Palm Sunday 2023--Why should we expect anything different? Thoughts on the Passion from the Gospel of Matthew

 

“And many women were there, watching from a distance;

the same women who had followed Jesus from Galilee

and ministered to Him.” –Matthew 27:55

 

 My usually approach to contemplating scripture is to see what stands out to me as I read it—what troubles me, or confuses me; what makes me pause and wonder why.  And this morning as I was reading the Passion narrative from Matthew, there were a few bits and pieces that caught me off guard. First this passage about the women, which makes me think about how often it is the women who remain faithful, who stand up when there is trouble and never turn away: mothers, wives, sisters standing by the bedside of the dying, visiting the sick, holding the hand of the prisoner .  Why is that women are the ones who so often show this courage (or faithfulness)?  Is it because women so often go unnoticed? That soldiers and guards don’t feel threatened by their presence, don’t even acknowledge it often enough.  Them—they’re just women.  That humility and that invisibility, is it something that women learn early in life and is it that abuse or that bias that gives these women the courage to remain close to Jesus, after all the apostles (males) have fled in terror and confusion?

 

I wondered about that for a bit.  And then I wondered about an interesting image from the Garden of Gethsemane scene.  What caught my attention this time was the three disciples that Jesus took with Him when he went off to be alone: Peter, James and John (cf. Mt 26: 36-46).  The same three He took with Him when He was transfigured on the mountain (cf. Mt. 17: 1-8).  I also noticed another similarity. In both cases a cloud comes over Jesus. On the mountain it is a literal cloud (the presence of God), but here it is a figurative cloud—a sadness and anguish.  And reading this morning, I wondered: Was this moment not another kind of transfiguration? On the mountain the disciples witnessed the Godliness of Jesus through a transfiguration, and here they glimpse (perhaps only for a moment) the fullness of His humanity through His anguish. He tells the three, “My soul is sorrowful to the point of death…” And just like on the mountain, the three friends are found on the ground, there in fear and awe; here in the garden they are exhausted and have fallen asleep.  So again I wonder, why?  Is Matthew trying to tell us something with these parallels, or am I just misreading these stories through my own idiosyncratic lens? 

 

But then something else occurred to me.  The story itself: the Passion and death of Our Lord.  What does it mean to us? What does it teach us about the Love of God?  And what does it teach us about what we should expect from a Christian life?

 

“Take up your cross, the master said, if you would my disciple be…”  sings the old hymn. And so we are reminded again and again of that call to follow Christ, and what it means to follow Him.

 

But still, we hear this same story year after year, over and over again.  For almost 2100 years, now.  And yet, we still seem to expect a different ending. Every year as we read this story—a kind of strange anticipatory hope comes over me, as if this time—perhaps—the disciples won’t flee, this time, the guards won’t abuse, this time the priests won’t spit, this time Pilate won’t give in, this time Judas won’t betray.  This time, things will be different.  This time victory won’t come in the form of a cross. But that is my way, that is our way; it isn’t God’s way.

 

“Take up your cross, the master said, if you would my disciple be…”  the old hymn sings. And yet we still look for another way, an easier way.  We look for a victory that feels more safe, that seems more comfortable, more to our liking—more victorious (by our standards).  But that isn’t the victory God chose, and it isn’t the victory He calls us to. 

Each time you look at the cross, you see the victory of Christ, the throne—so to speak—of God’s victory.  So why after hearing this story for 2100 years do we keep looking, hoping, expecting something easier, something different?  Why do we keep thinking we should be able to have victory without the cross? Hosannas without the Passion? 

 

Recently I read or heard someone talking about how anti-Catholic (or anti-Christian) bigotry was the last acceptable prejudice.  I don’t know if this is true or not, but the speaker seemed quite indignant about it. And this morning I am wondering –why not? If Christians are truly following their master, shouldn’t they expect to be rejected? Shouldn’t they expect that the only crown they will receive in this world will come with thorns, and it will be bejeweled only by the drops of their own blood.

 

Instead of demanding glory, or mercy or even respect, when faced with the brutality of sin, Jesus accepted the abuse and gave "[His] back to those who beat me/ [His] cheeks to those who plucked [His] beard;/ [His] face [He] did not shield from buffets and spitting." (cf. Isaiah 50:4-7). 

 

Why do Chrsitians imagine anything else? As Jesus warned us, if they treat the Master in this way, will they treat His servants any better? (cf. John 15:20) Instead of demanding respect, perhaps Christians should follow the example given in Isaiah; stop trying to protect our faces from the spitting and our backs from the beatings, and take up our Cross and follow our King--to His throne.

