Appearances

It would be easy as we near the end of this afternoon's thoughtful reflections only to see a long chain of tragic events: betrayal, desertions, incomprehension, an unjust trial, suffering, and death ….all of which we have heard in the readings from the Passion of Christ.

But to only gaze upon the sadness would be to forget that this is Good Friday and not the Friday of defeat.

The marked contrast between the two views is noticed especially in these scenes at the cross.

There is sadness, to be sure, but there is also power.

There are teats, but also triumph.

And if we are to have a full picture of these moments, we must seem them both.

If we see only the first part, then the death of Jesus becomes the world's greatest tragedy, a sad song to be played in the minor key throughout.

If we see only the power without the tears, then the death of Jesus become nothing but a piece of divine play-acting, and completely unrelated to the suffering and sorrows of human life.

It is only when we see both the evident sadness and the victory that the church has always proclaimed that we begin to understand how the death of Jesus is an event in which God shared the misery of our human existence to the full, and by his very sharing of it, redeemed it into glory.

There is a considerable contrast, then, between the appearance of the events and their significance.

To the soldiers, it was a routine execution.

To the government, it was another of those crazy political hotheads out of the way.

To some in the crowds, a bit of sport.

Nothing so far to indicate that God is doing something out of the ordinary on this day.

Even Jesus' words are at first observation, unremarkable.

“It is completed,” he says.

Where is last sage bit of wisdom from the source of all wisdom?

Where is that last clue as to the meaning of his life?

It does not seem to be here; the words seem so ordinary.

Indeed, the words are as ordinary to the people of that day as “Now I lay me down to sleep” might be to us at the end of a long and tiring day.

But just by their plain and simple nature, we catch a glimpse of the relationship between the Father and the Son.

The evangelists present a [picture of Christ unshakably trusting the Father, no matter how great the suffering.

The voice at Jesus' baptism said, “This is my Son with whom I am well-pleased.”

and Jesus said, “I and the Father are one.”

Jesus' few words from the cross may sound so ordinary, but they are quite special, for they express this unbroken connection and trustfulness in his relationship with the Father,

Guided by those times he drew apart in prayer, Jesus has made visible the love of God to individuals whom he has healed, the crowds whom he has fed in body and spirit, the mother and family he has loved in spite of their misunderstandings.

John's gospel signals the conclusion of that work with “It is completed.”

Luke stresses the unbroken connection with the Father by adding one word to a bedtime prayer that one learns in childhood: “Father, into your hands.....”

And with that one word, “Father,” all of the usual is transformed.

He dares to speak on intimate terms with God, to call him Father, to continue that unbroken relationship even in what appeared to be total defeat.

So we call today Good, because we are now aware of the two-fold emphasis of the seeming defeat that is at the same time the victory of a relationship that remained unwavering: a relationship that by its very permanence means victory for us as well.

The early church knew it, and in developing art for the devotion of the faithful, captured this double emphasis.

Whether the cross is bare or whether it shows the body of Jesus, the cross always was and remains an emblem of torture and death.

However, on behalf of the gospel, artists as Gospel-proclaimers have recognized it as the throne of Christ,

The Orthodox icon of the crucifixion shows Christ with his arms outstretched, and not held in place by ropes or nails, but only by following the will of the Father.

“For you,” his eyes say as he gazes at family and at us.

Western artists in the Middle Ages tended to focus on the excessive cruelty inflicted on Jesus.

The details portrayed by Grunewald and many others are difficult to view.

The message from the artists is clear: Jesus didn't have to do this, but chose to suffer “For you,” to take on the worst enemies we can have and in his death and resurrection to defeat them and take away their power over us.

And there is still another way to approach the appearance of defeat at the cross.

Artists have sometimes pictured Christ on the cross dressed in royal vestments.

It is not historical accuracy they intend, but rather a different insight into the truth of the scene.

With his arms outstretched in blessing as well as in suffering, Jesus rules all creation from the cross.

In defeat, victory.

Things are not always what they seem.

This is not only a day of sorrows, not just a time of talking about tragedy, and surely not an opportunity for some self-centered moralizing.

Rather it is a time for thoughtful meditation and also for the hymn of praise for our crucified and yet victorious Lord.

Fortunatus, a Latin poet of 15 centuries ago sang it well:

Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle,

Sing the ending of the fray,

Now above the Cross, the trophy.

Sound the loud, triumphant lay:

Tell how Christ, the world's redeemer,

As a victim, won the day.

Things are not always what they seem. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Please note: The preceding sermon is provided as a resource for the thought, prayer, and meditation of the members and friends of St. Mark's. It is the residue of a verbal event, and thus it does not have academic footnotes and other details that would be expected in a written document. The writer gladly acknowledges the prior thought and work of many Christians before him.