Good Friday
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VII, Cycle C
Object:
Theme For The Day
Jesus' thirst on the cross reminds us concretely of the reality of his physical suffering, which cannot be explained away.
Old Testament Lesson
Isaiah 52:13--53:12
The Fourth Servant Song
This passage occurs in all three annual cycles of the lectionary for this day. "See, my servant shall prosper; he shall be exalted and lifted up, and shall be very high" (52:13). Who among Jesus' disciples could have imagined that the servant Lord they followed would be "lifted up very high" -- high upon a cross? This language may have had something to do with the church's decision to include this servant song as a Good Friday Lesson, although this meaning is certainly far from Isaiah's original intent. With the 20/20 hindsight of history, Christians can look back at this emotionally wrenching poem and see the figure of the crucified Christ present throughout its lines -- yet we do well to remember that its original purpose was to give hope to the exilic community in Babylon, seeking to make sense of their sufferings, even as it appeared that their sufferings would soon be ended.
New Testament Lesson
Hebrews 10:16-25
Jesus' Blood-Sacrifice
This passage occurs in all three annual cycles of the lectionary for this day. A central argument present throughout the Letter to the Hebrews is that the sacrifice of Jesus' blood on the cross makes it no longer necessary that there be propitiatory blood-sacrifices in the temple (which, by the time this letter was being written, had already been destroyed by the Romans in any event). Following an allegorical interpretive strategy, the author of Hebrews teaches that Christians, having been given "confidence to enter the sanctuary by the blood of Jesus," are able to pass through the veil that once separated the outer courts from the holy of holies (that veil being symbolic of Jesus' flesh, vv. 19-20). Christians may enter this sacred place, that was once forbidden to all but the high priest, because Jesus himself is the eternal high priest, and he bids us enter (v. 21). Presenting this intricate argument to a modern congregation, few of whom have any familiarity with the temple worship of ancient Israel, is a daunting task -- but pastorally useful, because there are plenty of people who still have a functional belief that they must sacrifice something in order to make propitiation for their own sins, rather than simply accepting what Jesus has done for them.
Alternate New Testament Lesson
Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9
Jesus, The High Priest
This passage occurs in all three annual cycles of the lectionary for this day. An alternate option for this day are these two earlier passages from Hebrews, about the role of Jesus as High Priest: "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin" (4:15). Any act of devotion on Good Friday will necessarily reflect on the message of this verse. The wonder of the cross is that Jesus' sympathy with our predicament leads him to give himself for our salvation.
The Gospel
John 18:1--19:42
Jesus' Passion And Death
This passage occurs in all three annual cycles of the lectionary for this day. This lengthy selection is the entire Johannine account of Jesus' passion, beginning with his betrayal and ending with his burial. It could be read in its entirety (leaving little time, in most worship services, for a sermon), or a sermon could focus on one episode or another of Jesus' journey to the cross. In preaching or teaching on any of the episodes in John's Passion account, it is important to handle very carefully any statement in which he blames "the Jews" for particular atrocities committed against Jesus. John was writing in a polemical context, in which he and a Judaizing faction were struggling for control of his churches. John was quick to blame "the Jews" because he was trying to distance himself from any person who taught that the way to Christian faith led first through Jewish religious practices. To blame "the Jews" for Jesus' death is patently absurd; Jesus himself was a Jew, as were his own disciples, only one of whom betrayed him. John's Passion account has been frightfully misused over the centuries to justify all manner of pogroms against Jewish communities in Europe; until very recently, the most dangerous day of the year for European Jews was Good Friday. A deeper understanding of the events of Jesus' Passion may be gained through the simple device of mentally substituting "the religious authorities" for most occurrences of "the Jews" in these chapters.