 

After 2100 years, there are still so many lessons for us to learn, and I fear—none of them will come easy.

 

I wish you a blessed Holy Week and I pray that you will find, as you take up your own particular cross, that you are not alone. There is someone’s shoulder lifting it right there beside you.

 

God Bless you, and I will see you the other side of Easter!

 

 

 

 

Of altars and sacred stones and dispossession

“You must completely destroy all the places where
the nations you dispossess have served their gods…
you must tear down their altars, smash their sacred
stones…hack to bits the statues of their gods and
obliterate their names from that place.” –Deuteronomy 12:2-3

The Israelites were being sent by God to “dispossess” other nations of their lands and to dwell there.  But in this call, they were also being called to act as a kind of purifying agent.  They were called to go to this new land and tear down the altars, smash the sacred stones, hack to bits the statues and obliterate the names of these false gods from that place. To purify that place. 

            On a literal level this call horrifies our diversity sensitive ears. We shudder at the very idea of knocking down someone else’s gods.  Instead, in the name of sensitivity and diversity, we tend to look for ways to affirm and celebrate those beliefs and acknowledge their equality and validity. All in the name of avoiding conflict and promoting peaceful co-existence.  Anyway, who am I to knock over someone else’s idols and tear down their altars? What right do I have to tell someone else what to believe?

            And yes, there is some value in this attitude. Some value in acknowledging that we do not (personally or communally) possess a stranglehold on truth.  Plus, we can’t just walk into someone else’s home and start obliterating the names of their gods from the altars and stones and walls and poles of their home; not if we don’t want to start a war, at least.

            Clearly in the time of which Deuteronomy speaks that was literally a part of God’s plan. In this story, that was definitely included as part of the dispossessing and purifying plan God was laying before His people. 

            So, if we are not being called to actual war by this passage, what does it say to us today? What “land” are we called to dispossess? What altars and statues and sacred stones are we called to smash and what false gods are we called to obliterate?

            For me, the first thing to do with scripture is to accept that if it is the Word of God, then it truly does contain eternal truths.  And second, if God truly is love and truly loves each and every one of us, numbers even every hair on our heads, then I would tend accept that God is truly speaking to us through His word and He is truly speaking to each and every one of us.  And I would definitely take His words very personally.

            So, what do these words say to me –personally?  Well, I’ve been meditating on St. Joseph lately and so I return to that contemplation and see how these words help me understand Joseph or how Joseph’s example helps me understand better these words. 

            So, here goes: Joseph had a home, a career, a sense of place in his community, a reputation as an honorable and just man, and to that he had hopes for his new bride and coming life with Mary.  There was security and comfort and safety in this life, but God had something else in mind; a very different kind of life—the life of a refugee, of a step-father, of a cuckold even, --a life of complete self-surrrendering (it seems). Looking at it from my perspective, it looks like a life of letting go; letting go of personal dreams, letting go of career objectives and life goals. It looks like God is calling Joseph to dispossess himself of the lands of comfort and safety and independence and to obliterate any personal gods such as pleasure and security, and to put himself completely into God’s hands. Let go of those gods, smash them and hack them to bits and put your trust in Me.  I will bring you into a land of dependence, and vulnerability, a land that looks to the world like shame and foolishness, and you may not even live to see the fulfillment, to understand the reason (the point) for this life.  You will simply have to trust me… completely.  Will you let go of your gods, your altars, your sacred stones and come with me?

            So –where have I built altars to my personal gods of ego and pride and pleasure and safety and comfort? Where have I set up sacred stones to honor them?  What are the personal beliefs/desires/dreams that I hold sacred? Are there certain topics I simply won’t be challenged on? Politics? Money? Morality? Poetry? Art? Thin crust extra garlic pizza? Hmmm.

You see, for me, I don’t hear God talking about someone else and their false gods, their sacred stones… I hear Him talking to me.  About my gods...  I really do take His words very personally.

Exulting in hardship Pt. II

  

   Why on earth should we exult in our hardships? What is the real life applicable human truth that God is revealing through Paul’s words? It sounds so weird to our human ear: “exult in our hardships,” “rejoice in our afflictions” “boast in our sufferings,” “glory in our tribulations.” How alien that idea is to our modern consciousness; and yet if the Bible is the word of God then should we not seek for God’s truth in it? And should we not be considering how to apply that truth to our daily lives?

