I came across this the other day. It’s delightfully hilarious!:
Read the rest here.
How great the pain of searing loss
Readings
Hebrews 12.1–3
John 13.21–32
Here hangs a man discarded,
a scarecrow hoisted high,
a nonsense pointing nowhere
to all who hurry by.
(Brian Wren)
Last night, we heard that when Jesus was on the cross, he cried out (Luke 23.34),
Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.
We saw that here, the Son is addressing the Father. And that the Holy Spirit is holding them together.
Tonight, we want to hear something else that Jesus uttered from the cross. He cried out in the opening words of Psalm 22:
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Perhaps you know that feeling.
When I was younger, I was taught that this was the point at which God turn his back on Jesus as Jesus ‘became sin’ for us, as Jesus ‘paid the penalty’ for sin. God could not look on sin, so he turned away from Jesus.
One of the proof tests for this idea comes from the book of the prophet Habakkuk. In 1.13a, we read
Your eyes are too pure to behold evil,
and you cannot look on wrongdoing;
That seems to settle it. God cannot look upon sin, so God turns away from Jesus on the cross.
But we need to read the second half of that verse:
[so] why do you look on the treacherous,
and are silent when the wicked swallow
those more righteous than they?
Habakkuk is confused by this. He thinks that God cannot look upon evil; but he sees that God does look upon evil.
I feel equally confused when people talk about God turning away from Jesus on the cross. You see, I don’t believe God did turn away from Jesus.
The only way I can get any handle on all this is to look at these words as spoken to God the Father by the eternal Son made flesh. Just as ‘Father, forgive them’ is a conversation between Father and Son, so is ‘Why have you forsaken me?’
When Jesus asks ‘Why have you forsaken me?’, we are still dealing with the Father and Son, held together by the Spirit.
God was not far away from Christ that day, nor having an afternoon catching up with his emails in the office. God was in Christ. According to 2 Corinthians 5.19, ‘God was making the whole human race his friends through Christ. God did not keep an account of their sins…’
Or in perhaps more familiar language, ‘God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them.’
You may know this song: How deep the Father’s love for us. It starts like this:
How deep the Father’s love for us,
how vast beyond all measure,
that he should give his only Son
to make a wretch his treasure.
And then we go on to sing these words:
How great the pain of searing loss:
the Father turns his face away.
as wounds which mar the Chosen One
bring many sons to glory.
Let’s just leave for another day the exclusive language that uses ‘sons’ to include ‘everyone’. We won’t go there tonight—it’s important, but it’s not the time right now.
But let’s look at the words.
How great the pain of searing loss:
This is the very heart of the Cross. ‘The pain of searing loss’ is such a moving way to describe the godforsaken cry of Jesus.
Yet the Father also shares the pain of searing loss with the Son.
In that cry, not only is the Son fatherless; but the Father is also sonless. The Father freely enters into the pain of the Son. [Note 1]
If the Father and the Son were truly separated at that point, we could ask Does the Trinity then fall apart? [Note 2] No, because the Spirit binds Father and Son as one in a grief-stricken embrace.
Next, we sing
the Father turns his face away
As I said, I don’t believe the Father’s face is turned away at all; but if it were, it would be turned away in heartbroken grief.
It doesn’t help me to say the Father turns away because the sin of the world is placed on Jesus. For heaven’s sake (literally!), the Son has been spending his life embracing sinners. If God is Trinity, then the Father has also been embracing them with the Son. The Father also embraces us with the Son. The Father is the one who looks out every day for the prodigal to return. The Father does not keep account of sins.
The song goes on,
as wounds which mar the Chosen One
bring many ‘sons’ to glory.
Do those wounds ‘mar’ Jesus? Do they make him ugly to the Father? No! If you see your child injured, you run towards them and not away from them. Your child is beautiful to you no matter what happens.
The scars do not ‘mar’ the chosen one; Jesus bore them in his risen body. He took the scars with him as he ascended into heaven.
The wounds may make Jesus ugly to us, but not to the Father.
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Because Jesus uttered these words, they have become words of hope for us who are adopted as children of the Father. The triune God will never forsake us: the Spirit binds us firmly to the Father; the Son has accomplished it all for us.
Let us move into the Great Three Days of Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter itself with confidence and joy!
For the Wednesday of Holy Week, 2017
__________________________________
Note 1: ‘To understand what happened between Jesus and his God and Father on the cross, it is necessary to talk in trinitarian terms. The Son suffers dying, the Father suffers the death of the Son. The grief of the Father here is just as important as the death of the Son. The Fatherlessness of the Son is matched by the Sonlessness of the Father, and if God has constituted himself as the Father of Jesus Christ, then he also suffers the death of his Fatherhood in the death of the Son.’ (Juergen Moltmann, The Crucified God)
Note 2: This is almost an inevitable question. It also blunders by exceeding the bounds of human language about God, and is guilty of hubris.
Filed under church year, Holy Week, sermon
In the cross of Christ I glory
rafittiReading
1 Corinthians 1.18–31
In the cross of Christ I glory,
towering o’er the wrecks of time;
all the light of sacred story
gathers round its head sublime.
A piece of graffiti now in the Palatine Hill Museum in Rome may be the earliest picture we have of Jesus on the cross, dating back to sometime shortly after AD 200. It is bitterly sarcastic. Jesus has the head of a donkey; Alexamenos was considered a fool. The graffiti says
It’s clear that Alexamenos was considered a fool. It’s also clear that Jesus was an ass.
The early Christians had a problem. Anyone who was crucified was absolutely cursed by God, the refuse of the Empire, fit only for insult, scorn, and ridicule.
