2nd Gospel for March 24, 2024 (Liturgy of the Passion)

START WITH SCRIPTURE:
Mark 14:1-15:47
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OBSERVE:

The climax of Mark’s Gospel approaches.  The growing and intense conflict between Jesus and the religious authorities in Jerusalem reaches its culmination in the violent Passion of Jesus. Because the lectionary text for the Gospel of Mark is so lengthy, I must paint this scene with broad strokes.  But in so many ways, the Passion Narrative from Mark’s Gospel speaks for itself.

It has been noted by many Biblical interpreters that when Mark’s Gospel reaches the account of the Passion, there is a distinct change of tone and pace.  The first thirteen chapters of Mark move swiftly, almost breathlessly from one miracle to the next, one parable to the next.  For example, Mark uses the word immediately forty-one times — far more than any other book in the Bible — denoting action.  But thirty-eight of the occasions this word is used occur prior to chapter 14.

The pace slows down in Mark’s Gospel. The tone becomes darker. Mark lingers over these last few days of Jesus.

There are also contrasts here. There is an ominous sense of foreboding cast over these two chapters, as this passage begins with an introduction of the imminent feast of the Passover and the unleavened bread. The chief priests and scribes are explicit about their plot to arrest and kill him — but they are also cynical:

For they said, “Not during the feast, because there might be a riot of the people.”

But then there is the contrasting scene.  Jesus is a guest at the table of Simon the leper (presumably someone that he has healed?) Perhaps this was a feast of celebration and gratitude given by Simon.  And then:

a woman came having an alabaster jar of ointment of pure nard—very costly. She broke the jar, and poured it over his head.

When there is grumbling that this ointment was worth about a year’s wages for a farm worker and could have been put to use for the poor, Jesus defends her.  There will be other opportunities to help the poor, but his time is short.  Her deed is prophetic:

She has done what she could. She has anointed my body beforehand for the burying. Most certainly I tell you, wherever this Good News may be preached throughout the whole world, that which this woman has done will also be spoken of for a memorial of her.

Note that it is a woman who honors Jesus appropriately. In that patriarchal culture, a woman is more akin to a slave than an equal. And as we follow the narrative, note who is near when he is dying — and also who will become the first witnesses of the risen Jesus.

Now, the darkness grows deeper.  There is betrayal by one of his disciples, and collusion with the religious authorities who, as we already know, seek the death of Jesus.  Here there is irony.  As Jesus prepares solemnly for his death, the chief priests are described as glad and offer Judas Iscariot a price for Jesus.

Then there is the occasion of the Passover, which was normally an occasion of great joy as Israel remembered their deliverance from bondage in Egypt.  But this feast would be overshadowed by apprehension among the disciples, and the prescience of Jesus.  He knows what is to come, which they cannot know.

There is a kind of “secret signal” — two disciples are told to follow a man carrying a pitcher of water. (Normally, carrying water was a task assigned to women.)  He will lead them to an upstairs guestroom for their Passover meal.  All of this seems prearranged.

And at the supper itself, Jesus casts a shadow over the occasion by predicting his betrayal — by one of his own disciples!  What was normally a festive meal had certainly become depressing! Interestingly, Jesus doesn’t identify Judas Iscariot in Mark’s Gospel, leaving each of the twelve to search their own hearts, each asking:

“Surely not I?”

Jesus then transforms this historic and traditional Passover Seder into a sacrament that will be celebrated in the church until he returns:

As they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had blessed, he broke it, and gave to them, and said, “Take, eat. This is my body.”  He took the cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave to them. They all drank of it. He said to them, “This is my blood of the new covenant, which is poured out for many.  Most certainly I tell you, I will no more drink of the fruit of the vine, until that day when I drink it anew in God’s Kingdom.”

Here Jesus offers two predictions concerning his own fate — one concerning his tragic death, but the second concerning his ultimate triumph.  There is bitter death signified by the bread and wine — but there is also the promise and hope of ultimate and eschatological victory.  Jesus is able even now to look beyond his impending violent death toward his resurrection and eventual return.

However, the sorrow of the disciples is only begun.  Jesus predicts that they will all stumble because of him that night — more specifically he quotes Scripture, from Zechariah 13:7:

 ‘I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.’

This is precisely what is about to happen. And yet once again he also foresees his own resurrection:

 However, after I am raised up, I will go before you into Galilee.

Once again there is the contrast of his death and his resurrection — darkness and light.

Peter’s famous contention that he won’t leave Jesus’ side, no matter what, is met with brutal predictive honesty:

Jesus said to him, “Most certainly I tell you, that you today, even this night, before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.”

We note that all of the disciples made the same protest that Peter did — that they would die with Jesus before they denied him. But of course Jesus would be proven correct by subsequent events.

The picture we have is that Jesus is wrestling with nearly everyone, including the priests and even his own disciples.  Only the woman who anoints his head with oil at the beginning of the scene seems to intuitively understand him.  The disciples, who have spent so much time with him over the previous short years, still don’t get it.

And on the Mount of Olives, in the place called Gethsemane, this struggle comes to a head.  (Gethsemane means olive press, because that’s where the olives were crushed into oil. How appropriate for the one whose body was to be broken and poured out!).

The three closest disciples (Peter, James, and John) can’t even stay awake while Jesus prays, even though he has told them how troubled he is.  All of the disciples have been charged to pray for him. Yet he is alone with the Father.

It might be said that this moment in the Garden is the climax of his struggle, and that he is perhaps even wrestling with God the Father.  But we note that he addresses his Father as Abba.  Many scholars suggest that this is the familiar and intimate term of endearment that a child might call his father, like “daddy.”

But we see also that despite his preference that he not endure the cross, Jesus surrenders his will to the purpose for which he has come:

He went forward a little, and fell on the ground, and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass away from him.  He said, “Abba, Father, all things are possible to you. Please remove this cup from me. However, not what I desire, but what you desire.”

There is a pattern of threes in this passage.  Jesus tells Peter he will deny him three times. Jesus finds his disciples sleeping three times. He is on his own. He says of them:

The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.

The third time it is too late for them to pray. Jesus senses that Judas and the mob are coming.  We marvel at the hypocrisy of Judas Iscariot, who says to the chief priests, scribes and elders that he will identify Jesus with a kiss, and then calls out to Jesus with the honorific title “Rabbi! Rabbi!”

Jesus knows that this stealthy, shameful arrest by night is an act of cowardice on the part of the religious leaders:

Have you come out, as against a robber, with swords and clubs to seize me? I was daily with you in the temple teaching, and you didn’t arrest me. But this is so that the Scriptures might be fulfilled.

There is some violent resistance by one of the disciples, but it is brief.  After one cuts off a servant’s ear, the disciples all flee into the night. Their escape is so panicked that one of the young men’s loose robe is torn from him by those seeking to arrest him, and he flees into the darkness.  Some early commentators speculated that because this detail is unique to Mark’s Gospel that the young man was John Mark, the writer of the Gospel of Mark himself.  We just don’t know for sure.

Somehow, despite the terror of the arrest, Peter follows the procession of this mob to the court of the high priest — from a safe distance.

Again, there is a fascinating contrast — two trials, if you will.  Jesus is on trial for his life before the council — the Sanhedrin.  Meanwhile, Peter’s integrity and loyalty are on trial in the courtyard while he warms himself by the fire.

The accusations made against Jesus are false and contradictory.  No legitimate court could convict based on spurious testimony.  However, it is the words of Jesus himself that seal his fate:

Again the high priest asked him, “Are you the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?”

Jesus said, “I am. You will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of Power, and coming with the clouds of the sky.”

From the perspective of the high priest and the members of the council, this is blasphemy and heresy.  The description that Jesus offers of himself is apocalyptic and Messianic.  When he calls himself the Son of Man he is alluding to the Old Testament prophecies of the Messiah. But surely it cannot have been lost on some of these Hebrew scholars that when Jesus says I am, that phrase evokes the holy name of Yahweh from Exodus 3!  Not only is he claiming to be Son of Man, but he is also claiming to be Son of God!

The consequences are dire. The high priest tears his clothes, which is a sign of deep mourning — but the high priest was never to tear his robe, according to the law (see Leviticus 21:10).  This suggests the intensity of the priest’s reaction to the words of Jesus.

Then there is the beginning of the brutal violence and contemptuous humiliation that rains down upon Jesus.  This will not stop with these council members and officers of the temple guard. He will be abused also by the Roman legionnaires.  As prophesied in Scripture, Jesus would be beaten, spat upon, lashed, mocked — all prior to his actual execution.

Meanwhile, Peter’s “trial” was also reaching a climax.  A maid accuses him of being with the Nazarene and then begins to harangue him to others nearby — presumably so that some of the officers might arrest him.  Peter fails the test but fulfills the prophecy of Jesus. Before the rooster crows twice, Peter has denied Jesus three times, finally becoming quite vehement:

he began to curse, and to swear, “I don’t know this man of whom you speak!” The rooster crowed the second time. Peter remembered the word, how that Jesus said to him, “Before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.” When he thought about that, he wept.

Because Israel (known as Judea in Palestine at that time) was under Roman authority, there was a clear division of powers. The Jewish religious authorities could manage their religious affairs, but only under the close supervision of Rome. Therefore it was necessary to seek a civil judgment against Jesus.

When the night is over, Jesus is hailed before Procurator Pilate.  Pilate’s question does not relate to any religious significance of the claims of Jesus. He is concerned with only one thing:

Pilate asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?”

The implications are clear. Pilate must find a political pretext to execute this prisoner.  Religion is irrelevant, since the Jews had a special dispensation from Rome to preserve their own religious traditions. But a king who might raise a rebellion against Rome? That’s another matter.

Jesus won’t satisfy Pilate with an answer, except an enigmatic one:

He answered, “So you say.”

Pilate’s attempt to find an escape clause to this dilemma backfires. When he offers the people a choice between Jesus and Barabbas, they choose Barabbas. This is a disaster for Pilate. As far as he is concerned, Jesus is merely a religious fanatic who gathered a crowd in the countryside. But Barabbas was the modern-day equivalent of a political terrorist:

There was one called Barabbas, bound with his fellow insurgents, men who in the insurrection had committed murder.

He, and the two men who were to be crucified with Jesus, may well have been Zealots who advocated a violent uprising and overthrow of their Roman occupiers.

It is important to remember that the cross was a form of execution normally reserved for sedition or treason — like the violent insurgents who had committed murder — or a man who claimed to be a king.  This is why, when the Roman soldiers mock Jesus with a purple robe of royalty, and press a crown of thorns onto his head, they hailed him as King of the Jews.  That mockery, and the cross itself, was a sign to the population of Jerusalem — “this is what Rome does to royal pretenders. The only true power here is Rome.”

Flogged, beaten, sleepless, Jesus carries his cross to Golgotha.  Mark doesn’t tell us that Jesus falls, or is too weak to carry the cross because of a loss of blood.  Floggings were often a death sentence in themselves.

The soldiers command a foreigner in the crowd to carry his cross.  His name is given — Simon of Cyrene. Again, this is a fascinating detail. Cyrene was a Greek and Roman city in modern day Libya — North Africa! This doesn’t suggest that Simon was a Gentile — there were Jewish settlers in Egypt as well as all over the ancient world in the Mediterranean area and the Near East.  And it would not have been unusual for a Jew to make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the Passover — especially bringing his sons.

And the mention of his sons, Alexander and Rufus, is also fascinating. Mark seems to assume that they are known to his readers.  Some scholars speculate that they became a part of the Christian community after witnessing the horrors of the cross. The names Alexander and Rufus do appear in some of the Epistles.

It was at 9:00 a.m. that they arrived at the very public hill of execution called Golgotha (that is, the place of the skull). Again, we are reminded that this execution is a public example, and a deterrent to would-be insurrectionists.  The charge against Jesus, inscribed above his head, made this clear:

 THE KING OF THE JEWS.

Our translation says that the other two crucified with him were robbers, but other translators suggest that they were actually Jewish rebels or insurgents, arrested with Barabbas after the recent riots in Jerusalem.  Again, Mark spots the fulfillment of Scripture, this time from Isaiah 53:12:

 “He was numbered with transgressors.”

This reference to Isaiah 53 points to the famous passage describing the Suffering Servant, which the church has come to see as a vivid picture of Jesus as the Messiah who suffers vicariously for all sinners.

Now Jesus is completely abandoned — almost.  In Mark’s Gospel, people passing by on the road taunt him.  The chief priests and scribes demean their own dignity and mock him. And in Mark’s Gospel, both of those crucified with him also insult him.  And after darkness falls on the face of the earth (from about noon to three o’clock), it seems that Jesus feels abandoned even by his God, quoting Psalm 22:

At the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” which is, being interpreted, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

The taunts of the spectators, and the only words uttered by Jesus on the cross in Mark’s Gospel, are a little problematical.  The mockers are actually on the right track. Jesus did promise to rebuild the temple, but in their wooden literalism they fail to understand he spoke of his own resurrection — which would occur in three days. And in a paradoxical sense, when the religious authorities said “He saved others. He can’t save himself,” they were correct.  If he saved himself by coming down from the cross, he would be unable to save others. By losing his life, he saves billions upon billions.

And when Jesus cried out to God, was it truly a cry of desolation or a prayer of hope? (For a more complete treatment of this dilemma, please see: https://soarlectionarybiblestudy.wordpress.com/2017/04/06/gospel-for-april-9-2017-liturgy-of-the-passion/).  We are reminded that Jesus is dying slowly of asphyxiation on the cross. He hasn’t the breath to recite all of Psalm 22, which seems clearly to describe the effects of a suffering victim, with eerie similarity to a crucifixion. He certainly can’t hold out until the verses near the end of the Psalm, that ring with hope:

You who fear Yahweh, praise him!
All you descendants of Jacob, glorify him!
Stand in awe of him, all you descendants of Israel! 

For he has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted,
Neither has he hidden his face from him;
but when he cried to him, he heard (Psalm 22:23-24).

Typically, Jesus is misunderstood by those standing nearby. They think he is calling Elijah to rescue him.

The only other utterance from Jesus seems to be a cry of either agony — or triumph:

 Jesus cried out with a loud voice, and gave up the spirit.

We are told that the veil of the temple was torn in half, from top to bottom.  The veil in the temple was not a mere sheer curtain. According to the ancient historian Josephus, the veil in Herod’s temple was as thick as a man’s hand (about four inches thick) and 60 feet high and 20 feet wide.

This is the veil that separated the Holy Place in the temple from the innermost room known as the Holy of Holies.  The Holy Place was the location of solemn worship where only the priests were permitted to go.  The following items were in the Holy Place — the table for the showbread, the altar of incense which represented the prayers of Israel, and the seven-branched lampstand that offered light for the room.  These were all articles carefully prescribed by Yahweh to Moses in the book of Exodus.

However, the Holy of Holies was the most holy place, where the high priest entered only once a year on the Day of Atonement to offer sacrifices for the sins of Israel.  The significance of the tearing of the veil is clear — Jesus the true high priest has opened the way into the presence of God.

Perhaps a massive earthquake, such as was described in Matthew 27:54, might have caused such a rupture. No wonder the Roman centurion said:

 “Truly this man was the Son of God!”

Perhaps there were a combination of factors that contributed to this startling confession of faith by a Gentile. The natural phenomenon must have moved him — the deep darkness over the land for three hours, the earthquake. Or perhaps there was something he saw and felt as he watched the Son of God die.

Earlier, I wrote that everyone seemed to have rejected or abandoned Jesus — the spectators, the religious authorities, and some would say even God (although I disagree. See Respond section below).  But there were some who did not:

There were also women watching from afar, among whom were both Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the less and of Joses, and Salome; who, when he was in Galilee, followed him, and served him; and many other women who came up with him to Jerusalem.

These are the same three women mentioned by name who will bring spices to anoint his dead body after Jesus is placed in the tomb — and the same women who are the first witnesses to the resurrection.

And ironically, it is not one of his closest disciples who has the courage to ask Pilate for the body of Jesus on Preparation Day, the day before Sabbath. We may presume they are still in hiding. No, it is Joseph of Arimathaea, a member of the same Sanhedrin that condemned Jesus:

who also himself was looking for God’s Kingdom.

Obviously, like the centurion, Joseph of Arimathaea saw something in Jesus that had deeply reached him.

Pilate seems surprised that Jesus is already dead:

Pilate marveled if he were already dead; and summoning the centurion, he asked him whether he had been dead long.

Jesus is wound in a linen cloth and laid in a tomb cave. Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses note where he has been buried. They plan to return when the Sabbath is over and anoint his corpse.

APPLY:  

Just who is this Jesus, and what is our response to him, and to his violent death?

To the chief priests and scribes, and the religious elite of the day, Jesus was a heretic who needed to be eliminated before he corrupted their precious temple worship, and perhaps incurred the wrath of Rome for stirring up trouble.

To the disciples, he was their beloved Rabbi, their Teacher, who had taught them of the Kingdom of God, and then had demonstrated its presence with his powerful signs. But when he spoke of his own death and resurrection, they couldn’t understand him. Not yet.

To Pilate, and the Roman overlords, he was a political problem to be solved. What happened to Jesus was a matter of indifference. If he could be released without consequences, that would be fine. If not, he could be crucified as a matter of convenience to appease the priests and avoid trouble with Rome.

To the women who had been treated as equals and human beings of sacred worth for the first time in their lives, he was Lord — and they demonstrated their reverence by anointing his head with oil, and watching in grief as he died.

To Joseph of Arimathaea — well, we’re not sure what he thought of Jesus.  We simply know what he did.  As in the deuterocanonical (or Apocryphal) book of Tobit, he perhaps saw the burial of a fellow Jew as a sacred duty. But we suspect that it meant much more than that. He was looking for the kingdom, and perhaps he’d caught a glimpse of the kingdom in the eyes of the King.

But most importantly, what is he to us?  Many today dismiss Jesus as a non-historical character invented by men to support a corrupt institution. Some think of him as a fine moral character whose teachings were part of the ethical development and evolution of our civilization.

That is too easy. Many of us find ourselves reading the Passion account and determine, as many Christians have over the centuries, that these details are too vivid and too realistic to be fiction. They have the feel of truth.

And perhaps we find ourselves in the same position as the centurion. We doubt that he had much contact with Jesus prior to this execution.  But there is something here that grips him, that speaks to his spirit, and that causes him to declare:

“Truly this man was the Son of God!”

It is interesting that in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus never calls himself the Son of God.  This is the title given Jesus by Mark in the beginning of the book:

The beginning of the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God (Mark 1:1).

And the unclean spirits recognize him for who he is as the Son of God.  But Jesus invariably refers to himself as the Son of Man.  Perhaps this is because he is stressing his human nature, and his role as the Messianic figure of prophecy. He knows that he is the Son of God.

However, it is when we recognize that he is the Son of God that we truly come to faith. And it is then that we know that God has become one of us, with all the weakness and vulnerability that is revealed on the cross, so that he might demonstrate his power as the crucified and risen God.

RESPOND: 

I sometimes read history and wonder, “What would I have done?” Would I have stood my ground when the Redcoats charged up Breed’s Hill in Boston? Would I have spoken up against Hitler in Nazi Germany? But more importantly, would I have stayed close to Jesus that night when he was arrested?

I’d like to think that I would have remained near him, like the women did.  Of course, the Roman legionnaires and the religious authorities likely took no notice of the mourning women.  In that culture long ago, women were of little consequence.

But the sorry record of the male disciples makes me doubt myself. If Peter, James and John ran, or kept their distance, or even denied him, do I really think I would do any better?

They did forsake him. But here’s another pressing question — Did the Father forsake his Son? This is a theological conundrum.

I have heard sermons over the years that insisted that when Jesus was on the cross, the Father “turned his face away from his Son.” I understand where they’re coming from. When Jesus quotes Psalm 22 it does seem to be a cry of abandonment. And Paul tells us that:

For him who knew no sin he made to be sin on our behalf; so that in him we might become the righteousness of God (2 Corinthians 5:21).

I am not troubled by the fact that Jesus assumes my sin in order to transfer his righteousness to me. This is the purpose of the sacrifice — an exchange of sin for righteousness.  Jesus does not commit sin (we know from Scripture that he is without sin — see 2 Corinthians 5:21; Hebrews 4:15), but he assumes our sin.  Only one who is fully divine is without sin. And only one who is fully human can fully enter into our human experience and take our sin upon himself.

And that’s what troubles me.

Jesus is so clearly established in the New Testament as the only begotten Son of the Father, the Word made flesh. He is God.  Not merely God-like, but God. His own claim is that he is uniquely united to the Father:

I and the Father are one (John 10:30).

And he decisively answers Philip’s request that the disciples may see the Father:

He who has seen me has seen the Father. How do you say, ‘Show us the Father?’ Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and the Father in me? (John 14:9-10).

This is the basis of the classic doctrine of the nature of Jesus as fully God and yet fully man, as understood by the church. And it is the basis of the Trinity, that Jesus is the Second Person of the Trinity.

How then could God the Father abandon himself?  It seems to be ontologically impossible. Though there is a distinction of Persons in the Trinity, there is still complete unity between Father, Son and Holy Spirit. This explains my difficulty with the theory that “the Father turned his face away from his Son.”

I heard about a little girl who said “I love Jesus, but I hate his Father.”  In her innocence, I believe she missed the point. It is not the Father who crucifies the Son — it is evil itself, manifested in human sin.

Therefore I can come to only one conclusion — the Father didn’t turn his face away from his Son. There may be a hint of this in Luke’s account of the last moments of Jesus:

Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” Having said this, he breathed his last (Luke 24:46).

On the cross God the Father embraces his Son, as the one who has been perfectly obedient even unto death.  The Father doesn’t watch this horror from a distance — he is as near to the suffering Son as he has ever been, watching with deep love.  Grieving, mourning perhaps because of what human evil had done — but absent? Never.

In the words of Charles Wesley’s powerful hymn, Arise, My Soul, Arise:

The Father hears Him pray,
His dear anointed One;
He cannot turn away
The presence of His Son.
His Spirit answers to the blood,
And tells me I am born of God.

It is the God-Man who dies on our behalf, who tastes the worst that evil can deliver (even, according to ancient church doctrine and Scripture, descending into Hell itself), and then is raised to life by God.  This descent and ascent is no mere myth. Jesus has descended to rescue us from sin, death and the Devil, and has re-ascended with us in his arms.  As Ephesians 4 tells us:

“When he ascended on high, he led captivity captive, and gave gifts to men.” Now this, “He ascended”, what is it but that he also first descended into the lower parts of the earth?  He who descended is the one who also ascended far above all the heavens, that he might fill all things (Ephesians 4:8-10).

So, forsaken by all but God, because Jesus is God incarnate, Jesus sets free the prisoners from their dungeon.  Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!

Lord, I confess I have said and written too much about a mystery that I cannot begin to understand — your Passion, death and Resurrection, your ineffable nature, the Trinity.  Please forgive what I have said amiss; but lead me again to the same confession made by the centurion at the foot of the cross: “Truly this man was the Son of God!” Amen.

PHOTO:
“It is Finished!” by Delirious? is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic license.

Gospel for April 2, 2023 (Liturgy of the Passion)

Note from Celeste:

Before we look at today’s lectionary reading, I’d like to draw your attention to my Holy Week Bible Study book.

Go and Find a Donkey is the latest installment of the Choose This Day Multiple Choice Bible Studies series.

The daily devotionals take 10-15 minutes and include:

• Scripture passage (World English Bible)
• Fun, entertaining multiple choice questions focused directly on the Scripture passage
• Short meditation that can be used as a discussion starter.

Use them on the suggested dates, or skip around.  Designed to be used during Holy Week, this nine-day Bible study takes you from Palm Sunday through Easter Monday.

