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| Alexey Sergeev - April 9, 2007 |
As a minister, Holy Week is a particularly tiresome time. And yesterday I realized that the tiredness that comes with the last few days of Lent into the Passiontide is not only the amount of time that is required in worship leadership and preaching, but in physical and spiritual toll it takes to lead the people of God in this time. And what is most difficult is the reigning in of congregants who, at times, seem to want to dash from Palm Sunday into the Resurrection.
It takes a toll because a minister is both, going through the remembrance of the passion of our Lord as a personal discipline in contemplation, while also spending mind, soul, and body in teaching the church the importance of contemplation of this pain and suffering of our Lord as one of the most intimate demonstrations of divine solidarity with humanity and its shortcomings. I get it. We want to sprint from Palms and Hosannas to Resurrection because if we linger, even a little time, in the passion, we will be reminded of the suffering each of us carry, and of the pain we bare as communities. I get that many in the United States and in Western Christianity seem to have this desire to use the shortcut of Passion Sunday into Easter Sunday, but as a Latin American, to be able to be still, even if for a day or two, reminds me not only of a God who knows our pain and suffering, but of Jesus who accompanies us in our pain, and who we also accompany in his suffering.
It was dark and deep music. It was violent. It was beautiful. For little over an hour I was able to sit down, and share meditations with these three extraordinary preaching women. But I was also able to sit, not only to contemplate Jesus' suffering as a bystander, but to be with him in his suffering. I experienced divine suffering, but also the suffering divine.
Below you will find the meditations on the two words I was invited to share about. May it allow you to, for a moment, sit and see a God who not only sees your struggle, but also a suffering God.
I'll appreciate your comments as well.
A reading from the Gospel according to Saint Mark (15:33-34)
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?”
An Intimate Moment on the Cross
The narratives of the Passion of our Lord began their tales the evening before ninth hour of that Friday. Overnight and all that day Jesus was tortured – physically for sure, but also mentally and spiritually. Religious leaders wanted to break him, to shatter who Jesus was and what he stood for. Political leaders wanted to make Jesus an example of what an empire was and is willing and able to do with those who dared question colonial occupation and sought to provide an alternative for self-determination. Betrayed by his friends, Jesus stood for hours before the religious judiciary of his time being questioned and beaten mercilessly for a whiff of an excuse to execute him on the grounds sacrilege. But questioning the status quo with a message of love, redemption, justice and reconciliation was not only not sacrilege, but at the core of theology of the religion of his people.
Not guilty
Not satisfied with what was, in fact, the religious and theological orthodoxy of the message and actions of Jesus, a case was fabricated against him, accusing him of plotting against the empire. But speaking of and living out love, redemption, justice and reconciliation was not, in it of itself, treason. It surely provided a different framework of understanding life individually and collectively, but it was not a call to arms – at least not arms that can hurt the body.
Not guilty.
Jesus was willing to take on the sins of the world upon him so that all creation could have a new relationship with God. But even when you and I know we are right, pain and sorrow calls to keep it real. Dare say it, “Really, God? Where are you in all of this?” Jesus did.
A reading from the Gospel according to Saint Luke (23:45-48)
…the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Having said this, he breathed his last. When the centurion saw what had taken place, he praised God and said, “Certainly this man was innocent.” And when all the crowds who had gathered there for this spectacle saw what had taken place, they returned home, beating their breasts.
True Legacy
Many (too many) in church leadership, in academia, and in professional and political life are concerned with their legacy. It’s certainly not a new thing, but I’m too often taken aback by people thinking that legacies can be planned in advanced. Anyone can plan to gift or bequest property or money. But no one can plan how the words we say or write, and the work we do will be received and considered (if at all) by those who are coming after us. You and I can work to make a difference, or to impact the areas we are passionate about (and feel we are experts in), but we cannot control or determine our legacy. Whatever our legacy may become is not our doing. It is the doing of those who will surely follow.
If anything I take from the ministry of Jesus and particularly from his actions during his passion was that he was not trying to make a point for himself. He was just trying to be faithful. He even hoped at some point that he could avoid this trial altogether. His passion and death had nothing to do with him. For crying out loud, he was found not guilty on the counts of sacrilege and treason. But, he obeyed. Jesus committed himself to his area of passion and expertise – love, redemption, justice and reconciliation. He was not concerned about his legacy. Yet, after his last word, those who were there knew what his legacy was. He was innocent. That is true legacy, when others know and remember in spite of who has done.
Jesus gave it all.
Let us give it all.
