Gathered at the Foot of the Cross

Good Friday Meditation

Here we are again,
gathered at the foot of the cross,
our gaze fixed
on the figure fixed on the wood.

Beaten, bruised, bloody, broken;
here is revealed the Mystery at the heart of all,
the author of creation.

What can be said
if this is the truest image?
This is almighty God,
Ruler of the universe?
It is mind-boggling.
It is heart-breaking.
It is tongue-numbing.
What does this cock-eyed king,
ruling from this splinter throne,
reveal?
Only this:
“O God, you declare your almighty power
chiefly in showing mercy and pity.”
If not only, chiefly.

Whatever God’s holiness, justice, sovereignty, or authority mean,
whatever we think such things mean,
they are dying before our eyes.
They will return on Sunday.
But transfigured.

Fixed on the cross,
God is revealed
chiefly to be on the side
not of the powerful, the rich, the beautiful, the successful,
not the self-righteous or the self-satisfied,
not those in the know;
but chiefly on the side of
the numb and confused
the battered and bruised
the poor, the meek, the lowly.
the tortured and terrorized,
the oppressed,
the powerless,
the poor in spirit.

This is the Mystery revealed.

But more is revealed.
And more disturbing.
The figure fixed to the cross,
on whom our gaze is fixed,
gazes back.
Fixing us with his gaze,
he reveals us to ourselves.

And what is revealed?
Humanity.
Each of us.
All of us together.
From our earliest days,
we have been in the shadow of the cross.
We are all neighbors.
This is our common stomping ground.
We are united as members of the crucifying mob
Each of us. Every. One.

We were meant for another locale,
a different kind of community.
Common unity.
Harmony
The Garden of Delight.
The City of God.
But we moved away.
Went astray.

If we did not know before
into what neighborhood we had moved,
we know now.
And here we are,
the crowd gathered
at the foot of the cross.
The common heirs of Cain,
we are marked,
marked with envy and enmity.

Here we are,
gathered in the neighborhood of the cross.
We are the taunters and accusers.
We are the betrayers, deniers, abandoners.
(We are not the Blessed Mother or the Beloved Disciple. Not yet.)
Those are our bloody fingerprints on the hammer and nails.
Yours. Mine. Ours.

How so?

It is not just God on the cross,
mysteriously revealed in Jesus.
Mysteriously revealed in Jesus,
is all humankind.
We do to him
only what we have already done
and are doing
to one another.
What we do to one another
we do to him.
“Truly I tell you,
just as you did it to one of the least of these
who are members of my family,
you did it to me.”

It is mind-breaking.
It is heart-boggling.
It is tongue-unhinging.

What we do to one another,
we do to him.
That is the fix we are in,
which has fixed him to wood.

And we hammer away.
All selfishness and pride – whack
All envy and malice – whack
All slothful neglect of loving God – whack
All slothful neglect of loving neighbor – whack
All greed, gluttony, and lust – whack, whack, whack
Every disdainful thought, word, or deed – whack, whack, whack
Every violent thought – whack
Every violent intention – whack
Every violent word – whack
Every violent action – whack
All torture and terror – whack, whack
All that is not love – whack
All that is not mercy – WHACK!

We fix one another to the cross.
We are the taunters and accusers of one another.
We are the betrayers, deniers, and abandoners of one another
Our bloody fingerprints are on the hammer and the nails.
He said that when he was lifted up,
he would draw all people
to himself.

And here we are,
drawn to him,
drawn together,
at the foot of the cross,
eyes fixed where we have fixed him.

The battered figure
fixes us with his gaze.
No good claiming innocence.
No good claiming ignorance.
Each fingerprint,
like every hair,
is known.

No good pointing accusingly at others
“Their fingerprints are more!”
The fixed, revealing gaze
will not be diverted
from me,
from you,
from us.
We are all in this together.

And yet . . .

That fixed gaze
is power-full
of mercy and pity.
In that gaze, we are known,
guilty, fingerprints and all,
unable to save ourselves.
In that gaze, we are also known
fixed to the cross ourselves,
wounded and scarred,
unable to heal ourselves.

The figure, fixed to the cross,
fixes his gaze
on you,
on me,
on us,
with sorrow and love.

This cock-eyed King
fixed to a wooden cross,
this slaughtered Lamb,
this Mystery at the heart of all,
revealed,
knows what we have been up to,
things done
and left undone.