Use this book personally during a coffee break or with the family in the car or at the breakfast table.

Order Go and Find a Donkey  today to prepare your family for this year’s Easter season!
CLICK HERE for Amazon’s Kindle book of Go and Find a Donkey.
CLICK HERE for Amazon’s Paperback of Go and Find a Donkey.

AND NOW, BACK TO TODAY’S LECTIONARY READING:

“The First Station- Jesus is Condemned to Death”
The photographer, Fr. Lawrence Lew, offers these thoughts:
This Station in marble bas relief is by Fr Aelred Whitacre OP, from Blackfriars in Oxford, the Dominican priory in that great university town.
It is striking that Fr Aelred, reflecting Thomistic teaching, depicts the dehumanizing effect of sin, hence this striking depiction of Pilate. The serpent shows that Pilate, in choosing to condemn an innocent man, has colluded with the Evil One. Incidentally, it is thought that Tolkien’s visual conception of orcs might have been inspired by seeing this depiction of Pilate.

START WITH SCRIPTURE:
Matthew 26:14-27:66
CLICK HERE TO READ SCRIPTURE ON BIBLEGATEWAY.COM

OBSERVE:

The shock of the events recorded here in Matthew’s Gospel is lost on most modern Christians simply because they have become so familiar.  Ask a child who has been raised in Sunday School what Jesus has done for us and the child will likely rattle off the words “he died for our sins.”  These words would likely be delivered somewhat mechanically, as if by rote.

Looking at this account as if reading the Gospel for the first time would be truly shocking.  The first-time reader, starting at the beginning of Matthew’s Gospel, would have first encountered the account of Jesus’ miraculous birth, with its declaration that this child would be called Immanuel, God with us.  The God-head of this child would have been confirmed as he grew into a man and was baptized, with the descent of the Holy Spirit and the voice of God the Father that attested that he was the Son of God.  His miraculous works of healing and feeding the multitudes and commanding the forces of nature would have further illustrated the divine nature of Jesus.  His Transfiguration would certainly have confirmed it.  And his teaching, as though providing a New Law, was with the authority of God.  His triumphant entry into the city of Jerusalem, welcomed by the throngs, would have authenticated his credentials as the Son of David and the Messiah.

So, the events of Matthew 26:14-27:66 would certainly be shocking to someone coming to this account for the first time.  Certainly the reader might have picked up hints from the murmuring of the Pharisees and the Saduccees and the Priests.  And Jesus himself offered foreshadowings of the fate that awaited him in Jerusalem.

But still, the events in this passage reveal the violence of those who plotted against Jesus. They also reveal his own human vulnerability.  The Son of God is also the Son of Man, who can be beaten and tormented and nailed to a cross.

With such a long passage, it is necessary to summarize some of the events — that Jesus is betrayed by one of his own disciples, predicts his own death, is denied by one of his closest disciples, stands trial in a hastily convened court, and is condemned to die by a foreign ruler.   

We will view these shocking events through the characters that appear, and the dramatic action that follows.  First, there is the shock of betrayal by Judas Iscariot, who approaches the chief priests to offer them Jesus — for a price.

In Matthew’s Gospel, we receive only one hint that Judas will betray Jesus (Matthew 10:4).  But this foreshadowing comes with no explanation of Judas’s motives.  Still, when the disciples are gathered to celebrate the Passover feast, Jesus knows what Judas will do.  Jesus announces that one of them will betray him.  The disciples search their own hearts and ask with deep sorrow:

“It isn’t me, is it, Lord?”

Jesus’ answer is cryptic — that whoever dips his unleavened bread into the charoset dish typical of Passover, would betray him.  Eating in a communal manner like this was an intimate experience.  Jesus was suggesting that the one who betrayed him was a close friend.

Judas is disingenuous, as though to deflect suspicion from himself.  He parrots the other disciples, and says:

It isn’t me, is it, Rabbi?

Unlike the other disciples, though, he calls Jesus Rabbi instead of Lord.  Though subtle, this may suggest he is disavowing any faith in Jesus as the Messiah.

Jesus has warned him, along with the others:

The Son of Man goes, even as it is written of him, but woe to that man through whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would be better for that man if he had not been born.

Following the trajectory of Judas’s fateful decision (sometime between the adjournment of the Passover meal and Jesus’ climb to the Mount of Olives), Judas has gathered a multitude with swords and clubs under the authority of the chief priests and elders of the people.  He knows Jesus’ plans for the evening, and leads this armed rabble to the Mount of Olives.  Again, there is the sign of hypocritical intimacy:

Now he who betrayed him gave them a sign, saying, “Whoever I kiss, he is the one. Seize him.”  Immediately he came to Jesus, and said, “Hail, Rabbi!” and kissed him.

Despite this betrayal, Jesus seems almost tender toward Judas.  Jesus says to him, Friend, why are you here? — although Jesus knows precisely why Judas has come.

We follow the next phase in Judas’s part of this drama.  It is only after Jesus is hailed before the council of the high priest and the elders late that night, and then turned over to Pontius Pilate for Roman justice the next morning, that Judas seems to experience remorse.  He attempts to return the thirty pieces of silver, and confesses his sin in betraying innocent blood.  His reparations of the money are refused, and he throws it at the feet of the priests and leaves — and hangs himself.

Was this a sign of repentance?  Was he forever condemned?  Literally, God alone knows.

Let us return to the other characters who reclined with Jesus at the Passover feast.  All of the disciples were searching their own hearts about Jesus’ prediction that one of them would betray him.  But when Jesus again warns them that they would all stumble because of the events that night, Peter can’t stand it.  He protests that he alone would remain faithful, even if all of them fell away.  Jesus singles out Peter specifically with the painful prediction that Peter himself would deny him three times before morning, when the rooster crowed.

To his credit, Peter was one of the three closest friends whom Jesus asked to stay near when Jesus went to Gethsemane to pray.  But Peter’s first stumble came even before he denied Jesus — three times Peter, along with James and John, fell asleep, even after Jesus asked them directly to stay awake and watch with him in prayer.

Matthew doesn’t tell us that Peter is the one who strikes off the ear of the high priest’s servant with a sword.  John’s Gospel supplies that detail (John 18:10).  But the Gospel of Matthew does show that Peter had just enough courage to follow Jesus and the armed band to the courtyard of the house of Caiphas — where Peter withers in fear.  When asked if he is one of Jesus’ disciples, Peter denies it, with a curse.

So, let us turn to Jesus and his words and actions in these events.  Jesus is very clearly aware of his role in this drama.  Jesus knows the script.  He predicts that he will be delivered up to death as it is written in the Scriptures.  The Passover meal becomes, in his hands, a new sign of remembrance for his followers.  The meal that celebrated the deliverance of his people from slavery some 1200 years earlier would now be transformed in order to celebrate his sacrificial death, which liberates from slavery to sin.

Jesus also very consciously refers to Scripture as he begins the death march to the cross — quoting Zechariah 13:7 to predict the scattering of his followers when he is arrested.  When the armed rabble come, and one of his followers offers resistance, Jesus reproves him — Jesus knows his own power to call down heavenly reinforcements, but he cites the Scriptures that prophesy that his death must happen. And of course he quotes Psalm 22:1 in the so-called Cry of Dereliction from the cross:

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

Jesus does know what awaits him.  And yet we see the tension between his divine nature and his human nature, even if only briefly.  When he prays in the Garden of Gethsemane, he asks:

My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass away from me.

Facing death, and the full brunt of evil on the cross, Jesus is honest.  If possible, he would prefer not to suffer the physical and spiritual suffering that is to come.  However, the tension is resolved when he prays:

nevertheless, not what I desire, but what you desire.

If we subscribe to the classical Christology of the church, as I do, we see the two natures of Jesus here in this moment — he is fully human and fully divine.  Both natures are in harmony, and he is completely surrendered to the saving work for which he was destined.

Jesus is fully aware of his latent power as Son of God, and his authority over all things.  His response to Peter’s feeble attempt to defend his Lord is telling:

do you think that I couldn’t ask my Father, and he would even now send me more than twelve legions of angels?

But there are two reasons that such supernatural militance isn’t called for at this time — first, violent reprisal will only escalate violence (all those who take the sword will die by the sword), and that is not his purpose in coming.  And second, all that is happening is in order to fulfill the Scriptures.

Jesus does chide the crowd for an excessive show of force — coming at night, armed to the teeth, as if they are seeking a dangerous criminal.  After all, he’s been teaching publicly in the temple all week.

Jesus continues to exert his quiet, peaceful authority when he is hailed before a hastily summoned council of the priests and elders.  This court isn’t even held in a public venue, but in the home of Caiaphas the high priest.  None of the false testimony against him holds water — until he is asked the one question that really matters:

The high priest answered him, “I adjure you by the living God, that you tell us whether you are the Christ, the Son of God.”

The response of Jesus suggests that by bringing this very charge, the high priest has acknowledged that Jesus is either the Son of God, or he is a fraud.  And the life and ministry of Jesus leaves no room for the charge that he is a phony.  Moreover, Jesus confirms his identity with a prophecy:

Jesus said to him, “You have said it. Nevertheless, I tell you, after this you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of Power, and coming on the clouds of the sky.”

This is apocalyptic language that is unmistakably Biblical.  Jesus may well be referring to Daniel:

I saw in the night visions, and behold, there came with the clouds of the sky one like a son of man, and he came even to the ancient of days, and they brought him near before him.  There was given him dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, that all the peoples, nations, and languages should serve him: his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom that which shall not be destroyed (Daniel 7:13-14).

Now the high priest has his “smoking gun” — all the evidence he thinks he needs to convict Jesus.  The high priest tears his robe, which is a sign of grief and lamentation.  But the Levitical law forbade the high priest from these customary signs of mourning (Leviticus 21:10).  The high priest is conveying a serious source of grief by doing this — he is accusing Jesus of blasphemy.

The penalty for blasphemy in Jewish law is death.  Jesus is physically abused and abased by these council members.  But they are an occupied nation, with Rome as their overlord.  They have no authority to execute a prisoner.

So the next morning Jesus must stand before Governor Pontius Pilate.  The Roman official’s concern is not with religious charges against Jesus, but with political sedition and revolution.  Messiah, or anointed one, is also the title of a king.  This is the only charge that concerns Pilate.  But Jesus leaves Pilate to make up his own mind:

 Now Jesus stood before the governor: and the governor asked him, saying, “Are you the King of the Jews?”  Jesus said to him, “So you say.”

This is essentially the same answer Jesus gives to the high priest, which suggests that Jesus is tacitly confirming the charge.

Pilate’s role in this trial and execution are critical.  Pilate had already incurred the displeasure of the priests and elders with some of his previous public policies.  According to the Jewish historians of that time (e.g., Philo and Josephus), Pilate had offended the priests by introducing Roman standards and shields on temple grounds — this had been a violation of the second commandment forbidding graven images.  And he had appropriated money designated for the temple and used it to build aqueducts.  When the Jews protested these acts, Pilate ordered his troops to respond with violence.  It might be said he had two strikes against him already.  More complaints to the Emperor might be devastating to Pilate’s career.

Not even the intercession of Pilate’s wife could avert the inevitable.

Pilate’s contrivance, to force the crowd into a decision, backfires.  He offers a choice of Barabbas or Jesus.  They cry for Barabbas to be released, and Jesus to be crucified.  Pilate now finds himself in a corner that he himself created.   He is convinced of Jesus’ innocence.  When the crowd demands that Jesus be crucified, Pilate pleads for him:

But the governor said, “Why? What evil has he done?”

His efforts to avert violence are about to backfire.  Normally the Roman Procurator didn’t come to Jerusalem except in times of unrest, as a show of force to prevent uprisings.  Now, this trial was threatening to become the source of a riot.

Pilate’s highly symbolic act, washing his hands of Jesus’ blood, is a sham.  A crucifixion was a penalty exacted by Rome for political crimes (sedition, treason, revolution), not civil crimes.  By permitting it, Pilate was responsible for it.  And it was Roman soldiers who carried out the execution.

The Roman soldiers continue the abuse of Jesus.  Normally a flogging was considered a possible death sentence.  They mock him and humiliate him with the threadbare trappings of royalty — a scarlet robe, a crown of thorns, and a reed for a scepter — because by dehumanizing him they make an example of Jesus.  And it is easier to kill someone whose humanity has been devalued and objectified.

It should be noted that Golgotha, the hill where Jesus was crucified, was not far from one of the city gates, along a well-traveled road.  This was quite intentional.  The cross was a political statement that Rome wished to make very public — this is what happens to enemies of Rome!

Thus begin the hours of supreme agony, coupled with paradox.  The Roman soldiers mock him by slapping and spitting on Jesus, and call him The King of the Jews.  The sign placed over his head on the cross proclaims the same charge.  The irony is that this helpless, humiliated and dying Jew is in fact the rightful heir of King David — and he is also the King of the Universe.

The paradox of this dying God is manifested further by the mockery of the passersby and the priests.  They taunt him:

If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross!

He saved others, but he can’t save himself. If he is the King of Israel, let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him.  He trusts in God. Let God deliver him now, if he wants him; for he said, ‘I am the Son of God’.

This is the supreme paradox.  Because Jesus is the Son of God, he chooses not to come down from the cross.  He saves others because he refuses to save himself.  And it is his trust in God that was revealed in the Garden of Gethsemane when he said:

not what I desire, but what you desire.

Matthew’s descriptions of the scene on Golgotha (appropriately named: the place of the skull) grow surreal.  Darkness strangely falls over the land at noon.  There is silence, watching, and suffering until 3:00 p.m., when Jesus makes his famous cry:

“Eli, Eli, lima  sabachthani?” That is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

The phrase that Jesus quotes is one of the rare transliterations of Hebrew and Aramaic in the otherwise Greek text of Matthew’s Gospels. This is a clue to us that Matthew is using Jesus’ exact words from the cross, and that Jesus is quoting Psalm 22:1.  Psalm 22, written hundreds of years earlier, appears to be an eerily accurate description of the physical and psychological effects of this crucifixion:

All those who see me mock me.
They insult me with their lips. They shake their heads, saying,
“He trusts in Yahweh;
let him deliver him.
Let him rescue him, since he delights in him” (Psalm 22:7-8)

I am poured out like water.
All my bones are out of joint.
My heart is like wax;
it is melted within me.
My strength is dried up like a potsherd.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
You have brought me into the dust of death.
 For dogs have surrounded me.
A company of evildoers have enclosed me.
They have pierced my hands and feet.
 I can count all of my bones.
They look and stare at me.
They divide my garments among them.
They cast lots for my clothing (Psalm 22:14-18).

At the same time it shouldn’t escape notice that despair is transformed into powerful hope in Psalm 22:

I will declare your name to my brothers.
Among the assembly, I will praise you.
You who fear Yahweh, praise him!
All you descendants of Jacob, glorify him!
Stand in awe of him, all you descendants of Israel!
 For he has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted,
Neither has he hidden his face from him;
but when he cried to him, he heard (Psalm 22:22-24).

A crucified man who is slowly dying of asphyxiation hasn’t the breath to recite an entire Psalm, but it may be that Jesus’ cry was not that of dereliction at all.  Perhaps he was remembering the Psalms learned in his childhood, and particularly this vivid poem, and in its despair he paradoxically finds hope.

This cry has been interpreted in many ways throughout the centuries by Christian expositors. In any event, this cry  is misinterpreted by some who stand at the cross.  They think he is calling on Elijah, when he is actually calling on God (Eli = My God). 

Even the kind effort of a soldier to offer Jesus sour wine soaked into a sponge is turned into a taunt by the others:

The rest said, “Let him be. Let’s see whether Elijah comes to save him.”

As mentioned above, the breath of a man dying of crucifixion becomes shallow — speaking becomes nearly impossible.  But Jesus dies with what seems a cry of victory:

Jesus cried again with a loud voice, and yielded up his spirit.

The effects of this climactic moment are multiple.  The thick curtain in the temple was torn from top to bottom.  This is the veil that separated the Holy Place in the temple from the innermost room known as the Holy of Holies.

The Holy Place was the location of solemn worship where only the priests were permitted to go. This is where the table for the shewbread, the altar of incense which represented the prayers of Israel, and the seven-branched lampstand that offered light for the room were located.  These were all articles carefully prescribed by Yahweh to Moses in Exodus.

However, the Holy of Holies was the most holy place, where the high priest entered only once a year on the Day of Atonement to offer sacrifices for the sins of Israel.

The significance of the tearing of the veil is clear — Jesus, the true high priest, has opened the way into the presence of God.

Not only are the religious symbols of Israel affected, nature itself is affected — there is a violent earthquake, and tombs are disturbed.  There is even a foretaste of the resurrection of Jesus, and the general resurrection expected at the end of the age:

The tombs were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised; and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection, they entered into the holy city and appeared to many.

And of course, there are the reactions of the living.  A battle-hardened centurion sees all of these phenomena and declares what amounts to a confession of faith:

Truly this was the Son of God.

This is the first sign of the harvest among the Gentiles that is to come because of the death of Jesus — but not the last.

And there are the women who have been keeping vigil at the cross.  They will not stray far from the corpse of Jesus, even after he is entombed:

Many women were there watching from afar, who had followed Jesus from Galilee, serving him.  Among them were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of the sons of Zebedee.

Mary Magdalene we recognize from other Gospels as the woman from whom Jesus had cast seven demons (Mark 16:9; Luke 8:2).  The other Mary mentioned here is the mother of James the younger, one of the twelve disciples listed — but Joses is somewhat mysterious.  Although the name Joses appears in the Gospels, he does not appear as one of the twelve.  Curiously, James and Joses are mentioned as brothers — of Jesus himself!  (Matthew 13:55).

And finally the mother of James and John, the sons of Zebedee, is mentioned.  These two sons were among the first of the fishermen to follow Jesus from the beginning, and two of Jesus’ closest friends (Matthew 4:21).  This is the same woman who asked Jesus to find a position of honor for her sons when Jesus came into his Kingdom (Matthew 20:20-21). This wife of Zebedee must have also left her home on the shores of the Sea of Galilee to follow Jesus!

Then there is Joseph, a rich man from Arimathaea. We also know from the other Gospels that Joseph was a prominent member of the Jewish council of elders — the same council that had condemned Jesus for blasphemy (Mark 15:43).  We know that Joseph was hoping for the consummation of the Kingdom of God (Luke 23:51).  And most significantly, we know that Joseph was a secret disciple, who hid his faith out of fear of his colleagues on the council of elders (John 19:38).

And here we see the courage of Joseph in risking the disapproval and censure of his colleagues:

This man went to Pilate, and asked for Jesus’ body. Then Pilate commanded the body to be given up.  Joseph took the body, and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had cut out in the rock, and he rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb, and departed.

Nevertheless, even after all of this, on the Sabbath day following the day of Preparation, the chief priests and Pharisees violate their own prescriptions for the Sabbath observance in order to petition Pilate.  This suggests their anxiety and urgency even now about the influence of Jesus:

Sir, we remember what that deceiver said while he was still alive: ‘After three days I will rise again.’ Command therefore that the tomb be made secure until the third day, lest perhaps his disciples come at night and steal him away, and tell the people, ‘He is risen from the dead;’ and the last deception will be worse than the first.

Clearly, they are aware that Jesus has predicted his own resurrection.  They may doubt that Jesus is the Messiah, but they don’t trust his disciples.

Guarding a tomb is hardly routine Roman military practice, but Pilate continues to placate the chief priests and the Pharisees:

You have a guard. Go, make it as secure as you can.

Not only is there a guard set at the tomb where Jesus has been laid, they seal the stone.  The stone itself would have been large enough to block the entry way, and therefore quite large and heavy.  The caves in which these tombs were dug were likely limestone.  The seal was probably a soft, moldable clay that would harden — or it may well have indicated an Imperial Roman seal.  This would have been a deterrent to grave robbers who sought to break in.  Few would wish to risk the wrath of Roman justice.

APPLY:  

If we wish to read a theological or doctrinal interpretation of the passion and crucifixion of Jesus, we might turn to the epistles of Paul, Peter, John and the book of Hebrews.  There we learn that Jesus is the perfect sacrifice for sins, and that as the true high priest he is the one who both offers himself and is offered for our atonement.  By our faith in him, we are healed and forgiven.  In the account from Matthew there is some interpretation, but mostly we are presented with the narrative of these horrific events.

When we read this account as if for the first time, it is difficult not to experience shock, and even horror, as the drama unfolds.  Jesus is betrayed by a trusted follower.  He is arrested while at prayer.  He is tried by a court looking for a pretext to condemn him.  He is violently abused, and becomes the pawn in a political game of chess between powerful men.  He dies a horrible death on the cross, casually taunted by most who pass by.

But what is also shocking — in a positive and hopeful sense — is that despite the horror, there are those in this narrative who respond even to this crucifixion with faith and hope.  The centurion (a foreigner) is moved to a declaration of faith that Jesus is the Son of God.  The women who have followed Jesus and served him from the beginning in Galilee to this present moment remain with him to the bitter end, even holding vigil at his tomb.  Joseph of Arimathaea overcomes his fear of his colleagues and openly cares for the body of Jesus after his death.

However, if we take the time to review the Gospel of Matthew and note what Jesus said during his life and ministry about what awaited him in Jerusalem, the shock would be mitigated.  Jesus told his disciples at least three times that he would be killed in Jerusalem (Matthew 16:21-28; Matthew 17:22-23; Matthew 20:17-19).  And there is the suggestion in Matthew 16 that he went on advising them that he would be killed.

It must be noted that each time Jesus spoke of his death he also spoke of his resurrection.  Perhaps that is partly what motivates Joseph of Arimathaea.  After all, Joseph’s tomb was only borrowed for a few days by Jesus!  And perhaps this is why the women linger at the tomb.  As it turns out, this was not merely emotional denial or unassuaged grief — they were among the first to encounter the risen Jesus!

As shocking as this long and painful passage from Matthew’s Gospel may be, the ultimate shock is still to come — on the third day!

RESPOND: 

I once had a colleague in the ministry who insisted on reading the entire account of the Passion (the suffering) and death of Jesus on Palm/Passion Sunday.  His reasoning was interesting.  People in his church loved to hear the entire Nativity accounts of Jesus’ birth from Matthew and Luke at Christmas.  They needed to know why he was born, and where his life would take him.

I have spent much more time on this account from the Gospel of Matthew this week for much the same reason.  The birth of Jesus anticipates his death.  And his death makes sense of his birth as the Son of God and the Son of Man for our sake.

T.S. Eliot, in one of my favorite poems, describes the coming of the Magi to Bethlehem.  He describes the arduous journey as they leave the luxury and comforts of their summer palaces and silken girls bringing sherbet. 

And after the ordeal of this journey, with all of its hardships and frustrations, they arrive in the temperate valley and find the place they were looking for.   And Eliot closes with these lines, from the perspective of the Magi:

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
(The Journey of the Magi)

May we all find in Jesus’ death our own birth.

Lord, the events of your Passion and Crucifixion are hard to look at.  If not for the Resurrection, and promise of pardon and new birth that accompany these events, it would be unbearable.  Thank you for suffering on our behalf — on my behalf — as unworthy as I am.  Amen. 

PHOTO:
“The First Station- Jesus is Condemned to Death” by Fr. Lawrence Lew, O.P. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic license.

Old Testament for February 26, 2023

START WITH SCRIPTURE:
Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7
CLICK HERE TO READ SCRIPTURE ON BIBLEGATEWAY.COM

OBSERVE:

These Scriptures are excerpts from the tragic tale of the archetypal human couple, Adam and Eve.  In these two passages, we catch a glimpse of the “before and after” of this couple’s downfall.  And in their fall, we can also catch a glimpse of the source of our own inclination toward sin.