Preaching Possibilities
It's common, on Good Friday, to reflect on Jesus' "seven last words" -- statements, really -- from the cross, as recorded in the various gospels. The fifth word -- "I am thirsty" (John 19:28) -- stands alone from the rest. Many of the other words have to do with other people: Jesus forgiving his persecutors, blessing the thief, seeing to the needs of his aged mother. Another whole group of his sayings has to do with the meaning or significance of his suffering: his feelings of godforsakenness, his declaration that all is finished, his final, trusting, "Into your hands I commend my spirit." But then there is this word, in all its simplicity and horror: "I am thirsty."
As Jesus hung on the cross, bleeding from hands and feet and head and side, he was gradually losing blood. Every drop that fell to the ground was a drop no longer coursing through his veins -- and we all know every human needs blood to live. Jesus' body, increasingly dehydrated, tried in vain to replace those lost red and white cells. His nervous system flashed an urgent message to his brain, saying "Water! More water!" His body had the ability to spawn new blood cells by the thousands, but without water to carry them, those cells were useless. If, through some time machine magic, Jesus could have been whisked away from the cross, mid-crucifixion, and rushed into a modern emergency room, the first thing the doctors would have done would be to start an i.v., dripping saline solution into his veins.
Yet the Romans would never have allowed such a rescue (even if they'd had the technology). Their goal, that dark day, was not lifesaving, but murder. It was a slow death, crucifixion -- but once the process had reached a certain point, it was absolutely inevitable. After enough blood had dripped from the victim's veins, after enough oxygen had been blocked from the lungs by that awkward, hanging posture, a shock reaction would have set in -- and then there would have been a breakdown of the entire bodily system, from which there could be no recovery.
Yet before that, there is this feeling of thirst, to which Jesus gives voice. This word from the cross is indeed different from the others: for it bears witness to nothing other than Jesus' humanity, as he suffers and dies. There have been those, over the years, who have tried to deny his humanity: who have wanted to see Jesus as a purely divine being, playacting in human form for our edification. To them, Good Friday is a kind of stage show, a mere warm-up act for the main event, which is the resurrection.
The early church had a name for this viewpoint -- which they labeled, early on, as heresy. They called it "Docetism." Jesus did not really die on the cross, the Docetists maintain -- for how could the Creator of heaven and earth stoop so low as to experience human pain? What Jesus did on the cross, according to the Docetists, was merely to go through the motions. He never really felt godforsaken, because at any time he could have called down legions of angels from heaven, a divine SWAT team, to frighten off those Roman soldiers and rescue him.
Yet those three little words, "I am thirsty," give the lie to this Docetic heresy. For what possible reason would there have been to include them in the scriptural narrative, if not to show that Jesus' suffering on the cross was real?
Thirst is something to which we can all relate. We've all "been there," at some time or place. Maybe it was a time of traveling, when we were hiking or boating in some remote place when the water ran out. Maybe it was a time when we were sick, burning up with fever, and no amount of water would satisfy. Whatever the circumstances may have been, the memory of that experience is likely still with us -- the feeling of desperation, the ability to think of little else but how good a nice, cool glass of water would taste. Whatever discomfort we felt, it was a mere fraction of what Jesus experienced on the cross.
What they give him, instead of water, is vinegar -- soured wine, dripping from a sponge held up to his lips on a spearpoint. There was not enough moisture in that sponge to provide any kind of relief for his dry mouth and cracked lips; and the taste of that liquid on his tongue was bitter. It was, in the familiar legal phrase, "cruel and unusual punishment" -- but then, that was the whole point, wasn't it? The cross is torture: extreme pain, cruelly and deliberately inflicted on another human being.
The torturous death of Jesus serves no useful purpose. It is not an interrogation. It is not a deterrent to future crimes. It is, perhaps, an example to others -- but even then, that goal could have been achieved equally well by simply leaving Jesus there to die. The Romans go further than mere expediency. Those hard men in leather armor take a perverse delight in their work. They pierce his hands and feet -- not their usual practice. They jam a crown of thorns down upon his brow. They pierce his side with a spear. Then they lift up this vinegar-soaked sponge to his cracked and bleeding lips. They're toying with him, in a most inhuman way.