   For me, this all ties into a year that began with me being kicked out of the diaconate program –after three years of training and many more of discernment and prayer and hope—and ended with my brother’s sudden death by cancer (almost exactly a year later).  In between there were many personal and professional setbacks and disappointments but all them were marked by the feeling that I had been rejected. I had been found lacking.  I was not the person I was certain God had made me to be. 

   Standing in the middle of all that, I felt no desire to rejoice. And I saw nothing to boast about. Why on earth would anyone exult in it? I only wanted to escape or hide—to protect myself and my family from further hardships, or tribulations, further reasons to rejoice. Physically, I was tense and anxious and emotionally I was often fearful. My back ached and my shoulders tightened as I waited –constantly—for the next blow.  I began to avoid eye contact, avoid friends, avoid even the hands that reached out to help me.

   And, I think that position I found myself in may be key to what Paul is telling us –or telling me:

Paul isn’t recommending that we should eagerly seek out afflictions as opportunities for boasting and rejoicing, --as if we might go out for a letter jacket in suffering. And he isn’t claiming that positive thinking will make afflictions go away. This isn’t pop psychology 101.  I think there are two things going on here. First, out of a natural desire to avoid pain or discomfort, I was becoming tense, isolated, defensive –my heart was hardening.  And Paul’s words certainly are addressed to that attitude. Becoming hard and isolated is self-destructive. Perhaps the spiritual practice of exulting in our hardships, is a way of learning to receive both good and bad, not as curse or blessing, but as invitation (so to speak) –as a way for God to reveal Himself in and through our life. 

Second, it occurred to me that one of Paul’s themes in this letter is the question of whose slave we are?  Do we belong to sin or God? (cf. 6:16-19) If we belong to God, then we need to live that way. Like a good slave, we need to receive whatever we are given not with whining and moaning, but with rejoicing and exulting. Not because it feels good or feels bad, but because we are God’s, and every moment of our life, every success and every failure, every joy and every hardship we give back to Him. We offer it to God as a chance for His glory to shine. 

   This doesn’t mean we don’t stand up for ourselves, or for others.  It doesn’t mean that we pull out that old trump card: It must have been God’s will.  We don’t know why you lost your job, but it must have been God’s will. We don’t know why your house burned down, but it must have been God’s will.  Exulting in our hardships doesn’t mean we hide behind “God’s will.” It also doesn’t mean we just sit back and take it.  We can praise God and exult in our hardships even as we work to help immigrants or homeless people or prisoners or even as we stand up for someone being mistreated at work. We can exult in our hardships even as we stand up for the underdog. The world may call us hypocrites and fools and all kinds of names, but the world isn’t who we are called to serve. We are slaves of the one we obey. The world abhors hardships. The world is afraid of affliction.

We are slaves of God.  And God calls us to exult even in our hardships, to rejoice even in our afflictions. Not because hardships are really blessings, but because even in those moments –God is with us. Even when we feel crushed, it is the Lord who holds us up and it is the Lord who stretches out His hand to help us bear the load. And, like Paul, perhaps we are making up in our flesh something that is lacking in the afflictions of Christ (cf. Col 1:24).  And again, what if God is using your hardship as a way to call someone else, family, friend or coworker, even a stranger, to an act of charity –calling them to respond to His presence in your pain? Asking them, through your affliction, to come closer to Him by reaching out to you.  Not everyone will respond. Sometimes no one will. That, again, is not our business. God may be using us to plant seeds to grow His holiness in someone we will never know.  Our affliction, our hardship, our disappointment, our sorrow may be an opportunity for someone else to become a saint.

    Come to think of it, that sounds like a good reason to exult.

Though the fig tree does not bud
    and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
    and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
    and no cattle in the stalls, 

 yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
    I will be joyful in God my Savior.

--Habbakuk 3:17-18 

How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?

Friday 26 June 2015

“…the life I live is not my own; Christ is living in me…”  Galatians 2:19

“…I will make you a light to the nations
that my salvation shall reach to the ends of the earth…”  Isaiah 49:6

          Today the US Supreme Court decided in favor of a right to same-sex marriage.  And this decision, whether one approves or disapproves, is a clear signal of our nation’s further move from what was once considered a “Christian nation” toward a more and more secular nation divorced from any spiritual or faith-based influences.  Again, one may approve or disapprove of such a movement; in fact individual Christians, Jews and Muslims, members of all faiths, may sincerely disagree on the importance and societal value of this movement. But, it seems pretty clear that today we no longer live in a “Christian nation.”  And I think, as a Christian we will find very shortly that we are no longer at home in this nation, in our homeland, but instead we are in exile (whether spiritual, political or societal –I don’t know, perhaps all three). 

