Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
The
well-known Episcopal priest and author Barbara Brown Taylor once wrote about
certain “texts of terror” within the Bible. She says that these texts “Pry
our fingers away from our own ideas about who God should be and how God should
act so that there are only two things left for us to do with our fear: use it
to propel us toward the God who is, or let it sink us like a stone.” These
texts of terror, such as the sacrifice of Isaac, the plague against the
firstborn of Egypt, God’s command to King Saul to kill all of the Amalekites, and
the slaughter of the innocents, are texts that challenge us. These texts remind
us of our vulnerability, of the fact that we do not control our own fate, of
the reality that we cannot control or fully understand God. The Passion of Jesus Christ is certainly one
of these texts of terror.
Instead
of sinking like a stone, let us allow this text from John to propel us towards
the God who is. Anytime we approach a story as well known as the Crucifixion,
we must pay close attention to the details of the Bible. If we do not, we’ll
end up a story that is a combination of various gospel accounts, resulting in a
version that isn’t found anywhere in the Bible. When we read John, we have to
especially keep this in mind, as John gives us a very different view of Jesus
than we encounter in Matthew, Mark, or Luke. Today, I’d like to keep the focus
on Jesus, and in particular, the way in which he faces his execution. Jesus
faces his death mostly alone and in total control.
The
narrative begins in a garden with Jesus and his disciples. By the time Jesus is
hanging on the Cross, only the Beloved Disciple and four women are with him.
Gone are the crowds that he had fed with the loaves and fish. Gone are the many
people whom Jesus healed. Gone are those who came to hear him preach. Gone are
those who shouted “Hosanna” on Palm Sunday. Gone are the disciples, the pillars
of the Church. The invitation of this text is to consider where we drop out of
the story.
I’d
really like to think, that I had been in Jerusalem on that Good Friday, that I’d
have stayed by Jesus side. But I doubt that I would have. If Peter, the rock
upon which the Church is built, the disciple who had enough faith to walk on
water, who accompanied Jesus and witnessed his many miracles deserted Jesus in
fear, who am I to think that I would have done more? It has been 2,000 years
since that fateful Good Friday, and we have not yet figured out how to live in
love and peace – at some point, we all turn our backs on Jesus.
Do
we abandon Jesus during his arrest in the garden? When it becomes politically expedient
to distance ourselves from Jesus, is that when we leave his side? Perhaps we reject
Jesus during his trial. When we are called to give testimony on Jesus behalf,
when we are called to have our faith be not just a private, but a public
matter, is that when we reject Jesus? Maybe we dismiss our discipleship when
someone asks us, as they did Peter, if we are one of Jesus’ disciples. When our
faith might put us in danger, is that when we walk away from Jesus? It could be
that abandon Jesus when he is flogged and tortured. Do we leave when we can’t
stand the reality of life and prefer to pretend like faith is all about finding
blessings and good times? Sometimes our comfort with violence and condoning of
the death penalty becomes a rejection of Jesus. Is it those moments when embrace
violence, like Jesus’ executioners, that we become his traitors? Maybe we
abandon Jesus when we are presented with an easier to follow option that doesn’t
require us to make any sacrifices. When given the easier choice of Barabbas, is
that when we turn our back on Jesus? Perhaps it is at the Cross that we deny
Jesus. When we find out that Christianity is not a means to gain power, wealth,
or prestige, is that when we walk away?
I
can’t answer that question for you, but I invite you consider it today. At what
point does discipleship become a burden that we are not willing to bear? When
do we say “Faith is all well and good, up to a point?” Don’t beat yourself up
over it, nearly everyone in the Gospel deserted Jesus during his Passion. It’s
not about shame, but it is about finding those places where we can go deeper in
our faith. And not to get too far ahead of the story, but remember that on
Easter, we’ll find that Jesus does not abandon us, and gives us chance after
chance to abide with him.
The
way the characters fall away during the Passion allows us to focus more intensely
on Jesus. Throughout the entire narrative that John narrates, Jesus is in
charge. The Passion does not happen to Jesus, rather he is its director. Jesus is
not killed, but rather he chooses to die for the sake of love and for the sake
of his ministry. When the soldiers come for Jesus, he
doesn’t hide, but instead goes out to meet them. When they ask for Jesus, he
clearly says “Here I am.” When the high priest, Caiaphas, questions Jesus, he
responds by reminding them that he has done his ministry out in the open.
Jesus is then
taken across Jerusalem to the Roman governor, Pilate. And Jesus is in control
of this conversation, not Pilate. Jesus dictates how the questioning goes, and
even has Pilate confused about what truth is. Jesus speaks about his power and
tells him that Pilate has no power except that which has been given to him.
In other gospel
accounts, Jesus is helped by Simon of Cyrene in carrying the Cross, and he
stumbles three times. But here in John, Jesus alone carries his cross and he
does it beautifully, with no stumbling whatsoever. Even from the Cross, Jesus
remains in charge, ordering the soldiers to give him wine to drink in order to
fulfill prophecy. The Cross is not Jesus’ defeat or a delay in his kingship,
rather the Cross becomes his throne. It is from the Cross that his Kingdom
comes. He does not cry out in agony, but rather he builds community by telling
his mother and the Beloved Disciple that they are now family to each other.
When death comes, John tells us that Jesus “gave up his spirit;” he willingly
dies. But before his final breath, Jesus announces “It is finished.”
That phrase “It
is finished” is actually one word in Greek, tetelestai;
it is a perfect passive verb, meaning that something is completed, or
accomplished, or ended. It is not just Jesus declaring that his life is
finished, but rather he is saying that his purpose has been achieved. And so
the question we are left with is “what is accomplished?” There are still
Caiaphases in our world who unjustly condemn others, there are still Pilates
out there who are cowards, complicit in evil. Death still happens, so does
injustice. What did the death of Jesus complete?
Good
Friday can be a challenging day because it brings us face to face with evil and
death. But something about the nature of death changed in Jesus’ Crucifixion. The
way that Jesus faces his own death gives us hope in facing our own. What Jesus’
death shows us is that, aside from whatever theological significance scholars
attribute to Good Friday, Jesus was willing to die so that his message might
continue even after his death. By proclaiming love to the end, he proclaimed it
into eternity.
On
a day such as this, when we consider our own deaths, we also consider how it is
that we might choose to live our lives to the fullest, even in the face of
death. We will all die, that much is certain. But how we will die is the unknown.
For some of us, death will come as a thief in the middle of the night, for
others, it will be what some will call a happy death at the end of a long and
rich life. Few of us will have the control over the timing of our death as
Jesus did. But by following in Jesus’ footsteps, in mustering up our courage as
he did to live fully, in remaining true to our values as he did, we can indeed
be in control of the sort of life we lead up to the very end, whenever that
time may be. One of my favorite quotes about death is “I will die, but that is
all I will do for death.” The way that Jesus’ faces his own death gives us the
courage to do just that. Jesus does not blink in the face of death, but even if
we do, because we follow him as our Lord and Savior, we are redeemed both through
his steadfast dying and his glorious rising.
We have not yet
come to the joys and alleluias of Easter morning; to be sure, they were first heard
some 2,000 years ago and will echo through Creation forever. But today, we
struggle with our weak resignations in our faith and with the reality of death.
“Amen” is a Hebrew word that means “truly,” “so be it,” or “we agree.” Today is
a day for saying “amen” – for doing our best to follow Jesus, for acknowledging
the reality of death, and for asking for the grace of our Lord’s life and death
to fill our own. Even if today we do not proclaim “alleluia,” may we add our
“amen” to Jesus’ cry of victory and achievement. It is finished.