So why does God allow it to happen? Why does God hear Jesus, the beloved Son, croak out, "I am thirsty," but do nothing to intervene? The answer to that question is a mystery -- perhaps the greatest of all mysteries. Yet it is the very mystery that confronts us on Good Friday, as we "survey the wondrous cross."
Prayer For The Day
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.
-- from "When I Survey The Wondrous Cross," text by Lowell Mason, 1824
To Illustrate
In Wendell Berry's novel, Jayber Crow, the title character is the village barber in a sad, little Kentucky riverfront town called Port William. Once upon a time, Jayber went to Bible college, thinking to become a preacher, but the fire in his bones cooled. He settled into a comfortable role as Port William's bachelor barber, gravedigger, and all-around philosopher. In this passage, Jayber reflects on the meaning -- or lack of meaning -- of the death of a local boy, Jimmy Chatham, in the Vietnam War:
For a while again I couldn't pray. I didn't dare to. In the most secret place of my soul I wanted to beg the Lord to reveal Himself in power. I wanted to tell Him that it was time for His coming. If there was anything at all to what He had promised, why didn't He come in glory with angels and lay His hands on the hurt children and awaken the dead soldiers and restore the burned villages and the blasted and poisoned land? Why didn't He cow our arrogance? Lying awake in the night (for again sleep was coming hard) I could imagine the almighty finger writing in stars for all the world to see: GO HOME.
But thinking such things was as dangerous as praying them. I knew who had thought such thoughts before: "Let Christ the King of Israel descend now from the cross, that we may see and believe." Where in my own arrogance was I going to hide?
Where did I get my knack for being a fool? If I could advise God, why didn't I just advise Him (like our great preachers and politicians) to be on our side and give us victory and make sure that Jimmy Chatham had not died in vain? I had to turn around and wade out of the mire myself.
Christ did not descend from the cross except into the grave. And why not otherwise? Wouldn't it have put fine comical expressions on the faces of the scribes and the chief priests and the soldiers if at that moment He had come down in power and glory? Why didn't He do it? Why hasn't He done it at any one of a thousand good times between then and now?
I knew the answer. I knew it a long time before I could admit it, for all suffering of the world is in it. He didn't, He hasn't, because from the moment He did, He would be the absolute tyrant of the world and we would be His slaves. Even those who hated Him and hated one another and hated their own souls would have to believe in Him then. From that moment the possibility that we might be bound to Him and He to us and us to one another by love forever would be ended.
And so, I thought, He must forebear to reveal His power and glory by presenting Himself as Himself, and must be present only in the ordinary miracle of the existence of His creatures. Those who wish to see Him must see Him in the poor, the hungry, the hurt, the wordless creatures, the groaning and travailing beautiful world.
-- Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow (New York: Counterpoint, 2000), pp. 294-295
***
A rebellious son once left his father's house and joined a band of robbers living along the road through the jungle. In time, he forgot his happy childhood and became as cruel and ruthless as the others. But his father never gave up hoping that one day he would abandon his evil ways and return home. In time, the father called his servants and asked them to go into the jungle, find his son, and tell him that his father was waiting to welcome him home and forgive him, if only he would abandon his evil ways. But the servants refused to go. They were afraid of the wild country and the fierce robbers.
Now, the man's older son loved his younger brother just as much as his father did. So, when no servant could be found to go, he set out himself into the jungle to find his brother and deliver his father's message. As he wandered through the jungle, the robbers spied him, attacked him, and wounded him to the point of death. Only then, did his younger brother recognize him. Filled with grief and remorse at what he and his band had done, he embraced his dying brother and kissed him. With his last breath, the older brother was able to pass on the father's message: "Now my life's task and love's duty is done." So saying, he died in his brother's arms.
The young man was so moved by the loving sacrifice of his brother, that his heart was instantly changed. He abandoned his life as a robber, asked forgiveness of his father, and from that day on lived a new and upright life. When we think of how the Master died in agony to pass on to us God's message of love, should we then not also be ready to give our lives in bringing this message of hope to others?