The “before” is idyllic.  Adam is created as the apex of all nature.  The Garden of Eden seems to have been created for Adam’s enjoyment.  Notice that Adam wasn’t placed in Eden as a mere passive recipient of the garden’s abundant bounty.  He was given responsibilities in the garden:

 Yahweh God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to cultivate and keep it.

The man was given a job description!

Also note Yahweh’s generosity, and his bestowal of freedom.  He withholds almost nothing from the man throughout the entire garden:

 Yahweh God commanded the man, saying, “You may freely eat of every tree of the garden….”

Implied in this is his freedom of choice.  There is only one prohibition commanded by God:

 “…but you shall not eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil; for in the day that you eat of it, you will surely die.”

This is a dire warning for a newly created man who knows nothing of death.  Adam isn’t given an explanation about this command.  Is it a test? Does this tree of the knowledge of good and evil represent moral and ethical knowledge? Why would he need such knowledge anyway, unless he defied a known commandment of God?

In the interlude between this command and our next excerpt from the tragic tale, Eve is introduced (Genesis 2:18-25).  Yahweh has created all the creatures, and again given Adam a job to do — Adam is to name all of these animals.  This responsibility is the intellectual aspect of Adam’s job — to identify and catalogue the creatures.  His work in the garden is both physical and mental.

But even all of these creatures cannot fulfill a fundamental need that Adam has — for companionship. Yahweh sees this, and says:

It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make him a helper comparable to him (Genesis 2:18).

His companion is made from his own flesh, in his own image.  Adam declares:

This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh. She will be called ‘woman,’ because she was taken out of Man (Genesis 2:23).

Their unity forms the basis of all human social interaction, including marriage and the family:

Therefore a man will leave his father and his mother, and will join with his wife, and they will be one flesh (Genesis 2:24).

Note that marriage is monogamous and sexuality is celebrated as a good gift:

The man and his wife were both naked, and they were not ashamed (Genesis 2:25).

So far, so good.  Adam and Eve enjoy free will, the freedom to roam throughout the garden and eat whatever they desire, and the freedom to enjoy each other without shame.

And then the shadow falls.  No explanation is given as to the enmity of the serpent.  In fact, it is not until the New Testament that a serpent is clearly identified with Satan, when a heavenly war is depicted in the Apocalypse of John:

 The great dragon was thrown down, the old serpent, he who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world. He was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him (Revelation 12:9).

But it is quite clear that the serpent wishes to deceive Eve.  He begins by subtly undermining God’s authority with word games:

He said to the woman, “Has God really said, ‘You shall not eat of any tree of the garden?’”

No, that is not what God said to the man.  God had said that they were free to eat from any tree in the garden.  Only the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was withheld from them.

Eve attempts to repeat back the “catechism” she has learned so well:

We may eat fruit from the trees of the garden, but not the fruit of the tree which is in the middle of the garden. God has said, ‘You shall not eat of it. You shall not touch it, lest you die.’

However, we note a subtle shift in her interpretation of God’s command.  She adds a prohibition that God has not said — that they aren’t even to touch it.  Is this her own addition, or has Adam handed the command on to her with his own interpretation?

The serpent continues to twist the truth by assuring Eve that she won’t die if she eats it.  Now the serpent begins to recast God as the enemy of Adam and Eve, suggesting God is keeping something wonderful from them!

God knows that in the day you eat it, your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.

This is a supreme irony, if we consider the first creation account described in Genesis 1.  There, God creates human beings in the ultimate moment of creation, on the sixth day.  And Genesis says of them:

 God created man in his own image. In God’s image he created him; male and female he created them (Genesis 1:27).

If this is true, Adam and Eve together are already like God.  They have been created in their complementary nature to take responsibility for nature, and to reflect God’s character.

What the serpent seems to engender is a craving for something that isn’t needed.  Adam and Eve already have all that they need!

Eve, however, is taken in by the false advertising.  The fruit looks good to eat, delights the eyes, and is desirable to enhance knowledge, and she eats it.

But permit me a moment of speculation.  Where was Adam all of this time?  We might be tempted to think he was wandering somewhere else in the garden — perhaps we are influenced by John Milton’s epic poem Paradise Lost, or sources other than the Scriptures.  However, we might also deduce that Adam is right there beside her this entire time, listening to the words of the serpent and Eve’s answers!  We might even ask why he didn’t intervene, or refuse the fruit when it was offered.

The fact remains — their moral eyes were opened by this act of disobedience.  Perhaps it wasn’t merely the fruit that opened their eyes, but the act of disobedience itself that caused them to realize the difference between right and wrong!  By disobeying God, they had committed sin and now knew what evil was!

Sadly, their openness and transparency to one another was also lost.  Their awareness of sin also brought shame:

Their eyes were opened, and they both knew that they were naked. They sewed fig leaves together, and made coverings for themselves.

APPLY:  

Historically, some theologians have attempted to lay the blame for “the fall” on Eve’s shoulders.  She was approached by the serpent; she was duped; she greedily ate the fruit and then gave it to Adam.  The origin of sin is all the woman’s fault, right?

Not so fast, hotshot!  Adam had received the original command from God, and he said nothing when Eve gave him the fruit.  And we have no evidence that Adam was off somewhere else in the garden building a tree house.  Since they were companions, he may have been right there listening to the entire dialogue between the serpent and Eve.

The bottom line is that Adam is named in the New Testament as the representative figure in the Fall.  1 Timothy 2:13-14 tells us that it was Eve who was deceived, but not Adam.  Nevertheless, the fault of the Fall is imputed to Adam:

Therefore as sin entered into the world through one man, and death through sin; and so death passed to all men, because all sinned (Romans 5:12).

Unlike Eve, Adam was not deceived.  He sinned voluntarily and knowingly.

We also note this.  The garden of Eden was not a “free lunch.”  Adam had work to do, both physically and mentally — tending the garden and cataloging the creatures.  We might draw the conclusion that this describes the physical and intellectual work that we are called upon to perform as human beings.

It was only after the Fall that work became unpleasant and bitter:

 the ground is cursed for your sake.
You will eat from it with much labor all the days of your life.
     It will yield thorns and thistles to you;
and you will eat the herb of the field.
 By the sweat of your face will you eat bread until you return to the ground,
for out of it you were taken.
For you are dust,
and to dust you shall return (Genesis 3:17-19).

RESPOND: 

In the 1784 New England Primer, published to teach children how to read, we find this theological statement:

In Adam’s fall
we sinned all.

Although not all Christian denominations agree completely about the doctrine of Original Sin as an hereditary sin, most agree that death was the consequence of Adam and Eve’s sin.  That we have a tendency toward sin seems to be a pretty universal opinion — otherwise we have no need of a Savior.

I would argue, tongue in cheek, that anyone who doesn’t believe in Original Sin never had kids!  Just watch them long enough and you begin to see the same archetypal story of Adam and Eve played out, just with different details.

I can attest to my own first awareness of sin when I was six years old.  I had been playing with my neighbor and his older sister and one of her friends.  I had been the hero that day because I was able to do cartwheels.  But when they grew bored with my skill, the girls stopped paying attention to me and began paying attention to my friend instead.  I grew jealous, and decided to do something dramatic to regain their admiration.  I pushed my friend off the porch railing, not realizing that he would land into a thorny rosebush.  Like Adam and Eve, I was banished by their father from playing with them or coming into their yard.

That was not my last dalliance with sin.  But it served to teach me that whatever we may think of the doctrine of Original Sin, we are all inclined toward sin very early.  I see the evidence in the world of human beings all too clearly.

However, I also see the antidote to sin.  If Adam represents our sinful nature, Jesus Christ represents God’s response to sin in his perfect nature:

For if by the trespass of the one the many died, much more did the grace of God, and the gift by the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, abound to the many (Romans 5:15).

What our lectionary passage did not include is a phrase that many see as a prophecy of the triumph of Christ over sin, death and the devil.  God speaks to the serpent:

I will put hostility between you and the woman,
and between your offspring and her offspring.
He will bruise your head,
and you will bruise his heel (Genesis 3:15).

In Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, there is a dramatic scene depicting Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane.  Satan appears, seeking to tempt Jesus with self-doubt.  As Jesus prays, we watch in horror as a serpent slithers out from beneath the robes of Satan, toward Jesus.  And then Jesus stands, and looks Satan full in the face — and crushes the head of the serpent with one stamp of his foot.

This is a powerful visual interpretation of a passage that has been viewed by many theologians as the prophecy of the ultimate triumph of Christ, despite the cross — no, because of the cross!

Our Lord, temptation comes in many guises in my life — but at its heart it is a temptation to live my life as my own god, finding my fulfillment in something other than you.  Deliver me from that deceiving serpent. Only in you can temptation and sin be overcome. Grant me pardon from and power over sin.  Amen. 

PHOTOS:
“Adam & Eve – Fall of Man, Cornelis Cornelisz hands detail” by Jim Forest is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic license.

2nd Gospel for April 10, 2022 (Liturgy of the Passion)

START WITH SCRIPTURE:
Luke 22:14-23:56
CLICK HERE TO READ SCRIPTURE ON BIBLEGATEWAY.COM

OBSERVE:

Our passage from Luke covers the sweep of events in the life of Jesus beginning with the Passover meal in the Upper Room, his prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, his arrest and trial (first before the Jewish Sanhedrin, and then before Pilate), his flogging, and finally the events of his crucifixion, death and burial. This is also known in Christian tradition as The Passion.

Along with all of these are the dramatic subplots:

• The betrayal by Judas, who leads a crowd to find Jesus on the Mount of Olives and identifies Jesus with a kiss.
• The three-fold denial of Jesus by Peter in the courtyard of the high-priest.
• The patronizing mockery by King Herod.
• The compulsion of Simon of Cyrene to bear the cross for the bleeding Jesus.
• The dialogue of the two thieves on the cross.
• The courage of Joseph of Arimathea, who requests permission to bury Jesus.
• The mourning women.

Obviously, a book could well be written about all of these events, and many books have been devoted to the passion of Christ — so I won’t even attempt to cover the entire passage.

All four of the Gospels describe these events in detail, each from their own unique perspectives.  So perhaps a fruitful approach might be to simply point out what is unique to Luke’s perspective.

The three Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark and Luke) all describe the establishment of the Lord’s Supper, using the bread and wine as signs of the body and blood of Jesus.  But it is only in Luke’s Gospel that Jesus expresses his strong feelings about this profoundly symbolic Seder meal that he celebrates with his friends:

“I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.”

He is very aware that this is his last supper with them before his death.

It is interesting also that in Luke, Jesus distributes a separate cup of wine prior to the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup after supper.  A little familiarity with a Jewish Passover Seder reveals that there are four different cups of wine that are consecrated at different times during the meal. The four cups are said to represent the four declarations about Israel’s deliverance from Egypt.

“I will bring out,” “I will deliver,” “I will redeem,” and “I will take.” (Exodus 6:6-7)

Obviously, Jesus is transforming these four declarations to reflect himself as the Liberator, Deliverer, Redeemer, and ultimate Savior.

It is also in Luke that Jesus gives the disciples specific instructions about what they will need after he is arrested.  As with the other Synoptics, he  has already told them that they are not to be overbearing toward others, but are to be servants.

All four of the Gospels foreshadow the denial by Simon Peter.  But only Luke describes the supernatural overtones of this crisis for Simon Peter.  Jesus says:

“Simon, Simon, listen! Satan has demanded to sift all of you like wheat,  but I have prayed for you that your own faith may not fail; and you, when once you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”

Jesus sees Peter’s coming time of trial as a spiritual battle that Peter will fail, but from which he will be able to repent. And through this ordeal, Simon Peter will emerge stronger and more equipped to lead this new movement.

Only in Luke does Jesus say:

“When I sent you out without a purse, bag, or sandals, did you lack anything?” They said, “No, not a thing.” He said to them, “But now, the one who has a purse must take it, and likewise a bag. And the one who has no sword must sell his cloak and buy one.  For I tell you, this scripture must be fulfilled in me, ‘And he was counted among the lawless’; and indeed what is written about me is being fulfilled.”  They said, “Lord, look, here are two swords.” He replied, “It is enough.”

The Scripture Jesus refers to is Isaiah 53:12. Isaiah 53 is one of four Servant Oracles of Isaiah; and Isaiah 53 in particular is called the oracle of the Suffering Servant.  It is regarded by Christian tradition to be a clear prophecy of the suffering of Christ.  On his cross, Jesus does identify with the lawless as he takes our sin upon himself.

Jesus seems to be telling his disciples that they must be prepared for life without his physical presence with them, in an unpredictable and insecure world.  He is not advocating that they take up arms to protect him.  His answer when he is told that they have two swords may express exasperation that they are misunderstanding him:

“It is enough.”

Obviously, two swords would not be enough to resist the armed soldiers who will be coming to arrest him. Jesus makes it clear that he is not advocating armed conflict when the crowd confronts him later in the Garden of Gethsemane:

When those who were around him saw what was coming, they asked, “Lord, should we strike with the sword?” Then one of them struck the slave of the high priest and cut off his right ear. But Jesus said, “No more of this!” And he touched his ear and healed him.

This illustrates that Jesus does have power.  Not the power of the sword, but the supernatural power of God.  Only in Luke’s Gospel (written by a physician) does Jesus heal the hapless servant’s ear!

But before the arrest, Jesus seeks solace and guidance in prayer on the Mount of Olives.  This is also described in Matthew and Mark, with the classic prayer of complete surrender and obedience:

“Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.”

In most Bibles there are footnotes to Luke 22:43-44, telling us that these verses are not in many early manuscripts; and neither are they found in the other three Gospels.  But they are still part of the Biblical canon.  We are reminded that each Gospel writer is providing a unique perspective to these events.  And these verses, again possibly recorded by a physician who was interested in the physical effects of these events on Jesus, describe both supernatural intervention and the extreme emotional stress that Jesus experienced:

Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength.  In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground.

A doctor’s report on the physical sufferings of Jesus tells us that though the bloody sweat is a rare phenomenon, it is well documented.  This condition is called hematidrosis,  and the modern physician writes:

Under great emotional stress, tiny capillaries in the sweat glands can break, thus mixing blood with sweat (The Crucifixion of Jesus, by C. Truman Davis, M.D., M.S.).

Only in Luke’s Gospel does Judas display the hypocrisy of physical affection for the Master he is betraying:

He approached Jesus to kiss him;  but Jesus said to him, “Judas, is it with a kiss that you are betraying the Son of Man?”

I’ve already addressed the altercation of the sword and the healing of the slave whose ear is struck off.

But again, there is a poignant detail that is only found in Luke when Jesus is arrested.  Jesus points out in the Synoptic Gospels that he has taught publicly in the temple, and now they come to arrest him when he isn’t surrounded by the crowds. And then he says in Luke:

“But this is your hour, and the power of darkness!”

This is clearly a spiritual statement.  Just as he warned Simon Peter that he would be tested by Satan, Jesus is clearly alluding to a spiritual battle that will soon reach its climax.  Jesus has turned himself over into the hands of Satan for his ultimate battle against darkness.

When Jesus is hauled away to the house of the high priest, it is clear where the darkness reigns.

Now, we have Peter’s ordeal in the courtyard, which appears in all four of the Gospels.  However, Luke offers a few more details about the challenges that Peter receives when he is interrogated by three different people about his ties to Jesus:

Then a servant-girl, seeing him in the firelight, stared at him and said, “This man also was with him.”  But he denied it, saying, “Woman, I do not know him.” A little later someone else, on seeing him, said, “You also are one of them.” But Peter said, “Man, I am not!” Then about an hour later still another kept insisting, “Surely this man also was with him; for he is a Galilean.”  But Peter said, “Man, I do not know what you are talking about!”

Peter lies to the woman, but either his northern accent or his fisherman’s garb gives him away as a Galilean to another accuser.

And only in Luke do we have the heart-rending detail that when the cocks crows,

The Lord turned and looked at Peter.

Was the expression of Jesus that of accusation or pity?  Or was Jesus even then expressing his love for his impulsive disciple?

The trial of Jesus before the Sanhedrin is treated similarly among the Synoptic Gospels.  We note, though, that the accusations that are brought against Jesus in that context are primarily religious — that Jesus has claimed to be the Messiah, or the Son of God.  His answers are somewhat cryptic but can be interpreted as admission:

They said, “If you are the Messiah, tell us.” He replied, “If I tell you, you will not believe;  and if I question you, you will not answer.  But from now on the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the power of God.” All of them asked, “Are you, then, the Son of God?” He said to them, “You say that I am.”  Then they said, “What further testimony do we need? We have heard it ourselves from his own lips!”

However, it is highly significant that when this assembly brings Jesus before Pilate, they shift the tone.  They seem to know that Pilate will not be interested in their religious charges of blasphemy — so their accusations are almost strictly political:

 “We found this man perverting our nation, forbidding us to pay taxes to the emperor, and saying that he himself is the Messiah, a king.”

These are patently charges that could be regarded as sedition against Rome, even the claim that he is Messiah — there can only be one king in the Roman Empire, and it is the Emperor.  Even the monarchy of Herod is called an ethnarchy by Rome.  This means that he was ruler of only his ethnic people, the Jews, in a restricted area, as a vassal of Rome. (Herod was part Jewish and part Idumean.)

And it should not escape notice that the priests and council have borne false witness against Jesus.  He never told anyone not to pay their taxes!

So Pilate’s question is not casual.

“Are you the king of the Jews?”

In a land where there had been insurrections and uprisings many times in the past, and where the zealots were even then seeking to overthrow Rome, a rival king could not be tolerated.

Jesus’ answer is vague enough that Pilate seeks to evade responsibility for the trial.  Here again, we have additional detail from Luke that we don’t have elsewhere.  When Pilate learns that Jesus is a Galilean he pretends to have no jurisdiction and sends Jesus to King Herod, who is in town presumably for Passover.

This is the only account we have of a meeting between these two kings— Herod Antipas, the king of Galilee and Perea; and King Jesus.

Herod is initially gratified to have Jesus in his court:

 When Herod saw Jesus, he was very glad, for he had been wanting to see him for a long time, because he had heard about him and was hoping to see him perform some sign.

Was it mere curiosity because Herod had heard of the wonders?  Was it a desire for diversion and entertainment? Was Herod sincerely seeking answers?

The subsequent events suggest that Herod’s interest was merely superficial:

 He questioned him at some length, but Jesus gave him no answer.
….Even Herod with his soldiers treated him with contempt and mocked him; then he put an elegant robe on him, and sent him back to Pilate.

Again we note a detail that appears nowhere else:

That same day Herod and Pilate became friends with each other; before this they had been enemies.

What kind of alliance could these two political rivals have formed because of Jesus?  Were they in agreement that Jesus didn’t deserve death?  Were they united in their frustration against the chief priests and the elders of the assembly?

We’re not sure.  What we do know is that Pilate is trying desperately to avoid responsibility for killing Jesus.  He tries to appease the chief priests by having Jesus flogged — although this penalty in itself had been known to cause death.

Of course, the flogging doesn’t satisfy the enemies of Jesus.  They shout for Barabbas to be released.  Ironically, Barabbas really is an insurrectionist. He is a terrorist who seeks the violent overthrow of Roman authority in Jerusalem:

(This was a man who had been put in prison for an insurrection that had taken place in the city, and for murder.)
….So Pilate gave his verdict that their demand should be granted.  He released the man they asked for, the one who had been put in prison for insurrection and murder, and he handed Jesus over as they wished.

The Synoptics all mention Simon of Cyrene.  (Cyrene was a Greco-Roman city in modern day Libya, in North Africa), who is pressed into service to carry the cross.

Where Luke differs is when Jesus addresses  the women of Jerusalem who are lamenting, warning them that they should weep not for him but for themselves and their children.

“For the days are surely coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never nursed.’ Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us’; and to the hills, ‘Cover us.’  For if they do this when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?”

One of Luke’s signatures is his focus on the women in the life of Jesus, from the beginning with Elizabeth and Mary, all the way to the resurrection.

When Jesus is nailed to the cross, only in Luke do we hear the great, priestly words of intercession from Jesus:

Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

The two criminals who were crucified with Jesus appear in all four Gospels. However, in Luke’s Gospel we have the extraordinary dialogue between the two criminals — one who joins with the mockers in deriding Jesus, and the other who defends Jesus and then petitions Jesus.  The one criminal says to the mocking criminal:

“Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.”  Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

What an exceptional degree of faith for this terrorist to have!  He confesses his sin, and then has sufficient faith in a dying Jesus to ask for mercy!

And, in answer to those who deny the promise of eternal life, or who would defer it until the future day of resurrection, Jesus clearly says:

“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” [Emphasis mine].

Curiously, in the other three Gospels we have the offering of sour wine to Jesus from a sponge, but not in Luke.

In Luke alone we have these final words of Jesus:

Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Having said this, he breathed his last.

So, according to Luke’s account Jesus begins his utterances from the cross with prayer to the Father, and ends them with prayer to the Father.  He begins by interceding for his executioners, and ends by commending his life to his Father.

Matthew and Mark have the centurion who is supervising the execution declare that:

“Truly this man was the Son of God.”

In Luke’s Gospel, it says of him:

 When the centurion saw what had taken place, he praised God and said, “Certainly this man was innocent.”

Again, a key addition by Luke is the reaction of the remorseful crowd who are no longer joining in the jibes:

And when all the crowds who had gathered there for this spectacle saw what had taken place, they returned home, beating their breasts.

What the centurion and the crowds have witnessed has affected them deeply.

All four Gospels describe the burial of Jesus by Joseph of Arimathea in a rock-hewn tomb.  One detail that Luke adds is that after the women have followed him to the tomb, they go away with plans to return:

The women who had come with him from Galilee followed, and they saw the tomb and how his body was laid. Then they returned, and prepared spices and ointments.

Interestingly, Luke, the one Gospel writer who is a Gentile, makes a point of noting that these women were observant Jews:

On the sabbath they rested according to the commandment.

Although this has been a longer than usual observation of the Gospel passage, the subject matter certainly justifies it.

APPLY:  

Each of the Gospels provides a unique perspective of a common event.  In my view they are not contradictory, they are augmentary — if that can be a word.  Each Gospel’s account of the Passion augments one another, and adds to our layers of understanding.

However, it is the other sources of Apostolic teaching, the Epistles, that really interpret for us what all of this means.

In the Gospels we have the account of the Passion.  But in the Epistles we learn that this death is so that we may have life; that the pardon from the cross is for all sin; and that Jesus has become sin for us that we might become the righteousness of God.

Still, the Gospels make the sacrifice of Jesus real for us.  How can we read this account without tears when we consider what our forgiveness cost him?

In the words of the prophet:

Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow, which was brought upon me, which the Lord inflicted on the day of his fierce anger (Lamentations 1:12).

RESPOND: 

I have selected the longer version of the lectionary reading for the Gospel this week for a specific reason.  A colleague in ministry once commented to me that he made a point of reading the entire account of the Passion of Christ on Palm Sunday as Holy Week begins.

I rather like that idea.  I have long said that if a Martian attended a Christian church on Palm Sunday and heard Christians shouting “Hosanna!” and then attended church again on Easter Sunday and heard us shout “Christ is risen!” they would lack all perspective about what our salvation cost.

When I think of my own conversion to Christ, on Good Friday exactly 40 years ago, I can attest how powerful the accounts of the Passion of Christ are.

To be clear, I had resolved to turn my life over to God a few years before that moment.  I suppose like the disciples I had already begun to follow the path that would lead me closer to Jesus on December 21, 1974.  That was my first “conversion.”

But it was on Good Friday in 1976, when I read the entire account of the Passion from all four Gospels, that I really saw what Jesus had done for me.  And I knew that my sins were forgiven, even mine!