And, still, he reveals his almighty power,
his implacable judgment,
chiefly in showing mercy and pity.
“Father, forgive them,
they don’t know . . .”
 
Here we are again,
transfixed,
transformed,
at the foot of the cross.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Last Sunday, many of us heard the Passion of Jesus according to the Gospel of Mark which included this,

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o’clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, ‘Listen, he is calling for Elijah.’ And someone ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, ‘Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down.’ Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. (Mark 15:33-37)

Christian Choate’s body was discovered near Gary, Indiana one summer day. He was buried in a shallow grave under a slab of concrete behind the trailer where he once had lived. He had actually died two years earlier. He was only 13. 

Those were thirteen years of misery. Years of isolation and neglect. Years of verbal and physical abuse at the hands of his father and step-mother. He lived with them because his mother and her boyfriend had been accused of molesting him.

He was kept home from school and home schooled. The essays his step-mother asked him to write are heart-breaking. She asked to write about "Why do you want to play with your peter? Why do you still want to see your mom? Why can't you let the past go? What does it mean to be part of a family?"

Christian spent much of the last year of his life locked in a three-foot-high dog cage, with little food and drink and few opportunities to leave. He was let out briefly to clean and vacuum. And he endured savage beatings from his father.

One night in April of 2009, Christian was too weak to keep his food down. His father beat him to the point of unconsciousness, then locked his limp body in the cage. The next morning, his sister Christina found him dead.

Christian wrote of why nobody liked him and how he just wanted to be liked by his family. He stated that he wanted to die because nobody liked the way he 'acted.' Christian's writings detail a very sad, depressed child who often wondered when someone, anyone, was going to come check on him and give him food or liquid. Christian often stated he was hungry or thirsty.

[Linkto the news story]

But Elijah did not come for Christian. And we have no knowledge of his hearing God or being aware of God’s presence. Given the constraints on his life, we don’t even know if he knew enough to cry out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

It's a story that haunts me and has become a sort of test case or talking about God. Any god-talk  worth the trouble has to take this story and the myriad other stories of human suffering into account.

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

They are the most disturbing of the words Jesus spoke from the cross. But, for me, they are also hopeful. The truth is I often find it hard to believe in God. Much god-talk strikes me as little more than sentimental fancy. Talk of god in a baby’s smile or the beauty of nature doesn’t quite cut it. Generic talk of “the Holy” or “the Sacred”? I don’t know what that means. Even talk of god as love, by itself, seems to me to too easily slip into sentimentality. All such talk falls flat in the face of the horror of Christian Choate’s story. Or the realities of Syria, the Congo, or Parkland, Florida.

But, this is different. From the cross Jesus cried with a loud voice, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" What are we to make of that? I want to suggest that there are at least a couple of things we can say.

Jesus, in the fullness of his humanity, experiences the horror of being betrayed, denied, and abandoned by his friends and rejected by his people. Jesus experiences all the torture, terror, and tragedy that humanity inflicts upon itself when it turns from God.

And, mystery of mysteries, Jesus, who knew such intimacy with the One he called ‘Father,’ experienced the awful, bewildering silence of God. Even as we remember that Jesus cried out using the worship language of his people as found in Psalm 22, there is no escaping that it was a cry of anguish. We dare not try to get around that.

But there is a second thing. In Jesus, we affirm that God’s very self entered into the darkest depths of human experience. As Madeleine L’Engle wrote,

For Jesus, at-one-ment was not only being at-one with the glory of the stars, or the first daffodil in the spring, or a baby’s laugh. He was also at-one with all the pain and suffering that ever was, is, or will be. On the cross Jesus was at-one with the young boy with cancer, the young mother hemorrhaging, the raped girl [and at-one with Christian Choate and his sister. And even with the broken tortured spirits of their parents]. We can withdraw, even in our prayers, from the intensity of suffering. Jesus, on the cross, experienced it all. When I touch the small cross I wear, this, then, is the meaning of the symbol.

The cross is what makes it possible to believe in God at all. That is on of the reasons this Friday is good.

William Temple, who was Archbishop of Canterbury during the first years of WWII, wrote in Christus Veritas,

The revelation of God’s dealing with human sin shows God enduring every depth of anguish for the sake of His Children. . . All that we can suffer of physical or mental anguish is within the divine experience. . . .He does not leave this world to suffer while He remains at ease apart; all suffering of the world is His.