-- Sadhu Sundar Singh, from Wisdom of the Sadhu (Farmington, Pennsylvania: Plough Publishing, 2000)
***
Without your wounds where would your power be? The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children on earth as can one human being broken in the wheels of living. In love's service, only the wounded soldiers can serve.
-- Thornton Wilder, The Angel That Troubled the Waters and Other Plays (New York: Coward-McCann Publishers, 1928)
***
I grew up on those pious Hollywood biblical epics of the 1950s, which looked like holy cards brought to life. I remember my grin when Time magazine noted that Jeffrey Hunter, starring as Christ in King of Kings (1961), had shaved his armpits. (Not Hunter's fault; the film's Crucifixion scene had to be re-shot because preview audiences objected to Jesus' hairy chest.)
If it does nothing else, Gibson's film will break the tradition of turning Jesus and his disciples into neat, clean, well-barbered, middle-class businessmen. They were poor men in a poor land. I debated Martin Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ with commentator Michael Medved before an audience from a Christian college, and was told by an audience member that the characters were filthy and needed haircuts.
-- Roger Ebert, in his review of Mel Gibson's gritty film, The Passion of the Christ, February 24, 2004
***
Jewish Holocaust survivor and writer Elie Wiesel shared a personal reminiscence of the Allies' liberation of the death camps, that can teach something about the raw, emotional meaning of experiencing another's suffering. Recalling the day when, as a teenager, he and his fellow prisoners was finally liberated from captivity, he said one particular image had remained with him. One American soldier -- a strapping African American -- looked upon the gaunt, emaciated figures of the concentration camp inmates and was overcome with grief. He fell to his knees, sobbing, in a mix of disbelief and sorrow.
In their weakened, exhausted state -- little more than human skeletons -- several of the newly liberated captives, walked over to the soldier, put their arms around him, and offered him comfort.
Is this not how we respond to the sight of the suffering Jesus on Good Friday? And does he not put his bloodied arms around us?
Jesus' thirst on the cross reminds us concretely of the reality of his physical suffering, which cannot be explained away.
Old Testament Lesson
Isaiah 52:13--53:12
The Fourth Servant Song
This passage occurs in all three annual cycles of the lectionary for this day. "See, my servant shall prosper; he shall be exalted and lifted up, and shall be very high" (52:13). Who among Jesus' disciples could have imagined that the servant Lord they followed would be "lifted up very high" -- high upon a cross? This language may have had something to do with the church's decision to include this servant song as a Good Friday Lesson, although this meaning is certainly far from Isaiah's original intent. With the 20/20 hindsight of history, Christians can look back at this emotionally wrenching poem and see the figure of the crucified Christ present throughout its lines -- yet we do well to remember that its original purpose was to give hope to the exilic community in Babylon, seeking to make sense of their sufferings, even as it appeared that their sufferings would soon be ended.
New Testament Lesson
Hebrews 10:16-25
Jesus' Blood-Sacrifice
This passage occurs in all three annual cycles of the lectionary for this day. A central argument present throughout the Letter to the Hebrews is that the sacrifice of Jesus' blood on the cross makes it no longer necessary that there be propitiatory blood-sacrifices in the temple (which, by the time this letter was being written, had already been destroyed by the Romans in any event). Following an allegorical interpretive strategy, the author of Hebrews teaches that Christians, having been given "confidence to enter the sanctuary by the blood of Jesus," are able to pass through the veil that once separated the outer courts from the holy of holies (that veil being symbolic of Jesus' flesh, vv. 19-20). Christians may enter this sacred place, that was once forbidden to all but the high priest, because Jesus himself is the eternal high priest, and he bids us enter (v. 21). Presenting this intricate argument to a modern congregation, few of whom have any familiarity with the temple worship of ancient Israel, is a daunting task -- but pastorally useful, because there are plenty of people who still have a functional belief that they must sacrifice something in order to make propitiation for their own sins, rather than simply accepting what Jesus has done for them.