I have never looked at the cross in the same way again.  And with Paul, I can declare:

I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified. (1 Corinthians 2:2).

Our Lord, how can I ever pay homage to you for what you have done for me, and for all of us? Your willingness to forgive us is universal; oh, if only all would hear and heed that forgiveness and turn to you in faith that they might be saved! May it continue to be my purpose to make your salvation known to the world!  Amen. 

PHOTOS:
"Father Forgive Them" by ArteZoe is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic license.

2nd Gospel for March 28, 2021 (Liturgy of the Passion)

START WITH SCRIPTURE:
Mark 14:1-15:47
CLICK HERE TO READ SCRIPTURE ON BIBLEGATEWAY.COM

OBSERVE:

The climax of Mark’s Gospel approaches.  The growing and intense conflict between Jesus and the religious authorities in Jerusalem reaches its culmination in the violent Passion of Jesus. Because the lectionary text for the Gospel of Mark is so lengthy, I must paint this scene with broad strokes.  But in so many ways, the Passion Narrative from Mark’s Gospel speaks for itself.

It has been noted by many Biblical interpreters that when Mark’s Gospel reaches the account of the Passion, there is a distinct change of tone and pace.  The first thirteen chapters of Mark move swiftly, almost breathlessly from one miracle to the next, one parable to the next.  For example, Mark uses the word immediately forty-one times — far more than any other book in the Bible — denoting action.  But thirty-eight of the occasions this word is used occur prior to chapter 14.

The pace slows down in Mark’s Gospel. The tone becomes darker. Mark lingers over these last few days of Jesus.

There are also contrasts here. There is an ominous sense of foreboding cast over these two chapters, as this passage begins with an introduction of the imminent feast of the Passover and the unleavened bread. The chief priests and scribes are explicit about their plot to arrest and kill him — but they are also cynical:

For they said, “Not during the feast, because there might be a riot of the people.”

But then there is the contrasting scene.  Jesus is a guest at the table of Simon the leper (presumably someone that he has healed?) Perhaps this was a feast of celebration and gratitude given by Simon.  And then:

a woman came having an alabaster jar of ointment of pure nard—very costly. She broke the jar, and poured it over his head.

When there is grumbling that this ointment was worth about a year’s wages for a farm worker and could have been put to use for the poor, Jesus defends her.  There will be other opportunities to help the poor, but his time is short.  Her deed is prophetic:

She has done what she could. She has anointed my body beforehand for the burying. Most certainly I tell you, wherever this Good News may be preached throughout the whole world, that which this woman has done will also be spoken of for a memorial of her.

Note that it is a woman who honors Jesus appropriately. In that patriarchal culture, a woman is more akin to a slave than an equal. And as we follow the narrative, note who is near when he is dying — and also who will become the first witnesses of the risen Jesus.

Now, the darkness grows deeper.  There is betrayal by one of his disciples, and collusion with the religious authorities who, as we already know, seek the death of Jesus.  Here there is irony.  As Jesus prepares solemnly for his death, the chief priests are described as glad and offer Judas Iscariot a price for Jesus.

Then there is the occasion of the Passover, which was normally an occasion of great joy as Israel remembered their deliverance from bondage in Egypt.  But this feast would be overshadowed by apprehension among the disciples, and the prescience of Jesus.  He knows what is to come, which they cannot know.

There is a kind of “secret signal” — two disciples are told to follow a man carrying a pitcher of water. (Normally, carrying water was a task assigned to women.)  He will lead them to an upstairs guestroom for their Passover meal.  All of this seems prearranged.

And at the supper itself, Jesus casts a shadow over the occasion by predicting his betrayal — by one of his own disciples!  What was normally a festive meal had certainly become depressing! Interestingly, Jesus doesn’t identify Judas Iscariot in Mark’s Gospel, leaving each of the twelve to search their own hearts, each asking:

“Surely not I?”

Jesus then transforms this historic and traditional Passover Seder into a sacrament that will be celebrated in the church until he returns:

As they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had blessed, he broke it, and gave to them, and said, “Take, eat. This is my body.”  He took the cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave to them. They all drank of it. He said to them, “This is my blood of the new covenant, which is poured out for many.  Most certainly I tell you, I will no more drink of the fruit of the vine, until that day when I drink it anew in God’s Kingdom.”

Here Jesus offers two predictions concerning his own fate — one concerning his tragic death, but the second concerning his ultimate triumph.  There is bitter death signified by the bread and wine — but there is also the promise and hope of ultimate and eschatological victory.  Jesus is able even now to look beyond his impending violent death toward his resurrection and eventual return.

However, the sorrow of the disciples is only begun.  Jesus predicts that they will all stumble  because of him that night — more specifically he quotes Scripture, from Zechariah 13:7:

 ‘I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.’

This is precisely what is about to happen. And yet once again he also foresees his own resurrection:

 However, after I am raised up, I will go before you into Galilee.

Once again there is the contrast of his death and his resurrection — darkness and light.

Peter’s famous contention that he won’t leave Jesus’ side, no matter what,  is met with brutal predictive honesty:

Jesus said to him, “Most certainly I tell you, that you today, even this night, before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.”

We note that all of the disciples made the same protest that Peter did — that they would die with Jesus before they denied him. But of course Jesus would be proven correct by subsequent events.

The picture we have is that Jesus is wrestling with nearly everyone, including the priests and even his own disciples.  Only the woman who anoints his head with oil at the beginning of the scene seems to intuitively understand him.  The disciples, who have spent so much time with him over the previous short years, still don’t get it.

And on the Mount of Olives, in the place called Gethsemane, this struggle comes to a head.  (Gethsemane means olive press, because that’s where the olives were crushed into oil. How appropriate for the one whose body was to be broken and poured out!).

The three closest disciples (Peter, James, and John) can’t even stay awake while Jesus prays, even though he has told them how troubled he is.  All of the disciples have been charged to pray for him. Yet he is alone with the Father.

It might be said that this moment in the Garden is the climax of his struggle, and that he is perhaps even wrestling with God the Father.  But we note that he addresses his Father as Abba.  Many scholars suggest that this is the familiar and intimate term of endearment that a child might call his father, like “daddy.”

But we see also that despite his preference that he not endure the cross, Jesus surrenders his will to the purpose for which he has come:

He went forward a little, and fell on the ground, and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass away from him.  He said, “Abba, Father, all things are possible to you. Please remove this cup from me. However, not what I desire, but what you desire.”

There is a pattern of threes in this passage.  Jesus tells Peter he will deny him three times. Jesus finds his disciples sleeping three times. He is on his own. He says of them:

The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.

The third time it is too late for them to pray. Jesus senses that Judas and the mob are coming.  We marvel at the hypocrisy of Judas Iscariot, who says to the chief priests, scribes and elders that he will identify Jesus with a kiss, and then calls out to Jesus with the honorific title “Rabbi! Rabbi!”

Jesus knows that this stealthy, shameful arrest by night is an act of cowardice on the part of the religious leaders:

Have you come out, as against a robber, with swords and clubs to seize me? I was daily with you in the temple teaching, and you didn’t arrest me. But this is so that the Scriptures might be fulfilled.

There is some violent resistance by one of the disciples, but it is brief.  After one cuts off a servant’s ear, the disciples all flee into the night. Their escape is so panicked that one of the young men’s loose robe is torn from him by those seeking to arrest him, and he flees into the darkness.  Some early commentators speculated that because this detail is unique to Mark’s Gospel that the young man was John Mark, the writer of the Gospel of Mark himself.  We just don’t know for sure.

Somehow, despite the terror of the arrest, Peter follows the procession of this mob to the court of the high priest — from a safe distance.

Again, there is a fascinating contrast — two trials, if you will.  Jesus is on trial for his life before the council — the Sanhedrin.  Meanwhile, Peter’s integrity and loyalty are on trial in the courtyard while he warms himself by the fire.

The accusations made against Jesus are false and contradictory.  No legitimate court could convict based on spurious testimony.  However, it is the words of Jesus himself that seal his fate:

Again the high priest asked him, “Are you the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?”

Jesus said, “I am. You will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of Power, and coming with the clouds of the sky.”

From the perspective of the high priest and the members of the council, this is blasphemy and heresy.  The description that Jesus offers of himself is apocalyptic and Messianic.  When he calls himself the Son of Man he is alluding to the Old Testament prophecies of the Messiah. But surely it cannot have been lost on some of these Hebrew scholars that when Jesus says I am,  that phrase evokes the holy name of Yahweh from Exodus 3!  Not only is he claiming to be Son of Man, but he is also claiming to be Son of God!

The consequences are dire. The high priest tears his clothes, which is a sign of deep mourning  — but the high priest was never to tear his robe, according to the law (see Leviticus 21:10).  This suggests the intensity of the priest’s reaction to the words of Jesus.

Then there is the beginning of the brutal violence and contemptuous humiliation that rains down upon Jesus.  This will not stop with these council members and officers of the temple guard. He will be abused also by the Roman legionnaires.  As prophesied in Scripture, Jesus would be beaten, spat upon, lashed, mocked — all prior to his actual execution.

Meanwhile, Peter’s “trial” was also reaching a climax.  A maid accuses him of being with the Nazarene and then begins to harangue him to others nearby — presumably so that some of the officers might arrest him.  Peter fails the test but fulfills the prophecy of Jesus. Before the rooster crows twice, Peter has denied Jesus three times, finally becoming quite vehement:

he began to curse, and to swear, “I don’t know this man of whom you speak!” The rooster crowed the second time. Peter remembered the word, how that Jesus said to him, “Before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.” When he thought about that, he wept.

Because Israel (known as Judea in Palestine at that time) was under Roman authority, there was a clear division of powers. The Jewish religious authorities could manage their religious affairs, but only under the close supervision of Rome. Therefore it was necessary to seek a civil judgment against Jesus.

When the night is over, Jesus is hailed before Procurator Pilate.  Pilate’s question does not relate to any religious significance of the claims of Jesus. He is concerned with only one thing:

Pilate asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?”

The implications are clear. Pilate must find a political pretext to execute this prisoner.  Religion is irrelevant, since the Jews had a special dispensation from Rome to preserve their own religious traditions. But a king who might raise a rebellion against Rome? That’s another matter.

Jesus won’t satisfy Pilate with an answer, except an enigmatic one:

He answered, “So you say.”

Pilate’s attempt to find an escape clause to this dilemma backfires. When he offers the people a choice between Jesus and Barabbas, they choose Barabbas. This is a disaster for Pilate. As far as he is concerned, Jesus is merely a religious fanatic who gathered a crowd in the countryside. But Barabbas was the modern-day equivalent of a political terrorist:

There was one called Barabbas, bound with his fellow insurgents, men who in the insurrection had committed murder.

He, and the two men who were to be crucified with Jesus, may well have been Zealots who advocated a violent uprising and overthrow of their Roman occupiers.

It is important to remember that the cross was a form of execution normally reserved for sedition or treason — like the violent insurgents who had committed murder — or a man who claimed to be a king.  This is why, when the Roman soldiers mock Jesus with a purple robe of royalty, and press a crown of thorns onto his head, they hailed him as King of the Jews.  That mockery, and the cross itself, was a sign to the population of Jerusalem — “this is what Rome does to royal pretenders. The only true power here is Rome.”

Flogged, beaten, sleepless, Jesus carries his cross to Golgotha.  Mark doesn’t tell us that Jesus falls, or is too weak to carry the cross because of a loss of blood.  Floggings were often a death sentence in themselves.

The soldiers command a foreigner in the crowd to carry his cross.  His name is given — Simon of Cyrene. Again, this is a fascinating detail. Cyrene was a Greek and Roman city in modern day Libya — North Africa! This doesn’t suggest that Simon was a Gentile — there were Jewish settlers in Egypt as well as all over the ancient world in the Mediterranean area and the Near East.  And it would not have been unusual for a Jew to make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the Passover — especially bringing his sons.

And the mention of his sons, Alexander and Rufus, is also fascinating. Mark seems to assume that they are known to his readers.  Some scholars speculate that they became a part of the Christian community after witnessing the horrors of the cross. The names Alexander and Rufus do appear in some of the Epistles.

It was at 9:00 a.m. that they arrived at the very public hill of execution called Golgotha (that is, the place of the skull). Again, we are reminded that this execution is a public example, and a deterrent to would-be insurrectionists.  The charge against Jesus, inscribed above his head, made this clear:

 THE KING OF THE JEWS.

Our translation says that the other two crucified with him were robbers, but other translators suggest that they were actually Jewish rebels or insurgents, arrested with Barabbas after the recent riots in Jerusalem.  Again, Mark spots the fulfillment of Scripture, this time from Isaiah 53:12:

 “He was numbered with transgressors.”

This reference to Isaiah 53 points to the famous passage describing the Suffering Servant, which the church has come to see as a vivid picture of Jesus as the Messiah who suffers vicariously for all sinners.

Now Jesus is completely abandoned — almost.  In Mark’s Gospel, people passing by on the road taunt him.  The chief priests and scribes demean their own dignity and mock him. And in Mark’s Gospel, both of those crucified with him also insult him.  And after darkness falls on the face of the earth (from about noon to three o’clock), it seems that Jesus feels abandoned even by his God, quoting Psalm 22:

At the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” which is, being interpreted, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

The taunts of the spectators, and the only words uttered by Jesus on the cross in Mark’s Gospel, are a little problematical.  The mockers are actually on the right track. Jesus did promise to rebuild the temple, but in their wooden literalism they fail to understand he spoke of his own resurrection — which would occur in three days. And in a paradoxical sense, when the religious authorities said “He saved others. He can’t save himself,” they were correct.  If he saved himself by coming down from the cross, he would be unable to save others. By losing his life, he saves billions upon billions.

And when Jesus cried out to God, was it truly a cry of desolation or a prayer of hope? (For a more complete treatment of this dilemma, please see: https://soarlectionarybiblestudy.wordpress.com/2017/04/06/gospel-for-april-9-2017-liturgy-of-the-passion/).  We are reminded that Jesus is dying slowly of asphyxiation on the cross. He hasn’t the breath to recite all of Psalm 22, which seems clearly to describe the effects of a suffering victim, with eerie similarity to a crucifixion. He certainly can’t hold out until the verses near the end of the Psalm, that ring with hope:

You who fear Yahweh, praise him!
All you descendants of Jacob, glorify him!
Stand in awe of him, all you descendants of Israel! 

For he has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted,
Neither has he hidden his face from him;
but when he cried to him, he heard (Psalm 22:23-24).

Typically, Jesus is misunderstood by those standing nearby. They think he is calling Elijah to rescue him.

The only other utterance from Jesus seems to be a cry of either agony — or triumph:

 Jesus cried out with a loud voice, and gave up the spirit.

We are told that the veil of the temple was torn in half, from top to bottom.  The veil in the temple was not a mere sheer curtain. According to the ancient historian Josephus, the veil in Herod’s temple was as thick as a man’s hand (about four inches  thick) and 60 feet high and 20 feet wide.

This is the veil that separated the Holy Place in the temple from the innermost room known as the Holy of Holies.  The Holy Place was the location of solemn worship where only the priests were permitted to go.  The following items were in the Holy Place — the table for the showbread, the altar of incense which represented the prayers of Israel, and the seven-branched lampstand that offered light for the room.  These were all articles carefully prescribed by Yahweh to Moses in the book of Exodus.

However, the Holy of Holies was the most holy place, where the high priest entered only once a year on the Day of Atonement to offer sacrifices for the sins of Israel.  The significance of the tearing of the veil is clear — Jesus the true high priest has opened the way into the presence of God.

Perhaps a massive earthquake, such as was described in Matthew 27:54, might have caused such a rupture. No wonder the Roman centurion said:

 “Truly this man was the Son of God!”

Perhaps there were a combination of factors that contributed to this startling confession of faith by a Gentile. The natural phenomenon must have moved him — the deep darkness over the land for three hours, the earthquake. Or perhaps there was something he saw and felt as he watched the Son of God die.

Earlier, I wrote that everyone seemed to have rejected or abandoned Jesus — the spectators, the religious authorities, and some would say even God (although I disagree. See Respond section below).  But there were some who did not:

There were also women watching from afar, among whom were both Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the less and of Joses, and Salome; who, when he was in Galilee, followed him, and served him; and many other women who came up with him to Jerusalem.

These are the same three women mentioned by name who will bring spices to anoint his dead body after Jesus is placed in the tomb — and the same women who are the first witnesses to the resurrection.

And ironically, it is not one of his closest disciples who has the courage to ask Pilate for the body of Jesus on Preparation Day, the day before Sabbath. We may presume they are still in hiding. No, it is Joseph of Arimathaea, a member of the same Sanhedrin that condemned Jesus:

who also himself was looking for God’s Kingdom.

Obviously, like the centurion, Joseph of Arimathaea saw something in Jesus that had deeply reached him.

Pilate seems surprised that Jesus is already dead:

Pilate marveled if he were already dead; and summoning the centurion, he asked him whether he had been dead long.

Jesus is wound in a linen cloth and laid in a tomb cave. Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses note where he has been buried. They plan to return when the Sabbath is over and anoint his corpse.

APPLY:  

Just who is this Jesus, and what is our response to him, and to his violent death?

To the chief priests and scribes, and the religious elite of the day, Jesus was a heretic who needed to be eliminated before he corrupted their precious temple worship, and perhaps incurred the wrath of Rome for stirring up trouble.

To the disciples, he was their beloved Rabbi, their Teacher, who had taught them of the Kingdom of God, and then had demonstrated its presence with his powerful signs. But when he spoke of his own death and resurrection, they couldn’t understand him. Not yet.

To Pilate, and the Roman overlords, he was a political problem to be solved. What happened to Jesus was a matter of indifference. If he could be released without consequences, that would be fine. If not, he could be crucified as a matter of convenience to appease the priests and avoid trouble with Rome.

To the women who had been treated as equals and human beings of sacred worth for the first time in their lives, he was Lord — and they demonstrated their reverence by anointing his head with oil, and watching in grief as he died.

To Joseph of Arimathaea — well, we’re not sure what he thought of Jesus.  We simply know what he did.  As in the deuterocanonical (or Apocryphal) book of Tobit, he perhaps saw the burial of a fellow Jew as a sacred duty. But we suspect that it meant much more than that. He was looking for the kingdom, and perhaps he’d caught a glimpse of the kingdom in the eyes of the King.

But most importantly, what is he to us?  Many today dismiss Jesus as a non-historical character invented by men to support a corrupt institution. Some think of him as a fine moral character whose teachings were part of the ethical development and evolution of our civilization.

That is too easy. Many of us find ourselves reading the Passion account and determine, as many Christians have over the centuries, that these details are too vivid and too realistic to be fiction. They have the feel of truth.

And perhaps we find ourselves in the same position as the centurion. We doubt that he had much contact with Jesus prior to this execution.  But there is something here that grips him, that speaks to his spirit, and that causes him to declare:

“Truly this man was the Son of God!”

It is interesting that in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus never calls himself the Son of God.  This is the title given Jesus by Mark in the beginning of the book:

The beginning of the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God (Mark 1:1).

And the unclean spirits recognize him for who he is as the Son of God.  But Jesus invariably refers to himself as the Son of Man.  Perhaps this is because he is stressing his human nature, and his role as the Messianic figure of prophecy. He knows that he is the Son of God.

However, it is when we recognize that he is the Son of God that we truly come to faith. And it is then that we know that God has become one of us, with all the weakness and vulnerability that is revealed on the cross, so that he might demonstrate his power as the crucified and risen God.

RESPOND: 

I sometimes read history and wonder, “What would I have done?” Would I have stood my ground when the Redcoats charged up Breed’s Hill in Boston? Would I have spoken up against Hitler in Nazi Germany? But more importantly, would I have stayed close to Jesus that night when he was arrested?

I’d like to think that I would have remained near him, like the women did.  Of course, the Roman legionnaires and the religious authorities likely took no notice of the mourning women.  In that culture long ago, women were of little consequence.

But the sorry record of the male disciples makes me doubt myself. If Peter, James and John ran, or kept their distance, or even denied him, do I really think I would do any better?

They did forsake him. But here’s another pressing question — Did the Father forsake his Son? This is a theological conundrum.

I have heard sermons over the years that insisted that when Jesus was on the cross, the Father “turned his face away from his Son.” I understand where they’re coming from. When Jesus quotes Psalm 22 it does seem to be a cry of abandonment. And Paul tells us that:

For him who knew no sin he made to be sin on our behalf; so that in him we might become the righteousness of God (2 Corinthians 5:21).

I am not troubled by the fact that Jesus assumes my sin in order to transfer his righteousness to me. This is the purpose of the sacrifice — an exchange of sin for righteousness.  Jesus does not commit sin (we know from Scripture that he is without sin — see 2 Corinthians 5:21; Hebrews 4:15), but he assumes our sin.  Only one who is fully divine is without sin. And only one who is fully human can fully enter into our human experience and take our sin upon himself.

And that’s what troubles me.

Jesus is so clearly established in the New Testament as the only begotten Son of the Father, the Word made flesh. He is God.  Not merely God-like, but God. His own claim is that he is uniquely united to the Father:

I and the Father are one (John 10:30).

And he decisively answers Philip’s request that the disciples may see the Father:

He who has seen me has seen the Father. How do you say, ‘Show us the Father?’ Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and the Father in me? (John 14:9-10).

This is the basis of the classic doctrine of the nature of Jesus as fully God and yet fully man, as understood by the church. And it is the basis of the Trinity, that Jesus is the Second Person of the Trinity.

How then could God the Father abandon himself?  It seems to be ontologically impossible. Though there is a distinction of Persons in the Trinity, there is still complete unity between Father, Son and Holy Spirit. This explains my difficulty with the theory that “the Father turned his face away from his Son.”

I heard about a little girl who said “I love Jesus, but I hate his Father.”  In her innocence, I believe she missed the point. It is not the Father who crucifies the Son — it is evil itself, manifested in human sin.

Therefore I can come to only one conclusion — the Father didn’t turn his face away from his Son. There may be a hint of this in Luke’s account of the last moments of Jesus:

Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” Having said this, he breathed his last (Luke 24:46).

On the cross God the Father embraces his Son, as the one who has been perfectly obedient even unto death.  The Father doesn’t watch this horror from a distance — he is as near to the suffering Son as he has ever been, watching with deep love.  Grieving, mourning perhaps because of what human evil had done — but absent? Never.

In the words of Charles Wesley’s powerful hymn, Arise, My Soul, Arise:

The Father hears Him pray,
His dear anointed One;
He cannot turn away
The presence of His Son.
His Spirit answers to the blood,
And tells me I am born of God.

It is the God-Man who dies on our behalf, who tastes the worst that evil can deliver (even, according to ancient church doctrine and Scripture, descending into Hell itself), and then is raised to life by God.  This descent and ascent is no mere myth. Jesus has descended to rescue us from sin, death and the Devil, and has re-ascended with us in his arms.  As Ephesians 4 tells us:

“When he ascended on high, he led captivity captive, and gave gifts to men.” Now this, “He ascended”, what is it but that he also first descended into the lower parts of the earth?  He who descended is the one who also ascended far above all the heavens, that he might fill all things (Ephesians 4:8-10).

So, forsaken by all but God, because Jesus is God incarnate, Jesus sets free the prisoners from their dungeon.  Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!

Lord, I confess I have said and written too much about a mystery that I cannot begin to understand — your Passion, death and Resurrection, your ineffable nature, the Trinity.  Please forgive what I have said amiss; but lead me again to the same confession made by the centurion at the foot of the cross: “Truly this man was the Son of God!” Amen.

PHOTO:
“It is Finished!” by Delirious? is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic license.