            Last night (Thursday) in our theology class we were studying the Hebrew prophets (mainly Isaiah and Jeremiah) and our professor offered us a series of passages from Isaiah as an example of the prophet’s style and theology.  When he came to 49:1-6 and introduced it by discussing the scholarly tradition that this passage was probably written by a second writer during the Babylonian captivity and at some point attributed to Isaiah, I became very curious about the image of Israel as a “light to the nations.” I began to wonder why would this image come to mind while a people is in exile?  Why a light to the nations and not just the Jews? Why that transition would occur in exile –during captivity.

            The professor emphasized the change in theology implied by the image, from we are the chosen people to we are a light to the nations, that all people may come to God; He’s not just for the Jews anymore.

   And I still wondered why they would come to this idea in exile? And then he went on to elaborate that some think that it was possibly in exile (in captivity) that the Jews actually gained their identity.

   And still I wondered why this change in teaching and why during captivity?

   Then I began to wonder: is it because of the captivity, because in captivity, in exile, in defeat they had to grapple with: Why? Why did this happen to us? To God’s chosen people and why would a good and loving God who made a covenant with us let this happen to us? This seems terrible! Horrible! Evil! But then someone (Isaiah or Duetero-Isaiah) had the flash of inspiration OR the Holy Spirit inspired him (or his redactors) to see that if God is good and God is love or loves us in a special covenantal way then there must be some good in this; some good in the exile and captivity and defeat and destruction of the temple, etc etc.  And not just some good (i.e. –we might as well look on the bright side) but…If we are God’s people and He loves us and this happened to us there must be a good in this that we can’t or don’t see, there must be a good intended by this that we can’t see—and that good, Isaiah somehow realized, was to become the “light to the nations…”

  The Jews were to become “…so marred…beyond human semblance…despised and rejected… a [people] of suffering and acquainted  with infirmities…” (52:13-53:3) not as a sign that God rejected them or was punishing them but as a sign to the world, a light to the nations.  Dispersed so that they could finally discover what it was God really wanted of them: a home –not in a temple—but within them, within each one of them, within the “lowly and afflicted…” (66:2) and that they could in their suffering (and perhaps only through their suffering) become truly a light to the world –a lamp not hidden behind temple walls or hidden in a bushel, but put where it can be seen –every day by any and every one. They were to become truly chosen people, but it didn’t look like what anyone expected. With no temple save their own humble and contrite hearts, they were each and every one being called to become the dwelling place of the Lord.   The land was finally truly theirs –the Holy Land was finally theirs and the covenant complete –because the Holy Land was right beneath their feet always and everywhere, wherever they stood all they could do was go from one piece of Holy ground to the next.

  And so we Christians now, (once again?), are being called to go through the refining fire of exile and captivity, that we too may finally become (once again?) truly a light to the world.  And it seems to me that our light will glow through the way we live our exile; how we live this exile will determine how bright our light glows because the glow will in fact be not ours, but a reflection of God’s love dwelling in us—and the love we reflect to the world will be reflected not in acts of confrontation and political activism, but in the love we show, the love we feel for the world, the love we will toward the world. 

  Do we act with love and compassion when we meet difficulties and feel oppressed? Or do we meet these moments with clenched teeth and forced smiles –pretended tenderness?  If so, then we won’t reflect much of God’s love. But if we meet our exile with gentleness, with sincere and tender compassion; if we are open and vulnerable and willing to embrace even our oppressors, then we will reflect God’s love more brightly and maybe through us, through our exile we will become a light that shines His glory to all the nations –drawing people to Him.  We shall see.  It won’t be easy; for many this exile in our own land will be terribly hard and bitter, as if they are being led out of Jerusalem through a hole in the wall, bound and chained, a hook through their lip, dragged away to see their home no more.  The world will never again be the same, they fear... I too suspect that the world will never again be the same, not in my lifetime… But I'm not sad about that. I know God is good, therefore out of this sea change, this fearful exile, good is coming…somehow, someday, someway…

and I know this, because the life we live now is not our own… therefore when people ask me how I think we should react to this national transformation, I can only say: do not be afraid, He is with you always. Let go of your need to prove anything, let go of your need to be right,  speak the truth with humility and compassion and be vulnerable; you may be a stranger living in a strange land, but don't be afraid --let God make of you a light for the nations, a light that will reach to the ends of the earth.