Temple goes on to claim, “Only such a God can be God of the world we know.” Only such a God can be God in a world that includes multiple stories like that of Christian Choate. Only such a God can be God of our own stories.

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

Let’s be clear. This is not Jesus vs God. This is not God the Father torturing Jesus so he won’t have to torture us. The God we know through Jesus is not like Christian Choate’s father. This is God, the Holy Trinity – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – working in harmony to address the deepest, darkest depths of human need to bring forgiveness and healing and the promise of restoration.

And we know – thanks be to God, we know – that whatever Jesus experienced in his cry of dereliction, he did not despair and God did not abandon him. We know the rest of the story. We do not need to pretend on Good Friday that we don’t know what happens on Easter Sunday. We know that God was in Christ reconciling the world. Through the cross and resurrection God has come to transform the torture, tragedy, and terror.

This does exhaust the meaning of the cross. It does not answer all the questioned raised by the hard reality of human suffering. But, we can give thanks that in Jesus’ cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" there is the assurance that there is no human experience – not even the appalling, heart-rending experience of Christian Choate – that is finally God-forsaken.

(To be continued on Saturday with Of First Importance)

See also:

Jesus of the Scars

Click, Click, Click, Click - A Good Friday Sermon

Suffering and the Wildness of God

The Cross = a Platform, an Altar, and a Throne

A Good Friday Meditation

Isaiah 52:13-53:12, Psalm 22, Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9, John 18:1-19:42

Cathedral of St. Paul, Fond Du Lac, Wisconsin

When I survey the wondrous cross, what do I see?

When you survey the wondrous cross, what do you see?

A cruel instrument of personal torture and public terror?

It was certainly that.

The Romans used the cross liberally to maintain the order of their empire.

And it certainly was a cruel, painful, humiliating way to die.

As we gather to commemorate the crucifixion of Jesus,

we do well to remember that the cross on which he died

was a cruel instrument of torture and terror.

But, when Jesus was hung on a cross to die,

this notorious instrument of personal torture and public terror

was transformed into something more.

It became a platform, an altar, and a throne.

Look at the three windows at the back of the cathedral.

On the right is the Old Testament prophet, Isaiah.

On the left is the Old Testament priest, Aaron.

In the  center is the Old Testament King, David.

Jesus is the fulfillment of each of these Old Testament offices.

When I survey the wondrous cross,

I see the platform for the Prophet proclaiming the Good News.

With Jesus, the cross became a platform for a prophet – the Prophet.

This prophet came not simply to deliver a word from God,

he was the very Word of God enfleshed.

From this unusual wooden platform of the cross,

he uttered this prophetic word, “It is finished.”

What is finished?

The reign of death.

With the death of Jesus

we see the death of death.

Now, however much it might seem that death has the last word,

we know that Jesus – his life and love –

is the last word and death is finished.

As the Prophet’s proclamation echoes through the ages

from this wooden platform,

death becomes a whisper.

Death is as fleeting as late spring snow.

When I survey the wondrous cross,

I see the altar where the one Priest becomes the one Sacrifice.

Jesus is the priest able to sympathize with our weakness,

tested as we are, yet without sin.

On that wooden, cross-shaped altar,

Jesus, the one the Sacrifice,

bore our infirmities and carried our diseases.

He was wounded for our transgressions

and crushed for our iniquities.

With his death, our sin dies

and by his bruises we are healed.

Jesus is the source of eternal salvation.

When I survey the wondrous cross, I also see a throne

from which the King of glory reigns.

“Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews”

is also King and Lord of all creation.

Especially in the Gospel of John,

the cross is transformed from an instrument

of torture, terror and death

into an instrument of glory.

In chapter 12 of the Gospel of John, Jesus declares,

“But I, when I am lifted up from the earth,

will draw all men to myself”

and “the prince of this world will be driven out.”

The prince of this world rules though fear,

torture and terror,

destruction and death.

The prince of this world wins when we respond

with fear and hatred and vengeance.

But, on the cross, the prince of this world

is unseated,

The one true King assumes his throne

and begins his reign of love and peace and reconciliation.

Let us remember on Good Friday that Jesus died a cruel death

on an instrument of personal torture and public terror.

Let us also remember that he transformed the cross into something more.

Let us rejoice that he has made possible our transformation

as we are freed from the power of Death and Sin

and welcomed as subjects of his gracious reign.

When I survey the wondrous cross on which the Prince of Glory died, I see more.

I see a platform for a prophet.