Gospel for April 5, 2020 (Liturgy of the Passion)

Note from Celeste:

Before we look at today’s lectionary reading, I’d like to draw your attention to my Holy Week Bible Study book.

Go and Find a Donkey is the latest installment of the Choose This Day Multiple Choice Bible Studies series.

The daily devotionals take 10-15 minutes and include:

• Scripture passage (World English Bible)
• Fun, entertaining multiple choice questions focused directly on the Scripture passage
• Short meditation that can be used as a discussion starter.

Use them on the suggested dates, or skip around.  Designed to be used during Holy Week, this nine-day Bible study takes you from Palm Sunday through Easter Monday.

Use this book personally during a coffee break or with the family in the car or at the breakfast table.

Order Go and Find a Donkey  today to prepare your family for this year’s Easter season!
CLICK HERE for Amazon’s Kindle book of Go and Find a Donkey.
CLICK HERE for Amazon’s Paperback of Go and Find a Donkey.

AND NOW, BACK TO TODAY’S LECTIONARY READING:

“The First Station- Jesus is Condemned to Death”
The photographer, Fr. Lawrence Lew, offers these thoughts:
This Station in marble bas relief is by Fr Aelred Whitacre OP, from Blackfriars in Oxford, the Dominican priory in that great university town.
It is striking that Fr Aelred, reflecting Thomistic teaching, depicts the dehumanizing effect of sin, hence this striking depiction of Pilate. The serpent shows that Pilate, in choosing to condemn an innocent man, has colluded with the Evil One. Incidentally, it is thought that Tolkien’s visual conception of orcs might have been inspired by seeing this depiction of Pilate.

START WITH SCRIPTURE:
Matthew 26:14-27:66
CLICK HERE TO READ SCRIPTURE ON BIBLEGATEWAY.COM

OBSERVE:

The shock of the events recorded here in Matthew’s Gospel is lost on most modern Christians simply because they have become so familiar.  Ask a child who has been raised in Sunday School what Jesus has done for us and the child will likely rattle off the words “he died for our sins.”  These words would likely be delivered somewhat mechanically, as if by rote.

Looking at this account as if reading the Gospel for the first time would be truly shocking.  The first-time reader, starting at the beginning  of Matthew’s Gospel, would have first encountered the  account of Jesus’ miraculous birth, with its declaration that this child would be called Immanuel, God with us.  The God-head of this child would have been confirmed as he grew into a man and was baptized, with the descent of the Holy Spirit and the voice of God the Father that attested that he was the Son of God.  His miraculous works of healing and feeding the multitudes and commanding the forces of nature would have further illustrated the divine nature of Jesus.  His Transfiguration would certainly have confirmed it.  And his teaching, as though providing a New Law, was with the authority of God.  His triumphant entry into the city of Jerusalem, welcomed by the throngs, would have authenticated his credentials as the Son of David and the Messiah.

So, the events of Matthew 26:14-27:66  would certainly be shocking to someone coming to this account for the first time.  Certainly the reader might have picked up hints from the murmuring of the Pharisees and the Saduccees and the Priests.  And Jesus himself offered foreshadowings of the fate that awaited him in Jerusalem.

But still,  the events in this passage reveal the violence of those who plotted against Jesus. They also reveal his own human vulnerability.  The Son of God is also the Son of Man, who can be beaten and tormented and nailed to a cross.

With such a long passage, it is necessary to summarize some of the events — that Jesus is betrayed by one of his own disciples, predicts his own death, is denied by one of his closest disciples, stands trial in a hastily convened court, and is condemned to die by a foreign ruler.   

We will view these shocking events through the characters that appear, and the dramatic action that follows.  First, there is the shock of betrayal by Judas Iscariot, who approaches the chief priests to offer them Jesus — for a price.

In Matthew’s Gospel, we receive only one hint that Judas will betray Jesus (Matthew 10:4).  But this foreshadowing comes with no explanation of Judas’s motives.  Still, when the disciples are gathered to celebrate the Passover feast, Jesus knows what Judas will do.  Jesus announces that one of them will betray him.  The disciples search their own hearts and ask with deep sorrow:

“It isn’t me, is it, Lord?”

Jesus’ answer is cryptic — that whoever dips his unleavened bread into the charoset dish typical of Passover, would betray him.  Eating in a communal manner like this was an intimate experience.  Jesus was suggesting that the one who betrayed him was a close friend.

Judas is disingenuous, as though to deflect suspicion from himself.  He parrots the other disciples, and says:

It isn’t me, is it, Rabbi?

Unlike the other disciples, though, he calls Jesus Rabbi instead of Lord.  Though subtle, this may suggest he is disavowing any faith in Jesus as the Messiah.

Jesus has warned him, along with the others:

The Son of Man goes, even as it is written of him, but woe to that man through whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would be better for that man if he had not been born.

Following the trajectory of Judas’s fateful decision (sometime between the adjournment of the Passover meal and Jesus’ climb to the Mount of Olives), Judas has gathered a multitude with swords and clubs under the authority of the chief priests and elders of the people.  He knows Jesus’ plans for the evening, and leads this armed rabble to the Mount of Olives.  Again, there is the sign of hypocritical intimacy:

Now he who betrayed him gave them a sign, saying, “Whoever I kiss, he is the one. Seize  him.”  Immediately he came to Jesus, and said, “Hail, Rabbi!” and kissed him.

Despite this betrayal, Jesus seems almost tender toward Judas.  Jesus says to him, Friend, why are you here? — although Jesus knows precisely why Judas has come.

We follow the next phase in Judas’s part of this drama.  It is only after Jesus is hailed before the council of the high priest and the elders late that night, and then turned over to Pontius Pilate for Roman justice the next morning, that Judas seems to experience remorse.  He attempts to return the thirty pieces of silver, and confesses his sin in betraying innocent blood.  His reparations of the money are refused, and he throws it at the feet of the priests and leaves — and hangs himself.

Was this a sign of repentance?  Was he forever condemned?  Literally, God alone knows.

Let us return to the other characters who reclined with Jesus at the Passover feast.  All of the disciples were searching their own hearts about Jesus’ prediction that one of them would betray him.  But when Jesus again warns them that they would all stumble because of the events that night, Peter can’t stand it.  He protests that he alone would remain faithful, even if all of them fell away.  Jesus singles out Peter specifically with the painful prediction that Peter himself would deny him three times before morning, when the rooster crowed.

To his credit, Peter was one of the three closest friends whom Jesus asked to stay near when Jesus went to Gethsemane to pray.  But Peter’s  first stumble came even before he denied Jesus — three times Peter, along with James and John, fell asleep, even after Jesus asked them directly to stay awake and watch with him in prayer.

Matthew doesn’t tell us that Peter is the one who strikes off the ear of the high priest’s servant with a sword.  John’s Gospel supplies that detail (John 18:10).  But the Gospel of Matthew does show that Peter had just enough courage to follow Jesus and the armed band to the courtyard of the house of Caiphas — where Peter withers in fear.  When asked if he is one of Jesus’ disciples, Peter denies it, with a curse.

So, let us turn to Jesus and his words and actions in these events.  Jesus is very clearly aware of his role in this drama.  Jesus knows the script.  He predicts that he will be delivered up to death as it is written in the Scriptures.  The Passover meal becomes, in his hands, a new sign of remembrance for his followers.  The meal that celebrated the deliverance of his people from slavery some 1200 years earlier would now be transformed in order to celebrate his sacrificial death, which liberates from slavery to sin.

Jesus also very consciously refers to Scripture as he begins the death march to the cross — quoting Zechariah 13:7 to predict the scattering of his followers when he is arrested.  When the armed rabble come, and one of his followers offers resistance, Jesus reproves him — Jesus knows his own power to call down heavenly reinforcements, but he cites the Scriptures that prophesy that his death must happen. And of course  he quotes Psalm 22:1 in the so-called Cry of Dereliction from the cross:

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

Jesus does know what awaits him.  And yet we see the tension between his divine nature and his human nature, even if only briefly.  When he prays in the Garden of Gethsemane, he asks:

My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass away from me.

Facing death, and the full brunt of evil on the cross, Jesus is honest.  If possible, he would prefer not to suffer the physical and spiritual suffering that is to come.  However, the tension is resolved when he prays:

nevertheless, not what I desire, but what you desire.

If we subscribe to the classical Christology of the church, as I do, we see the two natures of Jesus here in this moment — he is fully human and fully divine.  Both natures are in harmony, and he is completely surrendered to the saving work for which he was destined.

Jesus is fully aware of his latent power as Son of God, and his authority over all things.  His response to Peter’s feeble attempt to defend his Lord is telling:

do you think that I couldn’t ask my Father, and he would even now send me more than twelve legions of angels?

But there are two reasons that such supernatural militance isn’t called for at this time — first, violent reprisal will only escalate violence (all those who take the sword will die by the sword), and that is not his purpose in coming.  And second, all that is happening is in order to fulfill the Scriptures.

Jesus does chide the crowd for an excessive show of force — coming at night, armed to the teeth, as if they are seeking a dangerous criminal.  After all, he’s been teaching publicly in the temple all week.

Jesus continues to exert his quiet, peaceful authority when he is hailed before a hastily summoned council of the priests and elders.  This court isn’t even held in a public venue, but in the home of Caiaphas the high priest.  None of the false testimony against him holds water — until he is asked the one question that really matters:

The high priest answered him, “I adjure you by the living God, that you tell us whether you are the Christ, the Son of God.”

The response of Jesus suggests that by bringing this very charge, the high priest has acknowledged that Jesus is either the Son of God,  or he is a fraud.  And the life and ministry of Jesus leaves no room for the charge that he is a phony.  Moreover, Jesus confirms his identity with a prophecy:

Jesus said to him, “You have said it. Nevertheless, I tell you, after this you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of Power, and coming on the clouds of the sky.”

This is apocalyptic language that is unmistakeably Biblical.  Jesus may well be referring to Daniel:

I saw in the night visions, and behold, there came with the clouds of the sky one like a son of man, and he came even to the ancient of days, and they brought him near before him.  There was given him dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, that all the peoples, nations, and languages should serve him: his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom that which shall not be destroyed (Daniel 7:13-14).

Now the high priest has his “smoking gun” — all the evidence he thinks he needs to convict Jesus.  The high priest tears his robe, which is a sign of grief and lamentation.  But the Levitical law forbade the high priest from these customary signs of mourning (Leviticus 21:10).  The high priest is conveying a serious source of grief by doing this — he is accusing Jesus of blasphemy.

The penalty for blasphemy in Jewish law is death.  Jesus is physically abused and abased by these council members.  But they are an occupied nation, with Rome as their overlord.  They have no authority to execute a prisoner.

So the next morning Jesus must stand before Governor Pontius Pilate.  The Roman official’s concern is not with religious charges against Jesus, but with political sedition and revolution.  Messiah, or anointed one, is also the title of a king.  This is the only charge that concerns Pilate.  But Jesus leaves Pilate to make up his own mind:

 Now Jesus stood before the governor: and the governor asked him, saying, “Are you the King of the Jews?”  Jesus said to him, “So you say.”

This is essentially the same answer Jesus gives to the high priest, which suggests that Jesus is tacitly confirming the charge.

Pilate’s role in this trial and execution are critical.  Pilate had already incurred the displeasure of the priests and elders with some of his previous public policies.  According to the Jewish historians of that time (e.g. Philo and Josephus), Pilate had offended the priests by introducing Roman standards and shields on temple grounds — this had been a violation of the second commandment forbidding graven images.  And he had appropriated money designated for the temple and used it to build aqueducts.  When the Jews protested these acts, Pilate ordered his troops to respond with violence.  It might be said he had two strikes against him already.  More complaints to the Emperor might be devastating to Pilate’s career.

Not even the intercession of Pilate’s wife could avert the inevitable.

Pilate’s contrivance, to force the crowd into a decision, backfires.  He offers a choice of Barabbas or Jesus.  They cry for Barabbas to be released, and Jesus to be crucified.  Pilate now finds himself in a corner that he himself created.   He is convinced of Jesus’ innocence.  When the crowd demands that Jesus be crucified, Pilate pleads for him:

But the governor said, “Why? What evil has he done?”

His efforts to avert violence are about to backfire.  Normally the Roman Procurator didn’t come to Jerusalem except in times of unrest, as a show of force to prevent uprisings.  Now, this trial was threatening to become the source of a riot.

Pilate’s highly symbolic act, washing his hands of Jesus’ blood, is a sham.  A crucifixion was a penalty exacted by Rome for political crimes (sedition, treason, revolution), not civil crimes.  By permitting it, Pilate was responsible for it.  And it was Roman soldiers who carried out the execution.

The Roman soldiers continue the abuse of Jesus.  Normally a flogging was considered a possible death sentence.  They mock him and humiliate him with the threadbare trappings of  royalty — a scarlet robe, a crown of thorns, and a reed for a scepter — because by dehumanizing him they make an example of Jesus.  And it is easier to kill someone whose humanity has been devalued and objectified.

It should be noted that Golgotha, the hill where Jesus was crucified, was not far from one of the city gates, along a well-traveled road.  This was quite intentional.  The cross was a political statement that Rome wished to make very public — this is what happens to enemies of Rome!

Thus begin the hours of supreme agony, coupled with paradox.  The Roman soldiers mock him by slapping and spitting on Jesus, and call him The King of the Jews.  The sign placed over his head on the cross proclaims the same charge.  The irony is that this helpless, humiliated and dying Jew is in fact the rightful  heir of King David — and he is also the King of the Universe.

The paradox of this dying God is manifested further by the mockery of the passersby and the priests.  They taunt him:

If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross!

He saved others, but he can’t save himself. If he is the King of Israel, let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him.  He trusts in God. Let God deliver him now, if he wants him; for he said, ‘I am the Son of God’.

This is the supreme paradox.  Because Jesus is the Son of God, he chooses not to come down from the cross.  He saves others because he refuses to save himself.  And it is his trust in God that was revealed in the Garden of Gethsemane when he said:

not what I desire, but what you desire.

Matthew’s descriptions of the scene on Golgotha (appropriately named: the place of the skull) grow surreal.  Darkness strangely falls over the land at noon.  There is silence, watching, and suffering until 3:00 p.m., when Jesus makes his famous cry:

“Eli, Eli, lima  sabachthani?” That is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

The phrase that Jesus quotes is one of the rare transliterations of Hebrew and Aramaic in the otherwise Greek text of Matthew’s Gospels. This is a clue to us that Matthew is using Jesus’ exact words from the cross, and that Jesus is quoting Psalm 22:1.  Psalm 22, written hundreds of years earlier, appears to be an eerily accurate description of the physical and psychological effects of this crucifixion:

All those who see me mock me.
They insult me with their lips. They shake their heads, saying,
“He trusts in Yahweh;
let him deliver him.
Let him rescue him, since he delights in him” (Psalm 22:7-8)

I am poured out like water.
All my bones are out of joint.
My heart is like wax;
it is melted within me.
My strength is dried up like a potsherd.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
You have brought me into the dust of death.
 For dogs have surrounded me.
A company of evildoers have enclosed me.
They have pierced my hands and feet.
 I can count all of my bones.
They look and stare at me.
They divide my garments among them.
They cast lots for my clothing (Psalm 22:14-18).

At the same time it shouldn’t escape notice that despair is transformed into powerful hope in Psalm 22:

I will declare your name to my brothers.
Among the assembly, I will praise you.
You who fear Yahweh, praise him!
All you descendants of Jacob, glorify him!
Stand in awe of him, all you descendants of Israel!
 For he has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted,
Neither has he hidden his face from him;
but when he cried to him, he heard (Psalm 22:22-24).

A crucified man who is slowly dying of asphyxiation hasn’t the breath to recite an entire Psalm, but it may be that Jesus’ cry was not that of dereliction at all.  Perhaps he was remembering the Psalms learned in his childhood, and particularly this vivid poem, and in its despair he paradoxically finds hope.

This cry has been interpreted in many ways throughout the centuries by Christian expositors. In any event, this cry  is misinterpreted by some who stand at the cross.  They think he is calling on Elijah, when he is actually calling on God (Eli = My God). 

Even the  kind effort of a soldier to offer Jesus sour wine soaked into a sponge is turned into a taunt by the others:

The rest said, “Let him be. Let’s see whether Elijah comes to save him.”

As mentioned above, the breath of a man dying of crucifixion becomes shallow — speaking becomes nearly impossible.  But Jesus dies with what seems a cry of victory:

Jesus cried again with a loud voice, and yielded up his spirit.

The effects of this climactic moment are multiple.  The thick curtain in the temple was torn from top to bottom.  This is the veil that separated the Holy Place in the temple from the innermost room known as the Holy of Holies.

The Holy Place was the location of solemn worship where only the priests were permitted to go . This is where the table for the shewbread, the altar of incense which represented the prayers of Israel, and the seven-branched lampstand that offered light for the room were located.  These were all articles carefully prescribed by Yahweh to Moses in Exodus.

However, the Holy of Holies was the most holy place, where the high priest entered only once a year on the Day of Atonement to offer sacrifices for the sins of Israel.

The significance of the tearing of the veil is clear — Jesus, the true high priest, has opened the way into the presence of God.

Not only are the religious symbols of Israel affected, nature itself is affected — there is a violent earthquake, and tombs are disturbed.  There is even  a foretaste of the resurrection of Jesus, and the general resurrection expected at the end of the age:

The tombs were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised;  and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection, they entered into the holy city and appeared to many.

And of course, there are the reactions of the living.  A battle-hardened centurion sees all of these phenomena and declares what amounts to a confession of faith:

Truly this was the Son of God.

This is the first sign of the harvest among the Gentiles that is to come because of the death of Jesus — but not the last.

And there are the women who have been keeping vigil at the cross.  They will not stray far from the corpse of Jesus, even after he is entombed:

Many women were there watching from afar, who had followed Jesus from Galilee, serving him.  Among them were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of the sons of Zebedee.

Mary Magdalene we recognize from other Gospels as the woman from whom Jesus had cast seven demons (Mark 16:9; Luke 8:2).  The other Mary mentioned here is the mother of James the younger, one of the twelve disciples listed — but Joses is somewhat mysterious.  Although the name Joses appears in the Gospels, he does not appear as one of the twelve.  Curiously, James and Joses are mentioned as brothers — of Jesus himself!  (Matthew 13:55).

And finally the mother of James and John, the sons of Zebedee, is mentioned.  These two sons were among the first of the fishermen to follow Jesus from the beginning, and two of Jesus’ closest friends (Matthew 4:21).  This is the same woman who asked Jesus to find a position of honor for her sons when Jesus came into his Kingdom (Matthew 20:20-21). This wife of Zebedee must have also left her home on the shores of the Sea of Galilee to follow Jesus!

Then there is Joseph,  a rich man from Arimathaea. We also know from the other Gospels that Joseph was a prominent member of the Jewish council of elders — the same council that had condemned Jesus for blasphemy (Mark 15:43).  We know that Joseph was hoping for the consummation of the Kingdom of God (Luke 23:51).  And most significantly, we know that Joseph was a secret disciple, who hid his faith out of fear of his colleagues on the council of elders (John 19:38).

And here we see the courage of Joseph in risking the disapproval and censure of his colleagues:

This man went to Pilate, and asked for Jesus’ body. Then Pilate commanded the body to be given up.  Joseph took the body, and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had cut out in the rock, and he rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb, and departed.

Nevertheless, even after all of this, on the Sabbath day following the day of Preparation, the chief priests and Pharisees violate their own prescriptions for the Sabbath observance in order to petition Pilate.  This suggests their anxiety and urgency even now about the influence of Jesus:

Sir, we remember what that deceiver said while he was still alive: ‘After three days I will rise again.’ Command therefore that the tomb be made secure until the third day, lest perhaps his disciples come at night and steal him away, and tell the people, ‘He is risen from the dead;’ and the last deception will be worse than the first.

Clearly, they are aware that Jesus has predicted his own resurrection.  They may doubt that Jesus is the Messiah, but they don’t trust his disciples.

Guarding a tomb is hardly routine Roman military practice, but Pilate continues to placate the chief priests and the Pharisees:

You have a guard. Go, make it as secure as you can.

Not only is there a guard set at the tomb where Jesus has been laid, they seal the stone.  The stone itself would have been large enough to block the entry way, and therefore quite large and heavy.  The caves in which these tombs were dug were likely limestone.  The seal was probably a soft, moldable clay that would harden — or it may well have indicated an Imperial Roman seal.  This would have been a deterrent to grave robbers who sought to break in.  Few would wish to risk the wrath of Roman justice.

APPLY:  

If we wish to read a theological or doctrinal interpretation of the passion and crucifixion of Jesus, we might turn to the epistles of Paul, Peter, John and the book of Hebrews.  There we learn that Jesus is the perfect sacrifice for sins,  and that as the true high priest he is the one who both offers himself and is offered for our atonement.  By our faith in him, we are healed and forgiven.  In the account from Matthew there is some interpretation, but mostly we are presented with the narrative of these horrific events.

When we read this account as if for the first time, it is difficult not to experience shock, and even horror, as the drama unfolds.  Jesus is betrayed by a trusted follower.  He is arrested while at prayer.  He is tried by a court looking for a pretext to condemn him.  He is violently abused, and becomes the pawn in a political game of chess between powerful men.  He dies a horrible death on the cross, casually taunted by most who pass by.

But what is also shocking — in a positive and hopeful sense — is that despite the horror, there are those in this narrative who respond even to this crucifixion with faith and hope.  The centurion (a foreigner) is moved to a declaration of faith that Jesus is the Son of God.  The women who have followed Jesus and served him from the beginning in Galilee to this present moment remain with him to the bitter end, even holding vigil at his tomb.  Joseph of Arimathaea overcomes his fear of his colleagues and openly cares for the body of Jesus after his death.

However, if we take the time to review the Gospel of Matthew and note what Jesus said during his life and ministry about what awaited him in Jerusalem, the shock would be mitigated.  Jesus told his disciples at least three times that he would be killed in Jerusalem (Matthew 16:21-28; Matthew 17:22-23; Matthew 20:17-19).  And there is the suggestion in Matthew 16 that he went on advising them that he would be killed.

It must be noted that each time Jesus spoke of his death  he also spoke of his resurrection.  Perhaps that is partly what motivates Joseph of Arimathaea.  After all, Joseph’s tomb was only borrowed for a few days by Jesus!  And perhaps this is why the women linger at the tomb.  As it turns out, this was not merely emotional denial or unassuaged grief — they were among the first to encounter the risen Jesus!

As shocking as this long and painful passage from Matthew’s Gospel may be, the ultimate shock is still to come — on the third day!

RESPOND: 

I once had a colleague in the ministry who insisted on reading the entire account of the Passion (the suffering) and death of Jesus on Palm/Passion Sunday.  His reasoning was interesting.  People in his church loved to hear the entire Nativity accounts of Jesus’ birth  from Matthew and Luke at Christmas.  They needed to know why  he was born, and where his life would take him.

I have spent much more time on this account from the Gospel of Matthew this week for much the same reason.  The birth of Jesus anticipates his death.  And his death makes sense of his birth as the Son of God and the Son of Man for our sake.

T.S. Eliot, in one of my favorite poems, describes the coming of the Magi to Bethlehem.  He describes the arduous journey as they leave the luxury and comforts  of their summer palaces and silken girls bringing sherbet. 

And after the ordeal of this journey, with all of its hardships and frustrations, they arrive in the temperate valley and find the place they were looking for.   And Eliot closes with these lines, from the perspective of the Magi:

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
(The Journey of the Magi)

May we all find in Jesus’ death our own birth.

