Being misread happens so easily.
Your motives are questioned, your character misjudged, your story flattened into something untrue.
It’s a very human ache.
An ache Jesus knows intimately.
In the reading we’ve just heard, Jesus stands before the council—people who have already decided who he is. They aren’t seeking truth; they’re seeking confirmation of their own assumptions. They twist his words, project their fears onto him, mock him, strike him, and say, “Prophesy to us, Messiah—who hit you?”
It is a scene thick with misunderstanding.
It is not accidental.
It is part of the story of salvation.
Jesus is being misread by everyone around him.
- The crowd, who once welcomed him, now sees him as a threat.
- The religious leaders, who should have recognised the heart of God, see only danger.
- The soldiers, who know nothing of him, treat him as a joke.
- Passers-by jeering, misquote his words
- One thief hanging next to him mocks, unable to see who Jesus truly is
- Even his closest friends don’t understand what is happening.
Jesus stands in the middle of all these voices—none of which tell the truth about him.
That is a particular kind of loneliness.
Many of us know what that feels like:
- When someone assumes the worst of you.
- When your intentions are questioned.
- When your story is simplified into something that suits someone else’s narrative.
- When you are spoken about rather than spoken to.
- When you are judged by people who have never taken the time to know you.
This moment, on the cross, tells us:
Jesus has been there, stood in that place, knowing the sting of being misinterpreted.
He doesn’t meet misunderstanding with defensiveness or rage, but with truth, love, and a quiet, steady faithfulness.
If Jesus knows what it is to be misunderstood, then he can meet us in our own experiences of it.
Where do you feel misread or unseen?
Where have your motives been questioned or been spoken about rather than listened to?
Where have you been judged by people who never took the time to know your heart?
Christ stands with you there.
Not as someone who watches from a distance, but as someone who has lived it.
He knows the loneliness, frustration, the ache of being misrepresented, and the pain of having your truth denied.
He meets us not with platitudes, but with presence.
There is another side to this.
It is one thing to feel the pain of being misunderstood. It is another to recognise the moments when we misunderstand others.
Misunderstanding is not just something that happens to us — it is something we participate in.
Sometimes we're tired, afraid, rushed.
Sometimes it's easier to assume than to listen.
Sometimes someone’s behaviour touches our own insecurities or we prefer a simple story to a complicated person.
We all have misread others. Judged too quickly. Questioned motives without knowing the whole picture.
Or reduced a person to a single moment, mistake, or impression.
If we’re honest, there are times when we have not offered others the compassion we long to receive.
Good Friday invites us to hold all of this gently:
- Our pain at being misunderstood.
- Our part in misunderstanding others.
But Jesus doesn’t withdraw his love from the people who misread him.
He doesn’t say, “You don’t understand me, so I’m done with you,"
or “You’ve twisted my words, so I’m walking away,"
or “You’ve judged me wrongly, so I’ll judge you in return.”
Instead, he keeps loving, giving, and offering himself.
Even as he is misunderstood, he remains the clearest revelation of God’s love.
That is good news for us, because we misunderstand him too.
We misunderstand God’s timing, silence, ways, and love for us.
We misunderstand one another.
We misunderstand ourselves.
Yet—God does not withdraw, give up, or say, “Come back when you’ve figured me out.”
Good Friday reveals a God who loves us even when we don’t understand him, and even when we don’t understand ourselves — and who meets us with a forgiving heart when we misunderstand others.
Today, we reach out and question: Where do you feel misunderstood, and how might Christ meet you there?
Maybe it’s in your family, work, friendships or internal world—where even you struggle to understand yourself.
And alongside that:
Where might Christ be inviting you to soften your assumptions, widen your compassion, or see someone more truthfully?
Wherever those places are, Christ is not absent from them. He is already there, standing beside you, saying:
“I know this place.
I have been here.
And I am with you.”
Good Friday begins with a God who steps into the places where we feel unseen, unheard, and misread — and the places where we misread others — and transforms them not by removing the pain, but by filling them with his presence.
As we move from this reflection into the song This Is Our God, we hold this truth:
Jesus understands the experience of being misunderstood. He meets us in it with compassion, not condemnation. And he teaches us to meet others with the same mercy.