Alternate New Testament Lesson
Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9
Jesus, The High Priest
This passage occurs in all three annual cycles of the lectionary for this day. An alternate option for this day are these two earlier passages from Hebrews, about the role of Jesus as High Priest: "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin" (4:15). Any act of devotion on Good Friday will necessarily reflect on the message of this verse. The wonder of the cross is that Jesus' sympathy with our predicament leads him to give himself for our salvation.
The Gospel
John 18:1--19:42
Jesus' Passion And Death
This passage occurs in all three annual cycles of the lectionary for this day. This lengthy selection is the entire Johannine account of Jesus' passion, beginning with his betrayal and ending with his burial. It could be read in its entirety (leaving little time, in most worship services, for a sermon), or a sermon could focus on one episode or another of Jesus' journey to the cross. In preaching or teaching on any of the episodes in John's Passion account, it is important to handle very carefully any statement in which he blames "the Jews" for particular atrocities committed against Jesus. John was writing in a polemical context, in which he and a Judaizing faction were struggling for control of his churches. John was quick to blame "the Jews" because he was trying to distance himself from any person who taught that the way to Christian faith led first through Jewish religious practices. To blame "the Jews" for Jesus' death is patently absurd; Jesus himself was a Jew, as were his own disciples, only one of whom betrayed him. John's Passion account has been frightfully misused over the centuries to justify all manner of pogroms against Jewish communities in Europe; until very recently, the most dangerous day of the year for European Jews was Good Friday. A deeper understanding of the events of Jesus' Passion may be gained through the simple device of mentally substituting "the religious authorities" for most occurrences of "the Jews" in these chapters.
Preaching Possibilities
It's common, on Good Friday, to reflect on Jesus' "seven last words" -- statements, really -- from the cross, as recorded in the various gospels. The fifth word -- "I am thirsty" (John 19:28) -- stands alone from the rest. Many of the other words have to do with other people: Jesus forgiving his persecutors, blessing the thief, seeing to the needs of his aged mother. Another whole group of his sayings has to do with the meaning or significance of his suffering: his feelings of godforsakenness, his declaration that all is finished, his final, trusting, "Into your hands I commend my spirit." But then there is this word, in all its simplicity and horror: "I am thirsty."
As Jesus hung on the cross, bleeding from hands and feet and head and side, he was gradually losing blood. Every drop that fell to the ground was a drop no longer coursing through his veins -- and we all know every human needs blood to live. Jesus' body, increasingly dehydrated, tried in vain to replace those lost red and white cells. His nervous system flashed an urgent message to his brain, saying "Water! More water!" His body had the ability to spawn new blood cells by the thousands, but without water to carry them, those cells were useless. If, through some time machine magic, Jesus could have been whisked away from the cross, mid-crucifixion, and rushed into a modern emergency room, the first thing the doctors would have done would be to start an i.v., dripping saline solution into his veins.
Yet the Romans would never have allowed such a rescue (even if they'd had the technology). Their goal, that dark day, was not lifesaving, but murder. It was a slow death, crucifixion -- but once the process had reached a certain point, it was absolutely inevitable. After enough blood had dripped from the victim's veins, after enough oxygen had been blocked from the lungs by that awkward, hanging posture, a shock reaction would have set in -- and then there would have been a breakdown of the entire bodily system, from which there could be no recovery.
Yet before that, there is this feeling of thirst, to which Jesus gives voice. This word from the cross is indeed different from the others: for it bears witness to nothing other than Jesus' humanity, as he suffers and dies. There have been those, over the years, who have tried to deny his humanity: who have wanted to see Jesus as a purely divine being, playacting in human form for our edification. To them, Good Friday is a kind of stage show, a mere warm-up act for the main event, which is the resurrection.