Lord, the events of your Passion and Crucifixion are hard to look at.  If not for the Resurrection, and promise of pardon and new birth that accompany these events, it would be unbearable.  Thank you for suffering on our behalf — on my behalf — as unworthy as I am.  Amen. 

PHOTO:
“The First Station- Jesus is Condemned to Death” by Fr. Lawrence Lew, O.P. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic license.

Old Testament for March 1, 2020

START WITH SCRIPTURE:
Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7
CLICK HERE TO READ SCRIPTURE ON BIBLEGATEWAY.COM

OBSERVE:

These Scriptures are excerpts from the tragic tale of the archetypal human couple, Adam and Eve.  In these two passages, we catch a glimpse of the “before and after” of this couple’s downfall.  And in their fall, we can also catch a glimpse of the source of our own inclination toward sin.

The “before” is idyllic.  Adam is created as the apex of all nature.  The Garden of Eden seems to have been created for Adam’s enjoyment.  Notice that Adam wasn’t placed in Eden as a mere passive recipient of the garden’s abundant bounty.  He was given responsibilities in the garden:

 Yahweh God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to cultivate and keep it.

The man was given a job description!

Also note Yahweh’s generosity, and his bestowal of freedom.  He withholds almost nothing from the man throughout the entire garden:

 Yahweh God commanded the man, saying, “You may freely eat of every tree of the garden….”

Implied in this is his freedom of choice.  There is only one prohibition commanded by God:

 “….but you shall not eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil; for in the day that you eat of it, you will surely die.”

This is a dire warning for a newly created man who knows nothing of death.  Adam isn’t given an explanation about this command.  Is it a test? Does this tree of the knowledge of good and evil represent moral and ethical knowledge? Why would he need such knowledge anyway, unless he defied a known commandment of God?

In the interlude between this command and our next excerpt from the tragic tale, Eve is introduced (Genesis 2:18-25).  Yahweh has created all the creatures, and again given Adam a job to do — Adam is to name all of these animals.  This responsibility is the intellectual aspect of Adam’s job — to identify and catalogue the creatures.  His work in the garden is both physical and mental.

But even all of these creatures cannot fulfill a fundamental need that Adam has — for companionship. Yahweh sees this, and says:

It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make him a helper comparable to him (Genesis 2:18).

His companion is made from his own flesh, in his own image.  Adam declares:

This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh. She will be called ‘woman,’ because she was taken out of Man (Genesis 2:23).

Their unity forms the basis of all human social interaction, including marriage and the family:

Therefore a man will leave his father and his mother, and will join with his wife, and they will be one flesh (Genesis 2:24).

Note that marriage is monogamous and sexuality is celebrated as a good gift:

The man and his wife were both naked, and they were not ashamed (Genesis 2:25).

So far, so good.  Adam and Eve enjoy free will, the freedom to roam throughout the garden and eat whatever they desire, and the freedom to enjoy each other without shame.

And then the shadow falls.  No explanation is given as to the enmity of the serpent.  In fact, it is not until the New Testament that a serpent is clearly identified with Satan, when a heavenly war is depicted in the Apocalypse of John:

 The great dragon was thrown down, the old serpent, he who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world. He was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him (Revelation 12:9).

But it is quite clear that the serpent wishes to deceive Eve.  He begins by subtly undermining God’s authority with word games:

He said to the woman, “Has God really said, ‘You shall not eat of any tree of the garden?’”

No, that is not what God said to the man.  God had said that they were free to eat from any tree in the garden.  Only the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was withheld from them.

Eve attempts to repeat back the “catechism” she has learned so well:

We may eat fruit from the trees of the garden, but not the fruit of the tree which is in the middle of the garden. God has said, ‘You shall not eat of it. You shall not touch it, lest you die.’

However, we note a subtle shift in her interpretation of God’s command.  She adds a prohibition that God has not said — that they aren’t even to touch it.  Is this her own addition, or has Adam handed the command on to her with his own interpretation?

The serpent continues to twist the truth by assuring Eve that she won’t die if she eats it.  Now the serpent begins to recast God as the enemy of Adam and Eve, suggesting God is keeping something wonderful from them!

God knows that in the day you eat it, your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.

This is a supreme irony, if we consider the first creation account described in Genesis 1.  There, God creates human beings in the ultimate moment of creation, on the sixth day.  And Genesis says of them:

 God created man in his own image. In God’s image he created him; male and female he created them (Genesis 1:27).

If this is true, Adam and Eve together are already like God.  They have been created in their complementary nature to take responsibility for nature, and to reflect God’s character.

What the serpent seems to engender is a craving for something that isn’t needed.  Adam and Eve already have all that they need!

Eve, however, is taken in by the false advertising.  The fruit looks good to eat, delights the eyes, and is desirable to enhance knowledge, and she eats it.

But permit me a moment of speculation.  Where was Adam all of this time?  We might be tempted to think he was wandering somewhere else in the garden — perhaps we are influenced by John Milton’s epic poem Paradise Lost, or sources other than the Scriptures.  However, we might also deduce that Adam is right there beside her this entire time, listening to the words of the serpent and Eve’s answers!  We might even ask why he didn’t intervene, or refuse the fruit when it was offered.

The fact remains — their moral eyes were opened by this act of disobedience.  Perhaps it wasn’t  merely the fruit that opened their eyes, but the act of disobedience itself that caused them to realize the difference between right and wrong!  By disobeying God, they had committed sin and now knew what evil was!

Sadly, their openness and transparency to one another was also lost.  Their awareness of sin also brought shame:

Their eyes were opened, and they both knew that they were naked. They sewed fig leaves together, and made coverings for themselves.

APPLY:  

Historically, some theologians have attempted to lay the blame for “the fall” on Eve’s shoulders.  She was approached by the serpent; she was duped; she  greedily ate the fruit and then gave it to Adam.  The origin of sin is all the woman’s fault, right?

Not so fast, hotshot!  Adam had received the original command from God, and he said nothing when Eve gave him the fruit.  And we have no evidence that Adam was off somewhere else in the garden building a tree house.  Since they were companions, he may have been right there listening to the entire dialogue between the serpent and Eve.

The bottom line is that Adam is named in the New Testament as the representative figure in the Fall.  1 Timothy 2:13-14 tells us that it was Eve who was deceived, but not Adam.  Nevertheless, the fault of the Fall is imputed to Adam:

Therefore as sin entered into the world through one man, and death through sin; and so death passed to all men, because all sinned (Romans 5:12).

Unlike Eve, Adam was not deceived.  He sinned voluntarily and knowingly.

We also note this.  The garden of Eden was not a “free lunch.”  Adam had work to do, both physically and mentally — tending the garden and cataloging the creatures.  We might draw the conclusion that this describes the physical and intellectual work that we are called upon to perform as human beings.

It was only after the Fall that work became unpleasant and bitter:

 the ground is cursed for your sake.
You will eat from it with much labor all the days of your life.
     It will yield thorns and thistles to you;
and you will eat the herb of the field.
 By the sweat of your face will you eat bread until you return to the ground,
for out of it you were taken.
For you are dust,
and to dust you shall return (Genesis 3:17-19).

RESPOND: 

In the 1784 New England Primer, published to teach children how to read, we find this theological statement:

In Adam’s fall
we sinned all.

Although not all Christian denominations agree completely about the doctrine of Original Sin as an hereditary sin, most agree that death was the consequence of Adam and Eve’s sin.  That we have a tendency toward sin seems to be a pretty universal opinion — otherwise we have no need of a Savior.

I would argue, tongue in cheek, that anyone who doesn’t believe in Original Sin never had kids!  Just watch them long enough and you begin to see the same archetypal story of Adam and Eve played out, just with different details.

I can attest to my own first awareness of sin when I was six years old.  I had been playing with my neighbor and his older sister and one of her friends.  I had been the hero that day because I was able to do cartwheels.  But when they grew bored with my skill, the girls stopped paying attention to me and began paying attention to my friend instead.  I grew jealous, and decided to do something dramatic to regain their admiration.  I pushed my friend off the porch railing, not realizing that he would land into a thorny rosebush.  Like Adam and Eve, I was banished by their father from playing with them or coming into their yard.

That was not my last dalliance with sin.  But it served to teach me that whatever we may think of the doctrine of Original Sin, we are all inclined toward sin very early.  I see the evidence in the world of human beings all too clearly.

However, I also see the antidote to sin.  If Adam represents our sinful nature, Jesus Christ represents God’s response to sin in his perfect nature:

For if by the trespass of the one the many died, much more did the grace of God, and the gift by the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, abound to the many (Romans 5:15).

What our lectionary passage did not include is a phrase that many see as a prophecy of the triumph of Christ over sin, death and the devil.  God speaks to the serpent:

I will put hostility between you and the woman,
and between your offspring and her offspring.
He will bruise your head,
and you will bruise his heel (Genesis 3:15).

In Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, there is a dramatic scene depicting Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane.  Satan appears, seeking to tempt Jesus with self-doubt.  As Jesus prays, we watch in horror as a serpent slithers out from beneath the robes of Satan, toward Jesus.  And then Jesus stands, and looks Satan full in the face — and crushes the head of the serpent with one stamp of his foot.

This is a powerful visual interpretation of a passage that has been viewed by many theologians as the prophecy of the ultimate triumph of Christ, despite the cross — no, because  of the cross!

Our Lord, temptation comes in many guises in my life — but at its heart it is a temptation to live my life as my own god, finding my fulfillment in something other than you.  Deliver me from that deceiving serpent. Only in you can temptation and sin be overcome. Grant me pardon from and power over sin.  Amen. 

PHOTOS:
“Adam & Eve – Fall of Man, Cornelis Cornelisz hands detail” by Jim Forest is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic license.

2nd Gospel for April 14, 2019 (Liturgy of the Passion)

START WITH SCRIPTURE:
Luke 22:14-23:56
CLICK HERE TO READ SCRIPTURE ON BIBLEGATEWAY.COM

OBSERVE:

Our passage from Luke covers the sweep of events in the life of Jesus beginning with the Passover meal in the Upper Room, his prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, his arrest and trial (first before the Jewish Sanhedrin, and then before Pilate), his flogging, and finally the events of his crucifixion, death and burial. This is also known in Christian tradition as The Passion.

Along with all of these are the dramatic subplots:

• The betrayal by Judas, who leads a crowd to find Jesus on the Mount of Olives and identifies Jesus with a kiss.
• The three-fold denial of Jesus by Peter in the courtyard of the high-priest.
• The patronizing mockery by King Herod.
• The compulsion of Simon of Cyrene to bear the cross for the bleeding Jesus.
• The dialogue of the two thieves on the cross.
• The courage of Joseph of Arimathea, who requests permission to bury Jesus.
• The mourning women.

Obviously, a book could well be written about all of these events, and many books have been devoted to the passion of Christ — so I won’t even attempt to cover the entire passage.

All four of the Gospels describe these events in detail, each from their own unique perspectives.  So perhaps a fruitful approach might be to simply point out what is unique to Luke’s perspective.

The three Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark and Luke) all describe the establishment of the Lord’s Supper, using the bread and wine as signs of the body and blood of Jesus.  But it is only in Luke’s Gospel that Jesus expresses his strong feelings about this profoundly symbolic Seder meal that he celebrates with his friends:

“I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.”

He is very aware that this is his last supper with them before his death.

It is interesting also that in Luke, Jesus distributes a separate cup of wine prior to the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup after supper.  A little familiarity with a Jewish Passover Seder reveals that there are four different cups of wine that are consecrated at different times during the meal. The four cups are said to represent the four declarations about Israel’s deliverance from Egypt.

“I will bring out,” “I will deliver,” “I will redeem,” and “I will take.” (Exodus 6:6-7)

Obviously, Jesus is transforming these four declarations to reflect himself as the Liberator, Deliverer, Redeemer, and ultimate Savior.

It is also in Luke that Jesus gives the disciples specific instructions about what they will need after he is arrested.  As with the other Synoptics, he  has already told them that they are not to be overbearing toward others, but are to be servants.

All four of the Gospels foreshadow the denial by Simon Peter.  But only Luke describes the supernatural overtones of this crisis for Simon Peter.  Jesus says:

“Simon, Simon, listen! Satan has demanded to sift all of you like wheat,  but I have prayed for you that your own faith may not fail; and you, when once you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”

Jesus sees Peter’s coming time of trial as a spiritual battle that Peter will fail, but from which he will be able to repent. And through this ordeal, Simon Peter will emerge stronger and more equipped to lead this new movement.

Only in Luke does Jesus say:

“When I sent you out without a purse, bag, or sandals, did you lack anything?” They said, “No, not a thing.” He said to them, “But now, the one who has a purse must take it, and likewise a bag. And the one who has no sword must sell his cloak and buy one.  For I tell you, this scripture must be fulfilled in me, ‘And he was counted among the lawless’; and indeed what is written about me is being fulfilled.”  They said, “Lord, look, here are two swords.” He replied, “It is enough.”

The scripture Jesus refers to is Isaiah 53:12.  Isaiah 53 is one of four Servant Oracles of Isaiah; and Isaiah 53 in particular is called the oracle of the Suffering Servant.  It is regarded by Christian tradition to be a clear prophecy of the suffering of Christ.  On his cross, Jesus does identify with the lawless as he takes our sin upon himself.

Jesus seems to be telling his disciples that they must be prepared for life without his physical presence with them, in an unpredictable and insecure world.  He is not advocating that they take up arms to protect him.  His answer when he is told that they have two swords may express exasperation that they are misunderstanding him:

“It is enough.”

Obviously, two swords would not be enough to resist the armed soldiers who will be coming to arrest him. Jesus makes it clear that he is not advocating armed conflict when the crowd confronts him later in the Garden of Gethsemane:

When those who were around him saw what was coming, they asked, “Lord, should we strike with the sword?” Then one of them struck the slave of the high priest and cut off his right ear. But Jesus said, “No more of this!” And he touched his ear and healed him.

This illustrates that Jesus does have power.  Not the power of the sword, but the supernatural power of God.  Only in Luke’s Gospel (written by a physician) does Jesus heal the hapless servant’s ear!

But before the arrest, Jesus seeks solace and guidance in prayer on the Mount of Olives.  This is also described in Matthew and Mark, with the classic prayer of complete surrender and obedience:

“Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.”

In most Bibles there are footnotes to Luke 22:43-44, telling us that these verses are not in many early manuscripts; and neither are they found in the other three Gospels.  But they are still part of the Biblical canon.  We are reminded that each Gospel writer is providing a unique perspective to these events.  And these verses, again possibly recorded by a physician who was interested in the physical effects of these events on Jesus, describe both supernatural intervention and the extreme emotional stress that Jesus experienced:

Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength.  In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground.

A doctor’s report on the physical sufferings of Jesus tells us that though the bloody sweat is a rare phenomenon, it is well documented.  This condition is called hematidrosis,  and the modern physician writes:

Under great emotional stress, tiny capillaries in the sweat glands can break, thus mixing blood with sweat (The Crucifixion of Jesus, by C. Truman Davis, M.D., M.S.).

Only in Luke’s Gospel does Judas display the hypocrisy of physical affection for the Master he is betraying:

He approached Jesus to kiss him;  but Jesus said to him, “Judas, is it with a kiss that you are betraying the Son of Man?”

I’ve already addressed the altercation of the sword and the healing of the slave whose ear is struck off.

But again, there is a poignant detail that is only found in Luke when Jesus is arrested.  Jesus points out in the Synoptic Gospels that he has taught publicly in the temple, and now they come to arrest him when he isn’t surrounded by the crowds. And then he says in Luke:

“But this is your hour, and the power of darkness!”

This is clearly a spiritual statement.  Just as he warned Simon Peter that he would be tested by Satan, Jesus is clearly alluding to a spiritual battle that will soon reach its climax.  Jesus has turned himself over into the hands of Satan for his ultimate battle against darkness.

When Jesus is hauled away to the house of the high priest, it is clear where the darkness reigns.

Now, we have Peter’s ordeal in the courtyard, which appears in all four of the Gospels.  However, Luke offers a few more details about the challenges that Peter receives when he is interrogated by three different people about his ties to Jesus:

Then a servant-girl, seeing him in the firelight, stared at him and said, “This man also was with him.”  But he denied it, saying, “Woman, I do not know him.” A little later someone else, on seeing him, said, “You also are one of them.” But Peter said, “Man, I am not!” Then about an hour later still another kept insisting, “Surely this man also was with him; for he is a Galilean.”  But Peter said, “Man, I do not know what you are talking about!”

Peter lies to the woman, but either his northern accent or his fisherman’s garb gives him away as a Galilean to another accuser.

And only in Luke do we have the heart-rending detail that when the cocks crows,

The Lord turned and looked at Peter.

Was the expression of Jesus that of accusation or pity?  Or was Jesus even then expressing his love for his impulsive disciple?

The trial of Jesus before the Sanhedrin is treated similarly among the Synoptic Gospels.  We note, though, that the accusations that are brought against Jesus in that context are primarily religious — that Jesus has claimed to be the Messiah, or the Son of God.  His answers are somewhat cryptic but can be interpreted as admission:

They said, “If you are the Messiah, tell us.” He replied, “If I tell you, you will not believe;  and if I question you, you will not answer.  But from now on the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the power of God.” All of them asked, “Are you, then, the Son of God?” He said to them, “You say that I am.”  Then they said, “What further testimony do we need? We have heard it ourselves from his own lips!”

However, it is highly significant that when this assembly brings Jesus before Pilate, they shift the tone.  They seem to know that Pilate will not be interested in their religious charges of blasphemy — so their accusations are almost strictly political:

 “We found this man perverting our nation, forbidding us to pay taxes to the emperor, and saying that he himself is the Messiah, a king.”

These are patently charges that could be regarded as sedition against Rome, even the claim that he is Messiah — there can only be one king in the Roman Empire, and it is the Emperor.  Even the monarchy of Herod is called an ethnarchy by Rome.  This means that he was ruler of only his ethnic people, the Jews, in a restricted area, as a vassal of Rome. (Herod was part Jewish and part Idumean.)

And it should not escape notice that the priests and council have borne false witness against Jesus.  He never told anyone not to pay their taxes!

So Pilate’s question is not casual.

“Are you the king of the Jews?”

In a land where there had been insurrections and uprisings many times in the past, and where the zealots were even then seeking to overthrow Rome, a rival king could not be tolerated.

Jesus’ answer is vague enough that Pilate seeks to evade responsibility for the trial.  Here again, we have additional detail from Luke that we don’t have elsewhere.  When Pilate learns that Jesus is a Galilean he pretends to have no jurisdiction and sends Jesus to King Herod, who is in town presumably for Passover.

This is the only account we have of a meeting between these two kings— Herod Antipas, the king of Galilee and Perea; and King Jesus.

Herod is initially gratified to have Jesus in his court:

 When Herod saw Jesus, he was very glad, for he had been wanting to see him for a long time, because he had heard about him and was hoping to see him perform some sign.

Was it mere curiosity because Herod had heard of the wonders?  Was it a desire for diversion and entertainment? Was Herod sincerely seeking answers?

The subsequent events suggest that Herod’s interest was merely superficial:

 He questioned him at some length, but Jesus gave him no answer.
….Even Herod with his soldiers treated him with contempt and mocked him; then he put an elegant robe on him, and sent him back to Pilate.

Again we note a detail that appears nowhere else:

That same day Herod and Pilate became friends with each other; before this they had been enemies.

What kind of alliance could these two political rivals have formed because of Jesus?  Were they in agreement that Jesus didn’t deserve death?  Were they united in their frustration against the chief priests and the elders of the assembly?

We’re not sure.  What we do know is that Pilate is trying desperately to avoid responsibility for killing Jesus.  He tries to appease the chief priests by having Jesus flogged — although this penalty in itself had been known to cause death.

Of course, the flogging doesn’t satisfy the enemies of Jesus.  They shout for Barabbas to be released.  Ironically, Barabbas really is an insurrectionist. He is a terrorist who seeks the violent overthrow of Roman authority in Jerusalem:

(This was a man who had been put in prison for an insurrection that had taken place in the city, and for murder.)
….So Pilate gave his verdict that their demand should be granted.  He released the man they asked for, the one who had been put in prison for insurrection and murder, and he handed Jesus over as they wished.

The Synoptics all mention Simon of Cyrene.  (Cyrene was a Greco-Roman city in modern day Libya, in North Africa), who is pressed into service to carry the cross.

Where Luke differs is when Jesus addresses  the women of Jerusalem who are lamenting, warning them that they should weep not for him but for themselves and their children.

“For the days are surely coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never nursed.’ Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us’; and to the hills, ‘Cover us.’  For if they do this when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?”

One of Luke’s signatures is his focus on the women in the life of Jesus, from the beginning with Elizabeth and Mary, all the way to the resurrection.

When Jesus is nailed to the cross, only in Luke do we hear the great, priestly words of intercession from Jesus:

Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

The two criminals who were crucified with Jesus appear in all four Gospels. However, in Luke’s Gospel we have the extraordinary dialogue between the two criminals — one who joins with the mockers in deriding Jesus, and the other who defends Jesus and then petitions Jesus.  The one criminal says to the mocking criminal:

“Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.”  Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

What an exceptional degree of faith for this terrorist to have!  He confesses his sin, and then has sufficient faith in a dying Jesus to ask for mercy!

And, in answer to those who deny the promise of eternal life, or who would defer it until the future day of resurrection, Jesus clearly says:

“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” [Emphasis mine].

Curiously, in the other three Gospels we have the offering of sour wine to Jesus from a sponge, but not in Luke.

In Luke alone we have these final words of Jesus:

Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Having said this, he breathed his last.

So, according to Luke’s account Jesus begins his utterances from the cross with prayer to the Father, and ends them with prayer to the Father.  He begins by interceding for his executioners, and ends by commending his life to his Father.

Matthew and Mark have the centurion who is supervising the execution declare that:

“Truly this man was the Son of God.”

In Luke’s Gospel, it says of him:

 When the centurion saw what had taken place, he praised God and said, “Certainly this man was innocent.”

Again, a key addition by Luke is the reaction of the remorseful crowd who are no longer joining in the jibes:

And when all the crowds who had gathered there for this spectacle saw what had taken place, they returned home, beating their breasts.

What the centurion and the crowds have witnessed has affected them deeply.

All four Gospels describe the burial of Jesus by Joseph of Arimathea in a rock-hewn tomb.  One detail that Luke adds is that after the women have followed him to the tomb, they go away with plans to return:

The women who had come with him from Galilee followed, and they saw the tomb and how his body was laid. Then they returned, and prepared spices and ointments.

Interestingly, Luke, the one Gospel writer who is a Gentile, makes a point of noting that these women were observant Jews:

On the sabbath they rested according to the commandment.

Although this has been a longer than usual observation of the Gospel passage, the subject matter certainly justifies it.

APPLY:  

Each of the Gospels provides a unique perspective of a common event.  In my view they are not contradictory, they are augmentary — if that can be a word.  Each Gospel’s account of the Passion augments one another, and adds to our layers of understanding.

However, it is the other sources of Apostolic teaching, the Epistles, that really interpret for us what all of this means.

In the Gospels we have the account of the Passion.  But in the Epistles we learn that this death is so that we may have life; that the pardon from the cross is for all sin; and that Jesus has become sin for us that we might become the righteousness of God.

Still, the Gospels make the sacrifice of Jesus real for us.  How can we read this account without tears when we consider what our forgiveness cost him?

In the words of the prophet:

Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow, which was brought upon me, which the Lord inflicted on the day of his fierce anger (Lamentations 1:12).

RESPOND: 

I have selected the longer version of the lectionary reading for the Gospel this week for a specific reason.  A colleague in ministry once commented to me that he made a point of reading the entire account of the Passion of Christ on Palm Sunday as Holy Week begins.

