Shall We Follow?
Today, Good Friday, is Ground Zero
of the church year. On this day the Alpha and the Omega are revealed to us, the
pinnacle of divine love and the depth of utter despair. When the Son of God entered the city of
Jerusalem along palm-strewn streets, he knew where his journey was taking him,
although none of his disciples knew, or even wanted to know. The Holy Prince
astride a donkey said of himself, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” Yet the way that Jesus took, amid the
sounds of loud hosannas, was the way toward silence, darkness, and the tomb. As
his followers, we are asked to join him on his way. Shall we?
This
way is a way of pain—immense pain and suffering.
The Roman soldiers flog Jesus.
They place a crown of thorns on his
head,
implanting it so deeply that blood
streams down his face.
They take his hands roughly in
their own, pressing each hand against the jagged wood of the cross.
The blows of the hammer reverberate
as the nails
penetrate his palms.
Then, they nail each of his feet to
the cross.
Hoisting it above Golgotha, the
soldiers ram the cross into the hard earth.
Helpless to support his own weight,
the torso of Jesus slumps forward.
In this position, it becomes very
hard for him to breathe.
The longer he hangs there, the
harder it becomes.
Beneath the cross, a few of his
loved ones—very few—are gathered.
Knowing they suffer to see him on
the cross,
his suffering is increased.
This
way is a way of betrayal and abandonment.
Jesus sees his aunt, his mother,
Mary Magdalene,
and his beloved disciple John in
the crowd.
But where are the others?
Judas had betrayed him, as Jesus
had predicted.
In his anger over Jesus’s arrest,
Peter cut off the ear of the high
priest’s slave.
Yet, Peter betrayed him, too, and
is nowhere to be seen.
As he moves closer to the
predetermined end,
Jesus believes himself to be
completely abandoned.
St. Matthew tells us that he says,
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
This
way is a way of utter loneliness and isolation.
The handful of beloved witnesses
weeping beneath the cross
cannot accompany Jesus into his
death.
The human Jesus, a man
alone, is now revealed in his mortality.
“It is finished,” he says.
A man’s broken, bloodied,
and pierced body, lifeless and limp,
is lowered to the ground below.
The
way of Jesus is a way that relinquishes all attachments.
In his willing acceptance of the
cross, Jesus let go of everything.
He surrendered the things he loved.
From the cross, he gives the care
of his mother to John, saying
“Woman, here is your son.”
Yes, this is a statement of love
for both of them.
But what pain did it cost Jesus to
leave his beloved behind?
This
way is a way of deep darkness, fully entered.
And then, there is the tomb itself.
Joseph of Arimathea lays Jesus
gently in a nearby tomb,
a cave hewn into earth and rock, a
place both cold and damp.
Sealed shut by an immense stone,
the cave is inescapable.
And dark. Very dark.
As we follow the way of the cross
with Jesus, let us remember that He experienced the utter darkness of the tomb
because darkness is part of every human life. Darkness, of one kind or another, is unavoidable. The intertwining of human lives renders both great joy and great sorrow.
Richard Rohr, Franciscan priest and
author of the book Everything Belongs
explains the crucifixion in this way:
“The cross is not the price that
Jesus had to pay to talk God into
loving us. It is simply where love will lead us. Jesus names the agenda. If we
love, if we give ourselves to feel the pain of the world, it will crucify us.”
Again:
“The cross is not the price that
Jesus had to pay to talk God into
loving us. It is simply where love will lead us. Jesus names the agenda. If we
love, if we give ourselves to feel the pain of the world, it will crucify us.”
As he took leave of his disciples
at the Last Supper, Jesus commanded them, “Just as I have loved you, you also
should love one another.” Jesus tells us love is required. He shows us love
is worth the pain it causes.
Amen.
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