I see an altar where priest and sacrifice are one.

I see a throne from whence reigns the Prince of Peace who is the King of Glory.

On Jesus' Prayer from the Cross for his Enemies

LORD JESUS CHRIST, Fountain of holiness and sweetness, I bless and thank you for your abundant love and heartfelt prayer for you enemies and for those crucifying you. With hands outstretched on the cross, you pleaded for them, asking that they be pardoned, and you generously excused their transgressions, saying, Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. Indeed, these are words, full of grace and sweetness, capable of softening the heart of any sinner and of moving him to repentance!

O sweet Jesus, how inclined you are to forgive, how easily appeased, and how eager to show mercy. Great and boundless is you kindness Lord, to all who love you; you likewise manifested that same loving kindness toward you enemies. Hanging high on your Cross you were not moved by any bitterness against those crucifying you, nor did you seek vengeance on those tormenting you. You did not pray for the earth to swallow them up, or for fire to come down from Heaven and consume them that very instant. Rather, like a welcome rain, you uttered sweet and loving words on behalf of your cruel tormentors, saying: Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.

These words reveal you most excellent love as well as your indescribably meekness, qualities that could never be obliterated in you. Nor were you held back from uttering a prayer. Your executioners shouted: Crucify! Crucify! And you responded with the words: Father, forgive them. They drove rough nails into your body and you offered excuses for their unheard-of wickedness, saying: They know not what they do. O Christ, how wonderful is your love.

….

Penetrate deeply into the five sacred wounds of the crucified, kiss his other wounds, cling to the tree of life with loving arms, and hold fast to Jesus hanging on his Cross, he is the certain pledge for our salvation. Worship him devoutly, commit yourself to him with full faith, and abandon yourself completely into his hands. Since he had shown himself to be good and merciful to his enemies, then he will certainly be more gracious to one who sorrows over his sins.

If you, however, wish your prayer to be heard the sooner, and if you desire to win your Redeemer’s grace and obtain the fullness of his mercy, then from the depths of your heart forgive your brother for whatever he has done against you. Forgive him for small matter so that God may forgive you for more serious offenses, and pray for his salvation in the same way as you pray for your own. You will find grace and, by imitating the example of Jesus, who orders us to love our enemies and pray for our persecutors, you will become the child of the Most High.

If you train yourself to forgive all injuries done you, even though you suffer them unjustly, and to pray for those who have wronged you, then you have gained for yourself at the hour of your death a confident hope. Such holy prayer for one’s enemies has won eternal blessedness for the apostles, has glorified the martyrs, ennobled the confessors, and made all the saints like unto Christ and deserving of eternal life.

– Thomas a Kempis (1380-1471), On the Passion of Christ

Jesus of the Scars

The gospel lesson for the Sunday after Easter (tomorrow) is John 20:19-31 which tells of Jesus' appearance to Thomas after the resurrection. For the seventh day of the Octave of Easter, here is a bit of a preview from William Temple's Readings in St. John’s Gospel:

The wounds of Christ are his credentials to the suffering race of men. Shortly after the Great War [WW I], when its memories and its pains were fresh in mind, a volume was published under the title Jesus of the Scars, and Other Poems by Edward Shilito. The poem from which the title was taken stands first in the book and is headed by the text, ‘He showed them His hands and His side’:

If we have never sought, we seek Thee now;

Thine eyes burn through the dark, our only stars;

We must have sight of thorn-pricks on Thy brow,

We must have Thee, O Jesus of the Scars.

The heavens frighten us; they are two calm;

In all the universe we have no place.

Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm?

Lord Jesus, by Thy Scars, we claim Thy grace.

If when the doors are shut, Thou drawest near,

Only reveal those hands, that side of Thine;

We know to-day what wounds are, have no fear,

Show us Thy Scars, we know the countersign

The other gods were strong; but Thou wast weak;

They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne;

But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak,

And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.

Only a God in whose perfect Being pain has its place can win and hold our worship.

Next: Eight Days a Week

Previous: A World Full of New Potential and Possibility

Click, Click, Click, Click - A Good Friday Sermon

John 18:1-19:37

In 1961, at the height of the Cold War, the Soviet Navy commissioned its first nuclear powered submarine with the ability to launch nuclear missiles. The K-19 set out from port on its first maneuvers to send a message to the world that, just as the United States had nuclear submarines that could threaten the Soviet Union, the threat could now be returned.