I rather like that idea.  I have long said that if a Martian attended a Christian church on Palm Sunday and heard Christians shouting “Hosanna!” and then attended church again on Easter Sunday and heard us shout “Christ is risen!” they would lack all perspective about what our salvation cost.

When I think of my own conversion to Christ, on Good Friday exactly 40 years ago, I can attest how powerful the accounts of the Passion of Christ are.

To be clear, I had resolved to turn my life over to God a few years before that moment.  I suppose like the disciples I had already begun to follow the path that would lead me closer to Jesus on December 21, 1974.  That was my first “conversion.”

But it was on Good Friday in 1976, when I read the entire account of the Passion from all four Gospels, that I really saw what Jesus had done for me.  And I knew that my sins were forgiven, even mine!

I have never looked at the cross in the same way again.  And with Paul, I can declare:

I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified. (1 Corinthians 2:2).

Our Lord, how can I ever pay homage to you for what you have done for me, and for all of us? Your willingness to forgive us is universal; oh, if only all would hear and heed that forgiveness and turn to you in faith that they might be saved! May it continue to be my purpose to make your salvation known to the world!  Amen. 

PHOTOS:
"Father Forgive Them" by ArteZoe is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic license.

Gospel for March 25, 2018 (Liturgy of the Passion)

START WITH SCRIPTURE:
Mark 14:1-15:47
CLICK HERE TO READ SCRIPTURE ON BIBLEGATEWAY.COM

OBSERVE:

The climax of Mark’s Gospel approaches.  The growing and intense conflict between Jesus and the religious authorities in Jerusalem reaches its culmination in the violent Passion of Jesus. Because the lectionary text for the Gospel of Mark is so lengthy, I must paint this scene with broad strokes.  But in so many ways, the Passion Narrative from Mark’s Gospel speaks for itself.

It has been noted by many Biblical interpreters that when Mark’s Gospel reaches the account of the Passion, there is a distinct change of tone and pace.  The first thirteen chapters of Mark move swiftly, almost breathlessly from one miracle to the next, one parable to the next.  For example, Mark uses the word immediately forty-one times — far more than any other book in the Bible — denoting action.  But thirty-eight of the occasions this word is used occur prior to chapter 14.

The pace slows down in Mark’s Gospel. The tone becomes darker. Mark lingers over these last few days of Jesus.

There are also contrasts here. There is an ominous sense of foreboding  cast over these two chapters, as this passage begins with an introduction of the imminent feast of the Passover and the unleavened bread. The chief priests and scribes are explicit about their plot to arrest and kill him — but they are also cynical:

For they said, “Not during the feast, because there might be a riot of the people.”

But then there is the contrasting scene.  Jesus is a guest at the  table of Simon the leper (presumably someone that he has healed?) Perhaps this was a feast of celebration and gratitude given by Simon.  And then:

a woman came having an alabaster jar of ointment of pure nard—very costly. She broke the jar, and poured it over his head.

When there is grumbling that this ointment was worth about a year’s wages for a farm worker, and could have been put to use for the poor, Jesus defends her.  There will be other opportunities to help the poor, but his time is short.  Her deed is prophetic:

She has done what she could. She has anointed my body beforehand for the burying. Most certainly I tell you, wherever this Good News may be preached throughout the whole world, that which this woman has done will also be spoken of for a memorial of her.

Note that it is a woman who honors Jesus appropriately. In that patriarchal culture, a woman is more akin to a slave than an equal. And as we follow the narrative, note who is near when he is dying — and also who will become the first witnesses of the risen Jesus.

Now, the darkness grows deeper.  There is betrayal by one of his disciples, and collusion with the religious authorities who, as we already know, seek the death of Jesus.  Here there is irony.  As Jesus prepares solemnly for his death, the chief priests are described as glad and offer Judas Iscariot a price for Jesus.

Then there is the occasion of the Passover, which was normally an occasion of great joy as Israel remembered their deliverance from bondage in Egypt.  But this feast would be overshadowed by apprehension among the disciples, and the prescience of Jesus.  He knows what is to come, which they cannot know.

There is a kind of “secret signal” — two disciples are told to follow a man carrying a pitcher of water. (Normally, carrying water was a task assigned to women.)  He will lead them to an upstairs guestroom for their Passover meal.  All of this seems prearranged.

And at the supper itself, Jesus casts a shadow over the occasion by predicting his betrayal — by one of his own disciples!  What was normally a festive meal had certainly become depressing! Interestingly, Jesus doesn’t identify Judas Iscariot in Mark’s Gospel, leaving each of the twelve to search their own  hearts, each asking:

“Surely not I?”

Jesus then transforms this historic and traditional Passover Seder into a sacrament that will be celebrated in the church until he returns:

As they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had blessed, he broke it, and gave to them, and said, “Take, eat. This is my body.”  He took the cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave to them. They all drank of it. He said to them, “This is my blood of the new covenant, which is poured out for many.  Most certainly I tell you, I will no more drink of the fruit of the vine, until that day when I drink it anew in God’s Kingdom.”

Here Jesus offers two predictions concerning his own fate — one concerning his tragic death, but the second concerning his ultimate triumph.  There is bitter death signified by the bread and wine — but there is also the promise and hope of ultimate and eschatological victory.  Jesus is able even now to look beyond his impending violent death toward his resurrection and eventual return.

However, the sorrow of the disciples is only begun.  Jesus predicts that they will all stumble  because of him that night — more specifically he quotes Scripture, from Zechariah 13:7:

 ‘I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.’

This is precisely what is about to happen. And yet once again he also foresees his own resurrection:

 However, after I am raised up, I will go before you into Galilee.

Once again there is the contrast of his death and his resurrection — darkness and light.

Peter’s famous contention that he won’t leave Jesus’ side, no matter what,  is met with brutal predictive honesty:

Jesus said to him, “Most certainly I tell you, that you today, even this night, before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.”

We note that all of the disciples made the same protest that Peter did — that they would die with Jesus before they denied him. But of course Jesus would be proven correct by subsequent events.

The picture we have is that Jesus is wrestling with nearly everyone, including the priests and even his own disciples.  Only the woman who anoints his head with oil at the beginning of the scene seems to intuitively understand him.  The disciples, who have spent so much time with him over the previous short years, still don’t get it.

And on the Mount of Olives, in the place called Gethsemane, this struggle comes to a head.  (Gethsemane means olive press, because that’s where the olives were crushed into oil. How appropriate for the one whose body was to be broken and poured out!).

The three closest disciples (Peter, James, and John) can’t even stay awake while Jesus prays, even though he has told them how troubled he is.  All of the disciples have been charged to pray for him. Yet he is alone with the Father.

It might be said that this moment in the Garden is the climax of his struggle, and that he is perhaps even wrestling with God the Father.  But we note that he addresses his Father as Abba.  Many scholars suggest that this is the familiar and intimate term of endearment that a child might call his father, like “daddy.”

But we see also that despite his preference that he not endure the cross, Jesus surrenders his will to the purpose for which he has come:

He went forward a little, and fell on the ground, and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass away from him.  He said, “Abba, Father, all things are possible to you. Please remove this cup from me. However, not what I desire, but what you desire.”

There is a pattern of threes in this passage.  Jesus tells Peter he will deny him three times. Jesus finds his disciples sleeping three times. He is on his own. He says of them:

The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.

The third time it is too late for them to pray. Jesus senses that Judas and the mob are coming.  We marvel at the hypocrisy of Judas Iscariot, who says to the chief priests, scribes and elders that he will identify Jesus with a kiss, and then calls out to Jesus with the honorific title “Rabbi! Rabbi!”

Jesus knows that this stealthy, shameful arrest by night is an act of cowardice on the part of the religious leaders:

Have you come out, as against a robber, with swords and clubs to seize me? I was daily with you in the temple teaching, and you didn’t arrest me. But this is so that the Scriptures might be fulfilled.

There is some violent resistance by one of the disciples, but it is brief.  After one cuts off a servant’s ear, the disciples all flee into the night. Their escape is so panicked that one of the young men’s loose robe is torn from him by those seeking to arrest him, and he flees into the darkness.  Some early commentators speculated that because this detail is unique to Mark’s Gospel that the young man was John Mark, the writer of the Gospel of Mark himself.  We just don’t know for sure.

Somehow, despite the terror of the arrest, Peter follows the procession of this mob to the court of the high priest —from a safe distance.

Again, there is a fascinating contrast — two trials, if you will.  Jesus is on trial for his life before the council — the Sanhedrin.  Meanwhile, Peter’s integrity and loyalty are on trial in the courtyard while he warms himself by the fire.

The accusations made against Jesus are false and contradictory.  No legitimate court could convict based on spurious testimony.  However, it is the words of Jesus himself that seal his fate:

Again the high priest asked him, “Are you the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?”

Jesus said, “I am. You will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of Power, and coming with the clouds of the sky.”

From the perspective of the high priest and the members of the council, this is blasphemy and heresy.  The description that Jesus offers of himself is apocalyptic and Messianic.  When he calls himself the Son of Man he is alluding to the Old Testament prophecies of the Messiah. But surely it cannot have been lost on some of these Hebrew scholars that when Jesus says I am,  that phrase evokes the holy name of Yahweh from Exodus 3!  Not only is he claiming to be Son of Man, but he is also claiming to be Son of God!

The consequences are dire. The high priest tears his clothes, which is a sign of deep mourning  — but the high priest was never to tear his robe, according to the law (see Leviticus 21:10).  This suggests the intensity of the priest’s reaction to the words of Jesus.

Then there is the beginning of the brutal violence and contemptuous humiliation that rains down upon Jesus.  This will not stop with these council members and officers of the temple guard. He will be abused also by the Roman legionnaires.  As prophesied in Scripture, Jesus would be beaten, spat upon, lashed, mocked — all prior to his actual execution.

Meanwhile, Peter’s “trial” was also reaching a climax.  A maid accuses him of being with the Nazarene and then begins to harangue him to others nearby — presumably so that some of the officers might arrest him.  Peter fails the test but fulfills the prophecy of Jesus. Before the rooster crows twice, Peter has denied Jesus three times, finally becoming quite vehement:

he began to curse, and to swear, “I don’t know this man of whom you speak!” The rooster crowed the second time. Peter remembered the word, how that Jesus said to him, “Before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.” When he thought about that, he wept.

Because Israel (known as Judea in Palestine at that time) was under Roman authority, there was a clear division of powers. The Jewish religious authorities could manage their religious affairs, but only under the close supervision of Rome. Therefore it was necessary to seek a civil judgment against Jesus.

When the night is over, Jesus is hailed before Procurator Pilate.  Pilate’s question does not relate to any religious significance of the claims of Jesus. He is concerned with only one thing:

Pilate asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?”

The implications are clear. Pilate must find a political pretext to execute this prisoner.  Religion is irrelevant, since the Jews had a special dispensation from Rome to preserve their own religious traditions. But a king who might raise a rebellion against Rome? That’s another matter.

Jesus won’t satisfy Pilate with an answer, except an enigmatic one:

He answered, “So you say.”

Pilate’s attempt to find an escape clause to this dilemma backfires. When he offers the people a choice between Jesus and Barabbas, they choose Barabbas. This is a disaster for Pilate. As far as he is concerned, Jesus is merely a religious fanatic who gathered a crowd in the countryside. But Barabbas was the modern-day equivalent of a political terrorist:

There was one called Barabbas, bound with his fellow insurgents, men who in the insurrection had committed murder.

He, and the two men who were to be crucified with Jesus, may well have been Zealots who advocated a violent uprising and overthrow of their Roman occupiers.

It is important to remember that the cross was a form of execution normally reserved for sedition or treason — like the violent insurgents who had committed murder — or a man who claimed to be a king.  This is why, when the Roman soldiers mock Jesus with a purple robe of royalty, and press a crown of thorns onto his head, they hailed him as King of the Jews.  That mockery, and the cross itself, was a sign to the population of Jerusalem — “this is what Rome does to royal pretenders. The only true power here is Rome.”

Flogged, beaten, sleepless, Jesus carries his cross to Golgotha.  Mark doesn’t tell us that Jesus falls, or is too weak to carry the cross because of a loss of blood.  Floggings were often a death sentence in themselves.

The soldiers command a foreigner in the crowd to carry his cross.  His name is given — Simon of Cyrene. Again, this is a fascinating detail. Cyrene was a Greek and Roman city in modern day Libya — North Africa! This doesn’t suggest that Simon was a Gentile — there were Jewish settlers in Egypt as well as all over the ancient world in the Mediterranean area and the Near East.  And it would not have been unusual for a Jew to make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the Passover — especially bringing his sons.

And the mention of his sons, Alexander and Rufus, is also fascinating. Mark seems to assume that they are known to his readers.  Some scholars speculate that they became a part of the Christian community after witnessing the horrors of the cross. The names Alexander and Rufus do appear in some of the Epistles.

It was at 9:00 a.m. that they arrived at the very public hill of execution called Golgotha (that is, the place of the skull). Again, we are reminded that this execution is a public example, and a deterrent to would-be insurrectionists.  The charge against Jesus, inscribed above his head, made this clear:

 THE KING OF THE JEWS.

Our translation says that the other two crucified with him were robbers, but other translators suggest that they were actually Jewish rebels or insurgents, arrested with Barabbas after the recent riots in Jerusalem.  Again, Mark spots the fulfillment of Scripture, this time from Isaiah 53:12:

 “He was numbered with transgressors.”

This reference to Isaiah 53 points to the famous passage describing the Suffering Servant, which the church has come to see as a vivid picture of Jesus as the Messiah who suffers vicariously for all sinners.

Now Jesus is completely abandoned — almost.  In Mark’s Gospel, people passing by on the road taunt him.  The chief priests and scribes demean their own dignity and mock him. And in Mark’s Gospel, both of those crucified with him also insult him.  And after darkness falls on the face of the earth (from about noon to three o’clock), it seems that Jesus feels abandoned even by his God, quoting Psalm 22:

At the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” which is, being interpreted, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

The taunts of the spectators, and the only words uttered by Jesus on the cross in Mark’s Gospel, are a little problematical.  The mockers are actually on the right track. Jesus did promise to rebuild the temple, but in their wooden literalism they fail to understand he spoke of his own resurrection — which would occur in three days. And in a paradoxical sense, when the religious authorities said “He saved others. He can’t save himself,” they were correct.  If he saved himself by coming down from the cross, he would be unable to save others. By losing his life, he saves billions upon billions.

And when Jesus cried out to God, was it truly a cry of desolation or a prayer of hope? (For a more complete treatment of this dilemma, please see: https://soarlectionarybiblestudy.wordpress.com/2017/04/06/gospel-for-april-9-2017-liturgy-of-the-passion/).  We are reminded that Jesus is dying slowly of asphyxiation on the cross. He hasn’t the breath to recite all of Psalm 22, which seems clearly to describe the effects of a suffering victim, with eerie similarity to a crucifixion. He certainly can’t hold out until the verses near the end of the Psalm, that ring with hope:

You who fear Yahweh, praise him!
All you descendants of Jacob, glorify him!
Stand in awe of him, all you descendants of Israel! 

For he has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted,
Neither has he hidden his face from him;
but when he cried to him, he heard (Psalm 22:23-24).

Typically, Jesus is misunderstood by those standing nearby. They think he is calling Elijah to rescue him.

The only other utterance from Jesus seems to be a cry of either agony — or triumph:

 Jesus cried out with a loud voice, and gave up the spirit.

We are told that the veil of the temple was torn in half, from top to bottom.  The veil in the temple was not a mere sheer curtain. According to the ancient historian Josephus, the veil in Herod’s temple was as thick as a man’s hand  (about four inches  thick) and 60 feet high and 20 feet wide.

This is the veil that separated the Holy Place in the temple from the innermost room known as the Holy of Holies.  The Holy Place was the location of solemn worship where only the priests were permitted to go.  The following items were in the Holy Place — the table for the showbread, the altar of incense which represented the prayers of Israel, and the seven-branched lampstand that offered light for the room.  These were all articles carefully prescribed by Yahweh to Moses in the book of Exodus.

However, the Holy of Holies was the most holy place, where the high priest entered only once a year on the Day of Atonement to offer sacrifices for the sins of Israel.  The significance of the tearing of the veil is clear — Jesus the true high priest has opened the way into the presence of God.

Perhaps a massive earthquake, such as was described in Matthew 27:54, might have caused such a rupture. No wonder the Roman centurion said:

 “Truly this man was the Son of God!”

Perhaps there were a combination of factors that contributed to this startling confession of faith by a Gentile. The natural phenomenon must have moved him — the deep darkness over the land for three hours, the earthquake. Or perhaps there was something he saw and felt as he watched the Son of God die.

Earlier, I wrote that everyone seemed to have rejected or abandoned Jesus — the spectators, the religious authorities, and some would say even God (although I disagree. See Respond section below).  But there were some who did not:

There were also women watching from afar, among whom were both Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the less and of Joses, and Salome; who, when he was in Galilee, followed him, and served him; and many other women who came up with him to Jerusalem.

These are the same three women mentioned by name who will bring spices to anoint his dead body after Jesus is placed in the tomb — and the same women who are the first witnesses to the resurrection.

And ironically, it is not one of his closest disciples who has the courage to ask Pilate for the body of Jesus on Preparation Day, the day before Sabbath. We may presume they are still in hiding. No, it is Joseph of Arimathaea, a member of the same Sanhedrin that condemned Jesus:

who also himself was looking for God’s Kingdom.

Obviously, like the centurion, Joseph of Arimathaea saw something in Jesus that had deeply reached him.

Pilate seems surprised that Jesus is already dead:

Pilate marveled if he were already dead; and summoning the centurion, he asked him whether he had been dead long.

Jesus is wound in a linen cloth and laid in a tomb cave. Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses note where he has been buried. They plan to return when the Sabbath is over and anoint his corpse.

APPLY:  

Just who is this Jesus, and what is our response to him, and to his violent death?

To the chief priests and scribes, and the religious elite of the day, Jesus was a heretic who needed to be eliminated before he corrupted their precious temple worship, and perhaps incurred the wrath of Rome for stirring up trouble.

To the disciples, he was their beloved Rabbi, their Teacher, who had taught them of the Kingdom of God, and then had demonstrated its presence with his powerful signs. But when he spoke of his own death and resurrection, they couldn’t understand him. Not yet.

To Pilate, and the Roman overlords, he was a political problem to be solved. What happened to Jesus was a matter of indifference. If he could be released without consequences, that would be fine. If not, he could be crucified as a matter of convenience to appease the priests and avoid trouble with Rome.

To the women who had been treated as equals and human beings of sacred worth for the first time in their lives, he was Lord — and they demonstrated their reverence by anointing his head with oil, and watching in grief as he died.

To Joseph of Arimathaea — well, we’re not sure what he thought of Jesus.  We simply know what he did.  As in the deuterocanonical (or Apocryphal) book of Tobit, he perhaps saw the burial of a fellow Jew as a sacred duty. But we suspect that it meant much more than that. He was looking for the kingdom, and perhaps he’d caught a glimpse of the kingdom in the eyes of the King.

But most importantly, what is he to us?  Many today dismiss Jesus as a non-historical character invented by men to support a corrupt institution. Some think of him as a fine moral character whose teachings were part of the ethical development and evolution of our civilization.

That is too easy. Many of us find ourselves reading the Passion account and determine, as many Christians have over the centuries, that these details are too vivid and too realistic to be fiction. They have the feel of truth.

And perhaps we find ourselves in the same position as the centurion. We doubt that he had much contact with Jesus prior to this execution.  But there is something here that grips him, that speaks to his spirit, and that causes him to declare:

“Truly this man was the Son of God!”

It is interesting that in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus never calls himself the Son of God.  This is the title given Jesus by Mark in the beginning of the book:

The beginning of the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God (Mark 1:1).

And the unclean spirits recognize him for who he is as the Son of God.  But Jesus invariably refers to himself as the Son of Man.  Perhaps this is because he is stressing his human nature, and his role as the Messianic figure of prophecy. He knows that he is the Son of God.

However, it is when we recognize that he is the Son of God that we truly come to faith. And it is then that we know that God has become one of us, with all the weakness and vulnerability that is revealed on the cross, so that he might demonstrate his power as the crucified and risen God.

RESPOND: 

I sometimes read history and wonder, “What would I have done?” Would I have stood my ground when the Redcoats charged up Breed’s Hill in Boston? Would I have spoken up against Hitler in Nazi Germany? But more importantly, would I have stayed close to Jesus that night when he was arrested?

I’d like to think that I would have remained near him, like the women did.  Of course, the Roman legionnaires and the religious authorities likely took no notice of the mourning women.  In that culture long ago, women were of little consequence.

But the sorry record of the male disciples makes me doubt myself. If Peter, James and John ran, or kept their distance, or even denied him, do I really think I would do any better?

They did forsake him. But here’s another pressing question — Did the Father forsake his Son? This is a theological conundrum.

I have heard sermons over the years that insisted that when Jesus was on the cross, the Father “turned his face away from his Son.” I understand where they’re coming from. When Jesus quotes Psalm 22 it does seem to be a cry of abandonment. And Paul tells us that:

For him who knew no sin he made to be sin on our behalf; so that in him we might become the righteousness of God (2 Corinthians 5:21).

I am not troubled by the fact that Jesus assumes my sin in order to transfer his righteousness to me. This is the purpose of the sacrifice — an exchange of sin for righteousness.  Jesus does not commit sin (we know from Scripture that he is without sin — see 2 Corinthians 5:21; Hebrews 4:15), but he assumes our sin.  Only one who is fully divine is without sin. And only one who is fully human can fully enter into our human experience and take our sin upon himself.

And that’s what troubles me.

Jesus is so clearly established in the New Testament as the only begotten Son of the Father, the Word made flesh. He is God.  Not merely God-like, but God. His own claim is that he is uniquely united to the Father:

I and the Father are one (John 10:30).

And he decisively answers Philip’s request that the disciples may see the Father:

He who has seen me has seen the Father. How do you say, ‘Show us the Father?’ Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and the Father in me? (John 14:9-10).

This is the basis of the classic doctrine of the nature of Jesus as fully God and yet fully man, as understood by the church. And it is the basis of the Trinity, that Jesus is the Second Person of the Trinity.

How then could God the Father abandon himself?  It seems to be ontologically impossible. Though there is a distinction of Persons in the Trinity, there is still complete unity between Father, Son and Holy Spirit. This explains my difficulty with the theory that “the Father turned his face away from his Son.”

I heard about a little girl who said “I love Jesus, but I hate his Father.”  In her innocence, I believe she missed the point. It is not the Father who crucifies the Son — it is evil itself, manifested in human sin.

Therefore I can come to only one conclusion — the Father didn’t turn his face away from his Son. There may be a hint of this in Luke’s account of the last moments of Jesus:

Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” Having said this, he breathed his last (Luke 24:46).

On the cross God the Father embraces his Son, as the one who has been perfectly obedient even unto death.  The Father doesn’t watch this horror from a distance — he is as near to the suffering Son as he has ever been, watching with deep love.  Grieving, mourning perhaps because of what human evil had done — but absent? Never.

In the words of Charles Wesley’s powerful hymn, Arise, My Soul, Arise:

The Father hears Him pray,
His dear anointed One;
He cannot turn away
The presence of His Son.
His Spirit answers to the blood,
And tells me I am born of God.

It is the God-Man who dies on our behalf, who tastes the worst that evil can deliver (even, according to ancient church doctrine and Scripture, descending into Hell itself), and then is raised to life by God.  This descent and ascent is no mere myth. Jesus has descended to rescue us from sin, death and the Devil, and has re-ascended with us in his arms.  As Ephesians 4 tells us:

“When he ascended on high, he led captivity captive, and gave gifts to men.” Now this, “He ascended”, what is it but that he also first descended into the lower parts of the earth?  He who descended is the one who also ascended far above all the heavens, that he might fill all things (Ephesians 4:8-10).

