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Each day this week on this programme the story has been told of Sheila Seleoane. A receptionist, aged 61 and living alone, she died at home on her sofa. Her body lay there for 2 ½ years before anyone found her, bought her a coffin, laid her to rest.

Yesterday on this programme the question was asked whether this individual tragedy had wider meaning. Like the catastrophic fire at Grenfell Tower in 2017, Sheila’s death reveals systemic failures and inequalities, provokes consideration of public policy and causes every individual to ask ourselves – who is my neighbour.

That question was once asked of Jesus, and today, Good Friday, is the day of his death. The manner of his public humiliation, torture and state execution reveals wider and deeper themes recognisable today. Human hubris, fearful politicians, the betrayal of friends, the fickleness of crowds, an occupying army, brutalised by the occupation. And the most convicting of all perhaps for the rest of us; the bystanders, who suspect that something terrible is happening but are scared of getting involved. The story of Good Friday is also shot through with miracles: the kindness of strangers, the enduring love of women, the courage demanded by motherhood.

For Christians, the meaning goes deeper still. I will be there this afternoon in church for 3 hours in prayer, trying not to leave, trying not to look away. Because there in the death of Jesus is human beings’ attempt to destroy love. The attempt to kill God. And, in the words of the old spiritual, it causes me to tremble, because I recognise that tendency in myself. I know that I sometimes can’t bear the reality of such love, and in not bearing it, it looks like an easier life to ignore it or entomb it with the largest rock I can find so that I can’t be made vulnerable ever again.

But love is the point, and is the meaning. As a Christian, the deepest layer of Good Friday is not just that I make the effort to look at the cross, it’s that the cross contemplates me and my life. I am seen, and my self-centredness and self absorption is exposed by this act of sacrificial love. I am called to account, as part of a society that is, patently and painfully still learning what it means to love my neighbour as myself.

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