The early church had a name for this viewpoint -- which they labeled, early on, as heresy. They called it "Docetism." Jesus did not really die on the cross, the Docetists maintain -- for how could the Creator of heaven and earth stoop so low as to experience human pain? What Jesus did on the cross, according to the Docetists, was merely to go through the motions. He never really felt godforsaken, because at any time he could have called down legions of angels from heaven, a divine SWAT team, to frighten off those Roman soldiers and rescue him.
Yet those three little words, "I am thirsty," give the lie to this Docetic heresy. For what possible reason would there have been to include them in the scriptural narrative, if not to show that Jesus' suffering on the cross was real?
Thirst is something to which we can all relate. We've all "been there," at some time or place. Maybe it was a time of traveling, when we were hiking or boating in some remote place when the water ran out. Maybe it was a time when we were sick, burning up with fever, and no amount of water would satisfy. Whatever the circumstances may have been, the memory of that experience is likely still with us -- the feeling of desperation, the ability to think of little else but how good a nice, cool glass of water would taste. Whatever discomfort we felt, it was a mere fraction of what Jesus experienced on the cross.
What they give him, instead of water, is vinegar -- soured wine, dripping from a sponge held up to his lips on a spearpoint. There was not enough moisture in that sponge to provide any kind of relief for his dry mouth and cracked lips; and the taste of that liquid on his tongue was bitter. It was, in the familiar legal phrase, "cruel and unusual punishment" -- but then, that was the whole point, wasn't it? The cross is torture: extreme pain, cruelly and deliberately inflicted on another human being.
The torturous death of Jesus serves no useful purpose. It is not an interrogation. It is not a deterrent to future crimes. It is, perhaps, an example to others -- but even then, that goal could have been achieved equally well by simply leaving Jesus there to die. The Romans go further than mere expediency. Those hard men in leather armor take a perverse delight in their work. They pierce his hands and feet -- not their usual practice. They jam a crown of thorns down upon his brow. They pierce his side with a spear. Then they lift up this vinegar-soaked sponge to his cracked and bleeding lips. They're toying with him, in a most inhuman way.
So why does God allow it to happen? Why does God hear Jesus, the beloved Son, croak out, "I am thirsty," but do nothing to intervene? The answer to that question is a mystery -- perhaps the greatest of all mysteries. Yet it is the very mystery that confronts us on Good Friday, as we "survey the wondrous cross."
Prayer For The Day
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.
-- from "When I Survey The Wondrous Cross," text by Lowell Mason, 1824
To Illustrate
In Wendell Berry's novel, Jayber Crow, the title character is the village barber in a sad, little Kentucky riverfront town called Port William. Once upon a time, Jayber went to Bible college, thinking to become a preacher, but the fire in his bones cooled. He settled into a comfortable role as Port William's bachelor barber, gravedigger, and all-around philosopher. In this passage, Jayber reflects on the meaning -- or lack of meaning -- of the death of a local boy, Jimmy Chatham, in the Vietnam War:
For a while again I couldn't pray. I didn't dare to. In the most secret place of my soul I wanted to beg the Lord to reveal Himself in power. I wanted to tell Him that it was time for His coming. If there was anything at all to what He had promised, why didn't He come in glory with angels and lay His hands on the hurt children and awaken the dead soldiers and restore the burned villages and the blasted and poisoned land? Why didn't He cow our arrogance? Lying awake in the night (for again sleep was coming hard) I could imagine the almighty finger writing in stars for all the world to see: GO HOME.
But thinking such things was as dangerous as praying them. I knew who had thought such thoughts before: "Let Christ the King of Israel descend now from the cross, that we may see and believe." Where in my own arrogance was I going to hide?
Where did I get my knack for being a fool? If I could advise God, why didn't I just advise Him (like our great preachers and politicians) to be on our side and give us victory and make sure that Jimmy Chatham had not died in vain? I had to turn around and wade out of the mire myself.
Christ did not descend from the cross except into the grave. And why not otherwise? Wouldn't it have put fine comical expressions on the faces of the scribes and the chief priests and the soldiers if at that moment He had come down in power and glory? Why didn't He do it? Why hasn't He done it at any one of a thousand good times between then and now?