So, forsaken by all but God, because Jesus is God incarnate, Jesus sets free the prisoners from their dungeon.  Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!

Lord, I confess I have said and written too much about a mystery that I cannot begin to understand — your Passion, death and Resurrection, your ineffable nature, the Trinity.  Please forgive what I have said amiss; but lead me again to the same confession made by the centurion at the foot of the cross: “Truly this man was the Son of God!” Amen.

PHOTO:
“It is Finished!” by Delirious? is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic license.

Gospel for April 9, 2017 (Liturgy of the Passion)

“The First Station- Jesus is Condemned to Death”
The photographer, Fr. Lawrence Lew, offers these thoughts:
This Station in marble bas relief is by Fr Aelred Whitacre OP, from Blackfriars in Oxford, the Dominican priory in that great university town.
It is striking that Fr Aelred, reflecting Thomistic teaching, depicts the dehumanizing effect of sin, hence this striking depiction of Pilate. The serpent shows that Pilate, in choosing to condemn an innocent man, has colluded with the Evil One. Incidentally, it is thought that Tolkien’s visual conception of orcs might have been inspired by seeing this depiction of Pilate.

START WITH SCRIPTURE:

Matthew 26:14-27:66

CLICK HERE TO READ SCRIPTURE ON BIBLEGATEWAY.COM

OBSERVE:

The shock of the events recorded here in Matthew’s Gospel is lost on most modern Christians simply because they have become so familiar.  Ask a child who has been raised in Sunday School what Jesus has done for us and the child will likely rattle off the words “he died for our sins.”  These words would likely be delivered somewhat mechanically, as if by rote.

Looking at this account as if reading the Gospel for the first time would be truly shocking.  The first-time reader, starting at the beginning  of Matthew’s Gospel, would have first encountered the  account of Jesus’ miraculous birth, with its declaration that this child would be called Immanuel, God with us.  The God-head of this child would have been confirmed as he grew into a man and was baptized, with the descent of the Holy Spirit and the voice of God the Father that attested that he was the Son of God.  His miraculous works of healing and feeding the multitudes and commanding the forces of nature would have further illustrated the divine nature of Jesus.  His Transfiguration would certainly have confirmed it.  And his teaching, as though providing a New Law, was with the authority of God.  His triumphant entry into the city of Jerusalem, welcomed by the throngs, would have authenticated his credentials as the Son of David and the Messiah.

So, the events of Matthew 26:14-27:66  would certainly be shocking to someone coming to this account for the first time.  Certainly the reader might have picked up hints from the murmuring of the Pharisees and the Saduccees and the Priests.  And Jesus himself offered foreshadowings of the fate that awaited him in Jerusalem.

But still,  the events in this passage reveal the violence of those who plotted against Jesus. They also reveal his own human vulnerability.  The Son of God is also the Son of Man, who can be beaten and tormented and nailed to a cross.

With such a long passage, it is necessary to summarize some of the events — that Jesus is betrayed by one of his own disciples, predicts his own death, is denied by one of his closest disciples, stands trial in a hastily convened court, and is condemned to die by a foreign ruler.   

We will view these shocking events through the characters that appear, and the dramatic action that follows.  First, there is the shock of betrayal by Judas Iscariot, who approaches the chief priests to offer them Jesus — for a price.

In Matthew’s Gospel, we receive only one hint that Judas will betray Jesus (Matthew 10:4).  But this foreshadowing comes with no explanation of Judas’s motives.  Still, when the disciples are gathered to celebrate the Passover feast, Jesus knows what Judas will do.  Jesus announces that one of them will betray him.  The disciples search their own hearts and ask with deep sorrow:

“It isn’t me, is it, Lord?”

Jesus’ answer is cryptic — that whoever dips his unleavened bread into the charoset dish typical of Passover, would betray him.  Eating in a communal manner like this was an intimate experience.  Jesus was suggesting that the one who betrayed him was a close friend.

Judas is disingenuous, as though to deflect suspicion from himself.  He parrots the other disciples, and says:

It isn’t me, is it, Rabbi?

Unlike the other disciples, though, he calls Jesus Rabbi instead of Lord.  Though subtle, this may suggest he is disavowing any faith in Jesus as the Messiah.

Jesus has warned him, along with the others:

The Son of Man goes, even as it is written of him, but woe to that man through whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would be better for that man if he had not been born.

Following the trajectory of Judas’s fateful decision (sometime between the adjournment of the Passover meal and Jesus’ climb to the Mount of Olives), Judas has gathered a multitude with swords and clubs under the authority of the chief priests and elders of the people.  He knows Jesus’ plans for the evening, and leads this armed rabble to the Mount of Olives.  Again, there is the sign of hypocritical intimacy:

Now he who betrayed him gave them a sign, saying, “Whoever I kiss, he is the one. Seize  him.”  Immediately he came to Jesus, and said, “Hail, Rabbi!” and kissed him.

Despite this betrayal, Jesus seems almost tender toward Judas.  Jesus says to him, Friend, why are you here? — although Jesus knows precisely why Judas has come.

We follow the next phase in Judas’s part of this drama.  It is only after Jesus is hailed before the council of the high priest and the elders late that night, and then turned over to Pontius Pilate for Roman justice the next morning, that Judas seems to experience remorse.  He attempts to return the thirty pieces of silver, and confesses his sin in betraying innocent blood.  His reparations of the money are refused, and he throws it at the feet of the priests and leaves — and hangs himself.

Was this a sign of repentance?  Was he forever condemned?  Literally, God alone knows.

Let us return to the other characters who reclined with Jesus at the Passover feast.  All of the disciples were searching their own hearts about Jesus’ prediction that one of them would betray him.  But when Jesus again warns them that they would all stumble because of the events that night, Peter can’t stand it.  He protests that he alone would remain faithful, even if all of them fell away.  Jesus singles out Peter specifically with the painful prediction that Peter himself would deny him three times before morning, when the rooster crowed.

To his credit, Peter was one of the three closest friends whom Jesus asked to stay near when Jesus went to Gethsemane to pray.  But Peter’s  first stumble came even before he denied Jesus — three times Peter, along with James and John, fell asleep, even after Jesus asked them directly to stay awake and watch with him in prayer.

Matthew doesn’t tell us that Peter is the one who strikes off the ear of the high priest’s servant with a sword.  John’s Gospel supplies that detail (John 18:10).  But the Gospel of Matthew does show that Peter had just enough courage to follow Jesus and the armed band to the courtyard of the house of Caiphas — where Peter withers in fear.  When asked if he is one of Jesus’ disciples, Peter denies it, with a curse.

So, let us turn to Jesus and his words and actions in these events.  Jesus is very clearly aware of his role in this drama.  Jesus knows the script.  He predicts that he will be delivered up to death as it is written in the Scriptures.  The Passover meal becomes, in his hands, a new sign of remembrance for his followers.  The meal that celebrated the deliverance of his people from slavery some 1200 years earlier would now be transformed in order to celebrate his sacrificial death, which liberates from slavery to sin.

Jesus also very consciously refers to Scripture as he begins the death march to the cross — quoting Zechariah 13:7 to predict the scattering of his followers when he is arrested.  When the armed rabble come, and one of his followers offers resistance, Jesus reproves him — Jesus knows his own power to call down heavenly reinforcements, but he cites the Scriptures that prophesy that his death must happen. And of course  he quotes Psalm 22:1 in the so-called Cry of Dereliction from the cross:

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

Jesus does know what awaits him.  And yet we see the tension between his divine nature and his human nature, even if only briefly.  When he prays in the Garden of Gethsemane, he asks:

My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass away from me.

Facing death, and the full brunt of evil on the cross, Jesus is honest.  If possible, he would prefer not to suffer the physical and spiritual suffering that is to come.  However, the tension is resolved when he prays:

nevertheless, not what I desire, but what you desire.

If we subscribe to the classical Christology of the church, as I do, we see the two natures of Jesus here in this moment — he is fully human and fully divine.  Both natures are in harmony, and he is completely surrendered to the saving work for which he was destined.

Jesus is fully aware of his latent power as Son of God, and his authority over all things.  His response to Peter’s feeble attempt to defend his Lord is telling:

do you think that I couldn’t ask my Father, and he would even now send me more than twelve legions of angels?

But there are two reasons that such supernatural militance isn’t called for at this time — first, violent reprisal will only escalate violence (all those who take the sword will die by the sword), and that is not his purpose in coming.  And second, all that is happening is in order to fulfill the Scriptures.

Jesus does chide the crowd for an excessive show of force — coming at night, armed to the teeth, as if they are seeking a dangerous criminal.  After all, he’s been teaching publicly in the temple all week.

Jesus continues to exert his quiet, peaceful authority when he is hailed before a hastily summoned council of the priests and elders.  This court isn’t even held in a public venue, but in the home of Caiaphas the high priest.  None of the false testimony against him holds water — until he is asked the one question that really matters:

The high priest answered him, “I adjure you by the living God, that you tell us whether you are the Christ, the Son of God.”

The response of Jesus suggests that by bringing this very charge, the high priest has acknowledged that Jesus is either the Son of God,  or he is a fraud.  And the life and ministry of Jesus leaves no room for the charge that he is a phony.  Moreover, Jesus confirms his identity with a prophecy:

Jesus said to him, “You have said it. Nevertheless, I tell you, after this you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of Power, and coming on the clouds of the sky.”

This is apocalyptic language that is unmistakeably Biblical.  Jesus may well be referring to Daniel:

I saw in the night visions, and behold, there came with the clouds of the sky one like a son of man, and he came even to the ancient of days, and they brought him near before him.  There was given him dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, that all the peoples, nations, and languages should serve him: his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom that which shall not be destroyed (Daniel 7:13-14).

Now the high priest has his “smoking gun” — all the evidence he thinks he needs to convict Jesus.  The high priest tears his robe, which is a sign of grief and lamentation.  But the Levitical law forbade the high priest from these customary signs of mourning (Leviticus 21:10).  The high priest is conveying a serious source of grief by doing this — he is accusing Jesus of blasphemy.

The penalty for blasphemy in Jewish law is death.  Jesus is physically abused and abased by these council members.  But they are an occupied nation, with Rome as their overlord.  They have no authority to execute a prisoner.

So the next morning Jesus must stand before Governor Pontius Pilate.  The Roman official’s concern is not with religious charges against Jesus, but with political sedition and revolution.  Messiah, or anointed one, is also the title of a king.  This is the only charge that concerns Pilate.  But Jesus leaves Pilate to make up his own mind:

 Now Jesus stood before the governor: and the governor asked him, saying, “Are you the King of the Jews?”  Jesus said to him, “So you say.”

This is essentially the same answer Jesus gives to the high priest, which suggests that Jesus is tacitly confirming the charge.

Pilate’s role in this trial and execution are critical.  Pilate had already incurred the displeasure of the priests and elders with some of his previous public policies.  According to the Jewish historians of that time (e.g. Philo and Josephus), Pilate had offended the priests by introducing Roman standards and shields on temple grounds — this had been a violation of the second commandment forbidding graven images.  And he had appropriated money designated for the temple and used it to build aqueducts.  When the Jews protested these acts, Pilate ordered his troops to respond with violence.  It might be said he had two strikes against him already.  More complaints to the Emperor might be devastating to Pilate’s career.

Not even the intercession of Pilate’s wife could avert the inevitable.

Pilate’s contrivance, to force the crowd into a decision, backfires.  He offers a choice of Barabbas or Jesus.  They cry for Barabbas to be released, and Jesus to be crucified.  Pilate now finds himself in a corner that he himself created.   He is convinced of Jesus’ innocence.  When the crowd demands that Jesus be crucified, Pilate pleads for him:

But the governor said, “Why? What evil has he done?”

His efforts to avert violence are about to backfire.  Normally the Roman Procurator didn’t come to Jerusalem except in times of unrest, as a show of force to prevent uprisings.  Now, this trial was threatening to become the source of a riot.

Pilate’s highly symbolic act, washing his hands of Jesus’ blood, is a sham.  A crucifixion was a penalty exacted by Rome for political crimes (sedition, treason, revolution), not civil crimes.  By permitting it, Pilate was responsible for it.  And it was Roman soldiers who carried out the execution.

The Roman soldiers continue the abuse of Jesus.  Normally a flogging was considered a possible death sentence.  They mock him and humiliate him with the threadbare trappings of  royalty — a scarlet robe, a crown of thorns, and a reed for a scepter — because by dehumanizing him they make an example of Jesus.  And it is easier to kill someone whose humanity has been devalued and objectified.

It should be noted that Golgotha, the hill where Jesus was crucified, was not far from one of the city gates, along a well-travelled road.  This was quite intentional.  The cross was a political statement that Rome wished to make very public — this is what happens to enemies of Rome!

Thus begin the hours of supreme agony, coupled with paradox.  The Roman soldiers mock him by slapping and spitting on Jesus, and call him The King of the Jews.  The sign placed over his head on the cross proclaims the same charge.  The irony is that this helpless, humiliated and dying Jew is in fact the rightful  heir of King David — and he is also the King of the Universe.

The paradox of this dying God is manifested further by the mockery of the passersby and the priests.  They taunt him:

If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross!

He saved others, but he can’t save himself. If he is the King of Israel, let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him.  He trusts in God. Let God deliver him now, if he wants him; for he said, ‘I am the Son of God’.

This is the supreme paradox.  Because Jesus is the Son of God, he chooses not to come down from the cross.  He saves others because he refuses to save himself.  And it is his trust in God that was revealed in the Garden of Gethsemane when he said:

not what I desire, but what you desire.

Matthew’s descriptions of the scene on Golgotha (appropriately named: the place of the skull) grow surreal.  Darkness strangely falls over the land at noon.  There is silence, watching, and suffering until 3:00 p.m., when Jesus makes his famous cry:

“Eli, Eli, lima  sabachthani?” That is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

The phrase that Jesus quotes is one of the rare transliterations of Hebrew and Aramaic in the otherwise Greek text of Matthew’s Gospels. This is a clue to us that Matthew is using Jesus’ exact words from the cross, and that Jesus is quoting Psalm 22:1.  Psalm 22, written hundreds of years earlier, appears to be an eerily accurate description of the physical and psychological effects of this crucifixion:

All those who see me mock me.
They insult me with their lips. They shake their heads, saying,
“He trusts in Yahweh;
let him deliver him.
Let him rescue him, since he delights in him” (Psalm 22:7-8)

I am poured out like water.
All my bones are out of joint.
My heart is like wax;
it is melted within me.
My strength is dried up like a potsherd.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
You have brought me into the dust of death.
 For dogs have surrounded me.
A company of evildoers have enclosed me.
They have pierced my hands and feet.
 I can count all of my bones.
They look and stare at me.
They divide my garments among them.
They cast lots for my clothing (Psalm 22:14-18).

At the same time it shouldn’t escape notice that despair is transformed into powerful hope in Psalm 22:

I will declare your name to my brothers.
Among the assembly, I will praise you.
You who fear Yahweh, praise him!
All you descendants of Jacob, glorify him!
Stand in awe of him, all you descendants of Israel!
 For he has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted,
Neither has he hidden his face from him;
but when he cried to him, he heard (Psalm 22:22-24).

A crucified man who is slowly dying of asphyxiation hasn’t the breath to recite an entire Psalm, but it may be that Jesus’ cry was not that of dereliction at all.  Perhaps he was remembering the Psalms learned in his childhood, and particularly this vivid poem, and in its despair he paradoxically finds hope.

This cry has been interpreted in many ways throughout the centuries by Christian expositors. In any event, this cry  is misinterpreted by some who stand at the cross.  They think he is calling on Elijah, when he is actually calling on God (Eli = My God). 

Even the  kind effort of a soldier to offer Jesus sour wine soaked into a sponge is turned into a taunt by the others:

The rest said, “Let him be. Let’s see whether Elijah comes to save him.”

As mentioned above, the breath of a man dying of crucifixion becomes shallow — speaking becomes nearly impossible.  But Jesus dies with what seems a cry of victory:

Jesus cried again with a loud voice, and yielded up his spirit.

The effects of this climactic moment are multiple.  The thick curtain in the temple was torn from top to bottom.  This is the veil that separated the Holy Place in the temple from the innermost room known as the Holy of Holies.

The Holy Place was the location of solemn worship where only the priests were permitted to go . This is where the table for the shewbread, the altar of incense which represented the prayers of Israel, and the seven-branched lampstand that offered light for the room were located.  These were all articles carefully prescribed by Yahweh to Moses in Exodus.

However, the Holy of Holies was the most holy place, where the high priest entered only once a year on the Day of Atonement to offer sacrifices for the sins of Israel.

The significance of the tearing of the veil is clear — Jesus, the true high priest, has opened the way into the presence of God.

Not only are the religious symbols of Israel affected, nature itself is affected — there is a violent earthquake, and tombs are disturbed.  There is even  a foretaste of the resurrection of Jesus, and the general resurrection expected at the end of the age:

The tombs were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised;  and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection, they entered into the holy city and appeared to many.

And of course, there are the reactions of the living.  A battle-hardened centurion sees all of these phenomena and declares what amounts to a confession of faith:

Truly this was the Son of God.

This is the first sign of the harvest among the Gentiles that is to come because of the death of Jesus — but not the last.

And there are the women who have been keeping vigil at the cross.  They will not stray far from the corpse of Jesus, even after he is entombed:

Many women were there watching from afar, who had followed Jesus from Galilee, serving him.  Among them were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of the sons of Zebedee.

Mary Magdalene we recognize from other Gospels as the woman from whom Jesus had cast seven demons (Mark 16:9; Luke 8:2).  The other Mary mentioned here is the mother of James the younger, one of the twelve disciples listed — but Joses is somewhat mysterious.  Although the name Joses appears in the Gospels, he does not appear as one of the twelve.  Curiously, James and Joses are mentioned as brothers — of Jesus himself!  (Matthew 13:55).

And finally the mother of James and John, the sons of Zebedee, is mentioned.  These two sons were among the first of the fishermen to follow Jesus from the beginning, and two of Jesus’ closest friends (Matthew 4:21).  This is the same woman who asked Jesus to find a position of honor for her sons when Jesus came into his Kingdom (Matthew 20:20-21). This wife of Zebedee must have also left her home on the shores of the Sea of Galilee to follow Jesus!

Then there is Joseph,  a rich man from Arimathaea. We also know from the other Gospels that Joseph was a prominent member of the Jewish council of elders — the same council that had condemned Jesus for blasphemy (Mark 15:43).  We know that Joseph was hoping for the consummation of the Kingdom of God (Luke 23:51).  And most significantly, we know that Joseph was a secret disciple, who hid his faith out of fear of his colleagues on the council of elders (John 19:38).

And here we see the courage of Joseph in risking the disapproval and censure of his colleagues:

This man went to Pilate, and asked for Jesus’ body. Then Pilate commanded the body to be given up.  Joseph took the body, and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had cut out in the rock, and he rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb, and departed.

Nevertheless, even after all of this, on the Sabbath day following the day of Preparation, the chief priests and Pharisees violate their own prescriptions for the Sabbath observance in order to petition Pilate.  This suggests their anxiety and urgency even now about the influence of Jesus:

Sir, we remember what that deceiver said while he was still alive: ‘After three days I will rise again.’ Command therefore that the tomb be made secure until the third day, lest perhaps his disciples come at night and steal him away, and tell the people, ‘He is risen from the dead;’ and the last deception will be worse than the first.

Clearly, they are aware that Jesus has predicted his own resurrection.  They may doubt that Jesus is the Messiah, but they don’t trust his disciples.

Guarding a tomb is hardly routine Roman military practice, but Pilate continues to placate the chief priests and the Pharisees:

You have a guard. Go, make it as secure as you can.

Not only is there are guard set at the tomb where Jesus has been laid, they seal the stone.  The stone itself would have been large enough to block the entry way, and therefore quite large and heavy.  The caves in which these tombs were dug were likely limestone.  The seal was probably a soft, moldable clay that would harden — or it may well have indicated an Imperial Roman seal.  This would have been a deterrent to grave robbers who sought to break in.  Few would wish to risk the wrath of Roman justice.

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If we wish to read a theological or doctrinal interpretation of the passion and crucifixion of Jesus, we might turn to the epistles of Paul, Peter, John and the book of Hebrews.  There we learn that Jesus is the perfect sacrifice for sins,  and that as the true high priest he is the one who both offers himself and is offered for our atonement.  By our faith in him, we are healed and forgiven.  In the account from Matthew there is some interpretation, but mostly we are presented with the narrative of these horrific events.

When we read this account as if for the first time, it is difficult not to experience shock, and even horror, as the drama unfolds.  Jesus is betrayed by a trusted follower.  He is arrested while at prayer.  He is tried by a court looking for a pretext to condemn him.  He is violently abused, and becomes the pawn in a political game of chess between powerful men.  He dies a horrible death on the cross, casually taunted by most who pass by.

But what is also shocking — in a positive and hopeful sense — is that despite the horror, there are those in this narrative who respond even to this crucifixion with faith and hope.  The centurion (a foreigner) is moved to a declaration of faith that Jesus is the Son of God.  The women who have followed Jesus and served him from the beginning in Galilee to this present moment remain with him to the bitter end, even holding vigil at his tomb.  Joseph of Arimathaea overcomes his fear of his colleagues and openly cares for the body of Jesus after his death.

However, if we take the time to review the Gospel of Matthew and note what Jesus said during his life and ministry about what awaited him in Jerusalem, the shock would be mitigated.  Jesus told his disciples at least three times that he would be killed in Jerusalem (Matthew 16:21-28; Matthew 17:22-23; Matthew 20:17-19).  And there is the suggestion in Matthew 16 that he went on advising them that he would be killed.

It must be noted that each time Jesus spoke of his death  he also spoke of his resurrection.  Perhaps that is partly what motivates Joseph of Arimathaea.  After all, Joseph’s tomb was only borrowed for a few days by Jesus!  And perhaps this is why the women linger at the tomb.  As it turns out this was not merely emotional denial or unassuaged grief — they were among the first to encounter the risen Jesus!

As shocking as this long and painful passage from Matthew’s Gospel may be, the ultimate shock is still to come — on the third day!

RESPOND: 

I once had a colleague in the ministry who insisted on reading the entire account of the Passion (the suffering) and death of Jesus on Palm/Passion Sunday.  His reasoning was interesting.  People in his church loved to hear the entire Nativity accounts of Jesus’ birth  from Matthew and Luke at Christmas.  They needed to know why  he was born, and where his life would take him.

I have spent much more time on this account from the Gospel of Matthew this week for much the same reason.  The birth of Jesus anticipates his death.  And his death makes sense of his birth as the Son of God and the Son of Man for our sake.

T.S. Eliot, in one of my favorite poems, describes the coming of the Magi to Bethlehem.  He describes the arduous journey as they leave the luxury and comforts  of their summer palaces and silken girls bringing sherbet. 

And after the ordeal of this journey, with all of its hardships and frustrations, they arrive in the temperate valley and find the place they were looking for.   And Eliot closes with these lines, from the perspective of the Magi:

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
(The Journey of the Magi)

May we all find in Jesus’ death our own birth.

Lord, the events of your Passion and Crucifixion are hard to look at.  If not for the Resurrection, and promise of pardon and new birth that accompany these events, it would be unbearable.  Thank you for suffering on our behalf — on my behalf — as unworthy as I am.  Amen. 

PHOTO:
“The First Station- Jesus is Condemned to Death” by Fr. Lawrence Lew, O.P. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic license.