When someone dies, we’re oft met with a mix of emotions. Sometimes, the emotional toll is so great that all we can muster is silence.
Today marks a solemn day in our church’s calendar. Today, Good Friday, is the day we observe Jesus’s death on the cross – a death willingly endured for our behalf; yet caused by the very hands for whom Jesus died – us. Each year, we commemorate this death by reading the Passion Narrative…and this year, I invite us to not just read it, but to experience it. Who are you in this story? Are you: the establishment “just following orders” the resigned complier the denier the parent the friend The Passion Narrative introduces us to numerous characters who all played a role in the final hours of Jesus’s life – numerous characters who would have all felt myriad emotions about their status, complicity, loss, and uncertainty. These characters are us. We are them. This narrative is our narrative. It is our invitation to feel. So, who are you in this story? How would you feel? Perhaps, you are the chief priest. You are part of the religious establishment, fearful that you will lose your power if Jesus continues his ministry on earth. For your whole life, you’ve been regarded as the keeper of the religious law. The old guard. Then, suddenly, someone arrives on the scene who disrupts your world view. While his words sound familiar, their application seems foreign. But people listen. So, you have him arrested. You question him. You accuse him of teaching in private and speaking falsely. Then you, out of fear, have him crucified not by the religious law, but by the secular one. You now claim to serve only Cesar. What happened to God? You have no king except the emperor. Who are you in this story? How would you feel? Maybe you are the Soldiers. You are “just following orders,” though you may not agree with them. You participate in the system, even if you do not agree, because you feel as though you cannot protest. So, you carry out your mission. You arrest Jesus. While you may have been uncertain about the arrest, the excitement of your mission eventually takes over and you no longer recognize yourself. You’re part of the mob who flogs, mocks, and hits Jesus. You abuse him so much that you take everything from him – including his clothes – and turn Jesus into an object to be ogled. Then, as the day draws on, your excitement wanes. Fatigue sets in. Instead of brutally breaking the legs of an already dead man, you pierce him in his side. Mission complete… Who are you in this story? How would you feel? You could be Peter. You claim to love Jesus, people see you walking with him…you would say he is your friend. You even use violence to defend Jesus during his arrest, putting yourself at risk. Yet, after Jesus is taken away, rather than allow distance to make the heart grow fonder, you choose when you want to be associated with Christ. While you may live a Christ-like life when in a “religious” setting, when left to the whims of the world, you deny your association. You are not also one of this man’s disciples, are you?[1] Did I not see you in the garden with him?[2] “No. No, of course not.” You say. It would be too inconvenient, maybe even unsafe, for you to profess knowing Jesus. So, through words and actions, you deny. Who are you in this story? How would you feel? You might even be Pontius Pilate. You have a sense of justice, but rather than speak truth to power, you allow others to sway your opinion. You hide behind the law as the path of least resistance, relieving yourself from having to make any decision. The masses look to you for guidance. You hold the power to free an innocent man, or to allow injustice to thrive. Something in your gut tells you the unfolding situation is wrong. But the people profess another story. They choose the have over the have not. Who do you serve? Well, here might be your out. You claim to not be of a certain religious persuasion. As such, this question of justice actually isn’t your problem…at least, in your mind. So, you turn Jesus over to the establishment and allow yourself one, small act of resistance. “What I have written I have written,” you say, ignoring the final cries of the people.[3] Who are you in this story? How would you feel? You could also be Mary, the mother of Jesus. You never abandoned his side, you sit at the foot of the cross, and you know that he is the Son of God. Left without a child and without a savior, yet surrounded by other faithful women, you are conflicted. You mourn your loss, and you are also comforted. You are comforted because the God who is the “comfort of all who sorrow” and “strength of all who suffer” cared for you, even while hanging on a cross.[4] Who are you in this story? How would you feel? Finally, you could be Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus. You are a disciple, you want to honor your friend, but you are still afraid. Were you there, when Jesus was crucified? Though you’ve been faithful to Jesus, you’ve kept your discipleship a secret. You took care of your friend after his death. You carried his dead body from the cross. You prepared him for burial with spices and wrapped him in cloth. But were you there, when Jesus was crucified? Who are you in this story? How would you feel? We are all part of the Passion. We are the chief priest, the soldier, Pontius Pilate, Peter, Mary, Joseph, and Nicodemus. We act like them, we feel like them. We participate in crucifying Jesus daily through our sinful actions. We participate in severing the covenant between God and Creation when we deny Christ. We also participate in honoring Jesus daily when we care for one another as if we are family. And we participate in experiencing the Passion when we consider ourselves in the narrative and allow ourselves to feel. So, who are you in our story? How does it feel? Holy Week – especially the three days of Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and Easter Sunday – is an invitation to feel deeply alongside the characters of the Passion Narrative, and alongside our world today. Whatever you’re feeling – fear, guilt, sorrow, anxiety, joy, hope – hold on to it. Good Friday teaches us to sit with our emotions, face our complicity, and embrace where we are… For we know what is to come; and if we know what is to come, then we can face where we are now. So, sit with it. If silence is all you can muster, lean into it. If you need to talk with someone, do so. Write. Sing. Lament. Pray. Be. No matter who we are in the story, may we pray that God behold us as family, as people “for whom our Lord Jesus Christ was willing to be betrayed, and given into the hands of sinners, and to suffer death upon the cross.”[5] Amen. [1] John 18:17, 25. [2] John 18:26. [3] John 19:22. [4] BCP 1979, 279. [5] BCP 1979, 276. |