I knew the answer. I knew it a long time before I could admit it, for all suffering of the world is in it. He didn't, He hasn't, because from the moment He did, He would be the absolute tyrant of the world and we would be His slaves. Even those who hated Him and hated one another and hated their own souls would have to believe in Him then. From that moment the possibility that we might be bound to Him and He to us and us to one another by love forever would be ended.
And so, I thought, He must forebear to reveal His power and glory by presenting Himself as Himself, and must be present only in the ordinary miracle of the existence of His creatures. Those who wish to see Him must see Him in the poor, the hungry, the hurt, the wordless creatures, the groaning and travailing beautiful world.
-- Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow (New York: Counterpoint, 2000), pp. 294-295
***
A rebellious son once left his father's house and joined a band of robbers living along the road through the jungle. In time, he forgot his happy childhood and became as cruel and ruthless as the others. But his father never gave up hoping that one day he would abandon his evil ways and return home. In time, the father called his servants and asked them to go into the jungle, find his son, and tell him that his father was waiting to welcome him home and forgive him, if only he would abandon his evil ways. But the servants refused to go. They were afraid of the wild country and the fierce robbers.
Now, the man's older son loved his younger brother just as much as his father did. So, when no servant could be found to go, he set out himself into the jungle to find his brother and deliver his father's message. As he wandered through the jungle, the robbers spied him, attacked him, and wounded him to the point of death. Only then, did his younger brother recognize him. Filled with grief and remorse at what he and his band had done, he embraced his dying brother and kissed him. With his last breath, the older brother was able to pass on the father's message: "Now my life's task and love's duty is done." So saying, he died in his brother's arms.
The young man was so moved by the loving sacrifice of his brother, that his heart was instantly changed. He abandoned his life as a robber, asked forgiveness of his father, and from that day on lived a new and upright life. When we think of how the Master died in agony to pass on to us God's message of love, should we then not also be ready to give our lives in bringing this message of hope to others?
-- Sadhu Sundar Singh, from Wisdom of the Sadhu (Farmington, Pennsylvania: Plough Publishing, 2000)
***
Without your wounds where would your power be? The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children on earth as can one human being broken in the wheels of living. In love's service, only the wounded soldiers can serve.
-- Thornton Wilder, The Angel That Troubled the Waters and Other Plays (New York: Coward-McCann Publishers, 1928)
***
I grew up on those pious Hollywood biblical epics of the 1950s, which looked like holy cards brought to life. I remember my grin when Time magazine noted that Jeffrey Hunter, starring as Christ in King of Kings (1961), had shaved his armpits. (Not Hunter's fault; the film's Crucifixion scene had to be re-shot because preview audiences objected to Jesus' hairy chest.)
If it does nothing else, Gibson's film will break the tradition of turning Jesus and his disciples into neat, clean, well-barbered, middle-class businessmen. They were poor men in a poor land. I debated Martin Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ with commentator Michael Medved before an audience from a Christian college, and was told by an audience member that the characters were filthy and needed haircuts.
-- Roger Ebert, in his review of Mel Gibson's gritty film, The Passion of the Christ, February 24, 2004
***
Jewish Holocaust survivor and writer Elie Wiesel shared a personal reminiscence of the Allies' liberation of the death camps, that can teach something about the raw, emotional meaning of experiencing another's suffering. Recalling the day when, as a teenager, he and his fellow prisoners was finally liberated from captivity, he said one particular image had remained with him. One American soldier -- a strapping African American -- looked upon the gaunt, emaciated figures of the concentration camp inmates and was overcome with grief. He fell to his knees, sobbing, in a mix of disbelief and sorrow.
In their weakened, exhausted state -- little more than human skeletons -- several of the newly liberated captives, walked over to the soldier, put their arms around him, and offered him comfort.
Is this not how we respond to the sight of the suffering Jesus on Good Friday? And does he not put his bloodied arms around us?