He knows our hidden pain, stands with us in the shadows, and loves us even when we do not understand him, or others understand us.
In the reading we’ve just heard, Jesus stands before the council—people who have already decided who he is. They aren’t seeking truth; they’re seeking confirmation of their own assumptions. They twist his words, project their fears onto him, mock him, strike him, and say, “Prophesy to us, Messiah—who hit you?”
It is a scene thick with misunderstanding.
It is not accidental.
It is part of the story of salvation.
Jesus is being misread by everyone around him.
- The crowd, who once welcomed him, now sees him as a threat.
- The religious leaders, who should have recognised the heart of God, see only danger.
- The soldiers, who know nothing of him, treat him as a joke.
- Passers-by jeering, misquote his words
- One thief hanging next to him mocks, unable to see who Jesus truly is
- Even his closest friends don’t understand what is happening.
Jesus stands in the middle of all these voices—none of which tell the truth about him.
That is a particular kind of loneliness.
Many of us know what that feels like:
- When someone assumes the worst of you.
- When your intentions are questioned.
- When your story is simplified into something that suits someone else’s narrative.
- When you are spoken about rather than spoken to.
- When you are judged by people who have never taken the time to know you.
This moment, on the cross, tells us:
Jesus has been there, stood in that place, knowing the sting of being misinterpreted.
He doesn’t meet misunderstanding with defensiveness or rage, but with truth, love, and a quiet, steady faithfulness.
If Jesus knows what it is to be misunderstood, then he can meet us in our own experiences of it.
Where do you feel misread or unseen?
Where have your motives been questioned or been spoken about rather than listened to?
Where have you been judged by people who never took the time to know your heart?
Christ stands with you there.
Not as someone who watches from a distance, but as someone who has lived it.
He knows the loneliness, frustration, the ache of being misrepresented, and the pain of having your truth denied.
He meets us not with platitudes, but with presence.
There is another side to this.
It is one thing to feel the pain of being misunderstood. It is another to recognise the moments when we misunderstand others.
Misunderstanding is not just something that happens to us — it is something we participate in.
Sometimes we're tired, afraid, rushed.
Sometimes it's easier to assume than to listen.
Sometimes someone’s behaviour touches our own insecurities or we prefer a simple story to a complicated person.
We all have misread others. Judged too quickly. Questioned motives without knowing the whole picture.
Or reduced a person to a single moment, mistake, or impression.
If we’re honest, there are times when we have not offered others the compassion we long to receive.
Good Friday invites us to hold all of this gently:
- Our pain at being misunderstood.
- Our part in misunderstanding others.
But Jesus doesn’t withdraw his love from the people who misread him.
He doesn’t say, “You don’t understand me, so I’m done with you,"
or “You’ve twisted my words, so I’m walking away,"
or “You’ve judged me wrongly, so I’ll judge you in return.”
Instead, he keeps loving, giving, and offering himself.
Even as he is misunderstood, he remains the clearest revelation of God’s love.
That is good news for us, because we misunderstand him too.
We misunderstand God’s timing, silence, ways, and love for us.
We misunderstand one another.
We misunderstand ourselves.
Yet—God does not withdraw, give up, or say, “Come back when you’ve figured me out.”
Good Friday reveals a God who loves us even when we don’t understand him, and even when we don’t understand ourselves — and who meets us with a forgiving heart when we misunderstand others.
Today, we reach out and question: Where do you feel misunderstood, and how might Christ meet you there?
Maybe it’s in your family, work, friendships or internal world—where even you struggle to understand yourself.
And alongside that:
Where might Christ be inviting you to soften your assumptions, widen your compassion, or see someone more truthfully?
Wherever those places are, Christ is not absent from them. He is already there, standing beside you, saying:
“I know this place.
I have been here.
And I am with you.”
Good Friday begins with a God who steps into the places where we feel unseen, unheard, and misread — and the places where we misread others — and transforms them not by removing the pain, but by filling them with his presence.
As we move from this reflection into the song This Is Our God, we hold this truth:
Jesus understands the experience of being misunderstood. He meets us in it with compassion, not condemnation. And he teaches us to meet others with the same mercy.
He knows our hidden pain, stands with us in the shadows, and loves us even when we do not understand him, or others understand us.
Here is part two of this reflection.
Here is part three.
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