cross matter so much: They stayed. They were there when the earth shook. They were there when the graves split open. They were there when the curtain in the temple tore. They saw the glory of God. And even the Roman soldiers, witnessing it, said, "Truly, this is the Son of God."
They showed up. And in their showing up, others witnessed the power of God.
I feel like there are two groups here this morning.
First, there are some of you who have stuff you need to process—pain, fear, disappointment, things you haven't figured out yet. If that's you, I'd like to invite you to pray with someone this morning. Share what's on your heart. Let someone else stand with you. That's what we're here for.
And second, there are some of you who know all of this and you're sticking with it, but your heart's cry is: God, I want to see you move. I don't want to wait for my grandchildren or great-grandchildren. I want to see your glory in my day.
If that's you, I want to invite you to stand and pray. To tell God that you're ready. That you're willing to show up, even if it's costly. That you want to be an instrument of his power in this generation.
Come. Let's pray together. Let's stand together. Let's be the ones who show up.
Good morning. My name is Jenny, and I want to talk with you about something that's been on my heart: leaders turn up. This is true at absolutely every level.
I spent twelve years as a secondary school teacher, and I remember our school's union representative. He was the mildest-mannered, gentlest guy you could imagine. When you walked into that staff room of about fifty teachers, you might have picked several others who seemed more vocal or assertive to be the union rep. But when I asked him why he had taken on the role, he said simply: "I was the only one actually willing to go into the headmaster's office and talk to him about these things."
That's leadership. It's not about the title or the job role. It's about showing up and doing the difficult thing.
We see this demonstrated in our culture too. When there's a crisis or tragedy, we photograph leaders who turn up. We remember the ones who are present where the pain is. Conversely, when leaders fail to show up, they face criticism—even queens.
Today I want to focus on a remarkable group of people: the women who stood at the cross when Jesus was crucified. All four gospels mention them. Let me read from Matthew 27:45–55:
From noon to 3 p.m., darkness fell across the whole land. At 3 p.m., Jesus called out with a loud voice, "Eli, Eli, Lema Sabachthani?"—which means "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" ... Then Jesus shouted again and he released his spirit. At that moment, the curtain in the sanctuary of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, rocks split apart, and tombs opened. Bodies of many godly men and women who had died were raised from the dead... The Roman officer and the other soldiers at the crucifixion were terrified by the earthquake and all that had happened. They said, "This man truly was the Son of God." Many women who had come from Galilee with Jesus to care for him were watching from a distance.
John's account adds: His mother's sister, Mary (the wife of Clopas), and Mary Magdalene were standing near the cross.
This is striking. Where were the other disciples? We know that Matthew tells us all the disciples left him. John suggests that John was still there, but the rest? They were absent.
I wonder what kept those disciples away. I suspect it was a combination of fear and disappointment.
Think about what they were facing. The leader they'd followed for three years had just been arrested. The most powerful people in Jerusalem had declared him guilty. The crowds were shouting, "Crucify him!" Being near Jesus was not a safe place to be.
They might have feared arrest or execution. They might have feared social exclusion, verbal abuse, or physical harm. But beyond the fear was something else: disappointment.
Only a week before, Jesus had ridden into Jerusalem to cheering crowds. He'd overturned tables in the temple. He'd been preaching and healing. Everyone expected him to save the day—to do it in a way that made sense, a way that kept him alive. And then he was arrested. And then he was executed.
I can understand why they weren't there. They felt let down. They felt disappointed in God.
Disappointment is such a natural emotion, isn't it? My son had his ninth birthday party last week. For two weeks leading up to it, he was imagining all the wonderful things that would happen. By 9 p.m. on the evening of his party, he was in bed in floods of tears, saying, "It wasn't the way I thought it was going to be."
We're all susceptible to it. Life doesn't work out the way we imagined. And when God doesn't do what we expected, it can drive a wedge between us and him.
But here's what I want to encourage you: bring your disappointment to God. He can handle it. He's not fragile. As a parent, I can handle my son's tears and frustration. God can certainly handle ours.
There's a remarkable moment in the book of Jonah. God has just forgiven the people of Nineveh—a sinful city that deserved judgment in Jonah's eyes. Jonah is furious:
Jonah was furious. He lost his temper. He yelled at God: "God, I knew it! When I was back home, I knew this was going to happen. That's why I ran off to Tarshish. I knew you were sheer grace and mercy, not easily angered and rich in love and ready to turn your plans of punishment into a program of forgiveness." ... God said, "What do you have to be angry about?" But Jonah just left. He went out of the city and sat down in a sulk. (Jonah 4:1–4, The Message)
Notice: Jonah brings his anger to God. And God doesn't reject him. God listens. God explains himself. God reframes the situation.
The passage ends on a cliffhanger—we don't know how Jonah responds. But the point is clear: we can bring our pain and frustration to God, and he will engage with us. He will listen. He will offer his perspective.
Isaiah says:
My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. (Isaiah 55:8–9)
Do we believe that? Do we believe that God sees things differently from us? Do we trust that even when we don't understand his timing or his methods, he is working toward something good?