After testing their missiles, disaster struck. The nuclear reactor developed a leak in its coolant system and it began to overheat. As the reactor continued to heat up so did the possibility of an explosion. The leak also began to send toxic radiation throughout the submarine. The men on the K-19 were trapped. They were all quickly becoming contaminated with a potentially lethal dose of radiation. You can see a version of this story in the movie K-19 The Widow Maker.

The K-19 might serve as a metaphor our situation and why we gather to commemorate Good Friday. Our world, like the K-19, has a toxic leak at its heart. Our world is contaminated. The radiation of Sin and Death, of violence and suffering, greed and failure to love permeates this world. And, whether we like to admit it or not, it permeates each of us. We are contaminated. What’s even harder for us to admit is that many of our actions and thoughts contribute to the contamination. The leaking reactor at the heart of the world contaminates everything. The reactor of our own hearts is contaminated. Like the crew on the K-19 we are trapped, unable to escape the toxic contamination. 

Into this world comes one who is not contaminated. Jesus enters into the world and acts as a sort of holy Geiger counter setting off a click, click, click as he encounters the contamination radiating from Sin and Death.

Judas, a trusted friend and disciple, comes to him in the darkness. Perhaps it was greed. Perhaps it was disillusionment. Perhaps it as an impatient attempt to force Jesus’ hand and bring about the kingdom as Judas envisioned it. In any event, Judas betrays Jesus with a kiss. And with that lip service, the Geiger counter goes click, click, click, click.

By most standards the high priests, Annas and Caiaphas, were probably decent enough men, trying to maintain as much independence for their nation as they could while appeasing the occupying Romans and forestalling the wrath of the empire. But Caiaphas was the one who had counseled that it was “better to have one person die for the people.” Jesus was just “collateral damage” in the struggle to preserve the nation’s precarious security. There is a logic to his thinking. It is reasoning with which we have become familiar as we decide others must suffer for our security and comfort. But the thinking is contaminated. And again we hear, click, click, click, click.

Peter, the “Rock”, cracks under pressure and lies to avoid being associated with the one who had called him and whom he had followed. He denies Jesus not once but thrice and upon the third denial hears the rooster crow click, click, click, click.

Pilate cynically asks the one who is Truth, “What is truth?” Unable or unwilling to accept the truth and the changes that must follow, Pilate, who claims the power to free or to crucify, hands an innocent man over to be crucified while seeking to remain free of the guilt. But he cannot escape the click, click, click, click measuring the contamination of his actions.

One way or another, each of the characters that Jesus encounters in the passion narrative (excepting only Mary and the other women, along with the disciple Jesus loved) demonstrates his contamination by the radiation of Sin and Death. Each alone and all together act out of fear, pride, and disbelief leading to betrayal, denial, desertion, deceit, collaboration, and the justification of violence.

In one sense, little has changed. We live in a world that still radiates Sin and Death. And, one way or another, through things done and left undone, we make our own contribution to the contamination. Called to love God and neighbor we too often deny, betray, and desert both. Click, click, click, click.

If all we could say was that Jesus came into the world to reveal and measure the contamination of Sin, if he merely left us with nothing but the echo of the click, click, click, click we would still be trapped and lost. If all he said was “Listen to the click, click, click, click and stop participating in your own contamination and that of others,” we would still be trapped and lost. But he has done more. He has sacrificed himself to begin the decontamination.

But that is not the whole story. Thank God, that is not the whole story.

As the disaster on the K-19 worsened, levels of radiation in the submarine rose along with the expectation that the overheating reactor would explode if nothing was done. Seven crewmen volunteered to work in shifts in the high-radiation area to create a new coolant system for the reactor. In doing so they absorbed lethal doses of radiation. All seven died. It was an heroic sacrifice that saved most of the rest of the crew and prevented an explosion that would have sunk the submarine.

I wonder if the sacrifice of Jesus which we commemorate today might be understood similarly. On the cross, Jesus absorbed the lethal dose of Sin and Death, repaired the leak, and began the decontamination of the world.

In Jesus the love of God was poured out on the hard wood of the cross and into the contaminated mess of our world. He is the antidote bringing forgiveness, reconciliation, and healing. Today we who are now in Christ celebrate that sacrifice, deliverance, and decontamination. As with the K-19 after the repair, we still experience the effects of residual radiation. But Sin and Death were contained on a Friday afternoon nearly 2,000 years ago and the decontamination began. And that was a Good Friday indeed.