Why worship such a creature?
The cross still causes offence. There are churches that have taken the cross out of the worship space so that people aren’t confronted by it.
It’s a symbol of death.
Recently, in a general article on pedophilia, the image above the headline was a cross. The article wasn’t just about the churches; but the cross stood for pedophile abuse.
Paul said the cross is ‘a stumbling-block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles’; it is foolish today.
When Jesus was on the cross, he cried out (Luke 23.34),
Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.
It is utterly foolish for a crucified man to forgive anyone. He is in a position of no earthly power or authority. In fact, anyone who was crucified was considered the absolute and utter dregs of humanity. Who would want such a person’s forgiveness?
But wait just a moment. Note who is being addressed: the Father. And who is speaking: the Son. And who is holding them together: the Holy Spirit.
We have here a glimpse into the life of God the Holy Trinity.
Often, people think of God punishing sin and hurling thunderbolts at evildoers. If God were like that, this would be the place above all others that God would shower us with those thunderbolts.
But the triune God determines to forgive humanity in its sin and rebellion.
Surely, that is an eternal wonder.
And God still holds out that forgiveness to all.
God calls us to continue that work, being people of forgiveness, acceptance, and compassion to everyone we meet.
Foolishness?
I think not.
For the Tuesday of Holy Week, 2017
My song is love unknown
Reading
John 12.1–11
My song is love unknown,
my Saviour’s love to me,
love to the loveless shown,
that they might lovely be.
O who am I
that for my sake
my Lord should take
frail flesh, and die?
When Jesus speaks to Mary’s sister Martha in John chapter 11, he says
I am the resurrection and the life.
Now, Mary is preparing ’the Resurrection and the Life’ for his death.
Without a doubt, Mary of Bethany is one of the most interesting characters in the whole Bible. She only gets three mentions: once in Luke’s Gospel, twice in John’s. Each time, she appears with her sister, Martha. Each time, she is found at the feet of Jesus. Each time, she touches Jesus deeply.
Which procession?
Readings
Psalm 118.1–2, 19–29
Matthew 21.1–11
Some understand what is right; others understand what will sell.—Confucius
Good morning! My name is Zack. I’m in business here in Jerusalem. I import spices and perfumes like frankincense and nard from the east, and ceramics and jewellery from the west. Business is very good indeed—and it’s all because of the Romans. They’ve built straight roads, good roads, easy to travel roads, roads that make it quick and safe to transport my goods. And no one but no one gets in their way.
The other day my cousin Reuben suggested we take the morning off to see the procession, and I thought, Why not? Reuben lives out in Bethany; I don’t see him that often, and I’d just taken a shipment of spices. Nothing was coming in for a few days.
I wasn’t sure why Reuben wanted to see the procession though; he’s not like me, he doesn’t see why we need the Romans here. He actually wants to get rid of them by force! How can he and his friends do that, I wonder—a few ruffians with daggers, the odd soldier bumped off, and what happens then? The Romans make sure that even more people die on crosses!
And sometimes the wrong ones are crucified. My old friend Caleb was arrested and crucified last year for insurrection. But the poor man was innocent! I do what I can for his widow and kids. They won’t starve. Reuben told me it was ‘collateral damage’.
Anyway, as I was saying, I wasn’t sure why Reuben wanted to go to the procession. I asked him if he was going to make any trouble, and he looked at me as though I was mad. That’s not like Reuben, I thought. Maybe he’s got some sense at last.
So I went to the western gate of the city and waited. At first, I thought Reuben was just late, but he never showed.
Filed under church year, RCL, sermon
Sermon: On death
Avril Hannah-Jones’ sermon today is too moving not to share. Please read it.
Source: Sermon: On death
Filed under sermon
Can these bones live?
Readings
Ezekiel 37.1–14
John 11.17–45
It’s 6 April in a few days’ time, on Thursday. I remember 6 April 1968 (forty nine years ago for the arithmetically challenged). It was a Saturday; 6 April was the first day I awoke after accepting Jesus into my life. I’ve already told you about that time, but today want to say a bit more.
The night before, 5 April, I had gone to the local Methodist youth group for the first time. I hadn’t known about this, but they were off to the Billy Graham rally in the Exhibition grounds that night.
I decided that I was glad to be going there. I had been wondering about God. I thought Jesus was a good man, the best who’d ever lived. I was shocked and distressed that Martin Luther King had just been assassinated just the day before, 4 April 1968. I felt confused about life.
I listened to Billy Graham preach. I didn’t understand much, but I did note he spoke well of Martin Luther King’s legacy. And that was important to me. But the rhetorical flourishes of a preacher from the South of the good ol’ US of A were really quite foreign to me. And he did go on a bit (over 40 minutes as I recall!).
Billy Graham finished (finally!), and there was an altar call. I felt an irresistible magnetic pull on me. I can recall the feeling still. I had to leave my seat—me, quite possibly the most introverted kid in the whole place that night. I knew I had to leave the people who had brought me, not yet knowing the leaders’ names, not even knowing how to find them later.
But I just couldn’t stay in my seat.
It strikes me that I can identify with Lazarus. When Jesus says, ‘Lazarus, come out!’, he just came. It wasn’t a suggestion—it was a command, a summons. Just so, I felt summoned that day. I had to come.
Jesus summons each one of us. Sometimes, we might even have given up on life when he summons us. We may as well have been dead.
As I reflect on identifying with Lazarus, I think How was I dead? In the story, Lazarus was just dead. As a doornail. How was I dead?
Filed under church year, Lent, Martin Luther King, RCL, sermon