I wonder if one reason those women turned up at the cross was that they had a glimmer of hope—that this wasn't the end, that something was coming that they couldn't quite understand yet, but it was worth sticking around for.
When we grieve our disappointments and bring them to God, he can reframe them and give us hope. And with that hope, we can go back out and be an influence for his glory.
Now let's talk about fear. It's also deeply natural. Fear is an ingrained, life-protecting response.
But here's something important: we don't have to completely overcome fear before we act. We act in the midst of fear, trusting in God.
I've been listening to Brené Brown, who has interviewed hundreds of leaders around the world. One consistent finding: courageous leaders are not fearless leaders. Courageous leaders are people who act courageously while still experiencing fear. The difference is how they deal with that fear.
From a Christian perspective, it's about trusting in God and his ways more than we trust in the fear. The fear might not completely disappear, but we can trust that God is with us in the outcome.
Consider Paul. As he's traveling to Jerusalem, a prophet warns him:
"The Holy Spirit says, 'In this way the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem will bind the owner of this belt and hand him over to the Gentiles.'" When we heard this, we and the people there pleaded with Paul not to go to Jerusalem. Then Paul answered, "Why are you weeping and breaking my heart? I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus." (Acts 21:11–13)
I don't imagine for a moment that Paul felt no fear or no disappointment about what awaited him in Jerusalem. But he demonstrates something crucial: the ability to say, 'The Lord's will be done,' and to go where he feels led even if the risk is unto death.
For most of us, stepping out in faith won't cost us our lives. We live in comfort and relative safety. But Paul lived with real danger. And he went anyway, because he trusted God. He knew that he lived for eternity with Jesus, and that trust helped him overcome whatever fear and apprehension he felt.
Let me show you something beautiful about Jesus. In the garden, he prays:
"My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will." (Matthew 26:39)
Jesus is God. He almost certainly knew that the answer wasn't going to be, "Oh, I've just come up with another idea." But he prays it anyway.
Why? Because it reveals his humanity. He says to his disciples:
"My soul is crushed with grief." (Matthew 26:38)
I think sometimes we imagine Jesus floating through his crucifixion on some kind of Holy Spirit cloud, untouched by suffering. But that's not the story the Bible tells us. His soul is crushed with grief.
I wonder if he was at least a little disappointed that there wasn't another way. I wonder if he was at least a little afraid of the process he was about to go through.
Some of you might think: "But Jenny, 1 John 4:18 says perfect love casts out all fear." Yes, absolutely. And 2 Timothy tells us that God doesn't give us a spirit of fear. I believe those things completely.
But I don't think that being God meant Jesus's emotions just shut down. I expect he still felt humiliated as he was dragged from place to place and ridiculed. I imagine he still felt every punch, every kick, every thorn. I expect there was apprehension—even fear—about the pain of dying on a cross, even though he knew the outcome.
And that's Jesus. That's our ultimate model for leadership. He turned up. He did it anyway.
Here's what I find most beautiful: how does perfect love cast out fear? By gazing.
Jesus, even on the cross, gazes at his Father. And the Father gazes back. Not with disappointment. Not with judgment. With perfect love.
This is what the Trinity means. God is not separate from Jesus on the cross. God is not away from him in his moment of greatest suffering. God is there with him.
And the Father gazes at us with the same love. We are not secondary. We are not less than. The Father gazes at us as we go through our difficulties with as much love as he gazed at Jesus on the cross.
As we gaze back at Jesus, as we gaze at the Father gazing at us, we can overcome what's happening around us.
So why does all of this matter? Because we are called to make a difference. We are called to be an influence for Jesus—at work, in our football group, cycling group, queueing at the bus stop, getting fish and chips. Wherever we are, we're called to be an influence.
I do think we're at risk in our generation of imagining that if we're kind enough to the planet, if democracy spreads far enough, if we're charitable and socially conscious enough, then the world will be saved. Those things are wonderful. I'm not against them. But they won't save the world.
We are called to make a difference for Jesus. That's what brings hope. That's what brings life. That's what transforms communities.
And here's why the women at the cross matter so much: They stayed. They were there when the earth shook. They were there when the graves split open. They were there when the curtain in the temple tore. They saw the glory of God. And even the Roman soldiers, witnessing it, said, "Truly, this is the Son of God."
They showed up. And in their showing up, others witnessed the power of God.
I feel like there are two groups here this morning.
First, there are some of you who have stuff you need to process—pain, fear, disappointment, things you haven't figured out yet. If that's you, I'd like to invite you to pray with someone this morning. Share what's on your heart. Let someone else stand with you. That's what we're here for.
And second, there are some of you who know all of this and you're sticking with it, but your heart's cry is: God, I want to see you move. I don't want to wait for my grandchildren or great-grandchildren. I want to see your glory in my day.
If that's you, I want to invite you to stand and pray. To tell God that you're ready. That you're willing to show up, even if it's costly. That you want to be an instrument of his power in this generation.
Come. Let's pray together. Let's stand together. Let's be the ones who show up.
