The Nail Of Cruelty
Sermon
SIX NAILS OF THE CROSS
Sermons For Lent
I don't know of any time in my life when I have sought more
anxiously a relief from the intensity of the drama of the Lenten
season. I know that it is not time yet, that the suffering and
agony of the crucifixion must precede the joyous proclamation of
the resurrection. Yet my heart and my mind revolt against this
continual confession of personal inadequacy, of personal pride
and guilt. Never before have I longed so for the peace and
comfort which my church can give me; for the contented and
comfortable feeling which the gospel can proclaim, that all is
according to God's plan and the taste of victory and the vision
of glory are already upon us. Yet I know that it is not time yet;
for in my impatience I am met with the awesome patience of God,
who traveled the road of suffering, persecution and death before
revealing himself in the new life of the resurrection.
These nails are beginning to hurt; I no longer wish to hear
nor preach about the nail of pride, the nail of hatred, the nail
of envy, the nail of indecision, the nail of infidelity, the nail
of cruelty. I am ready ... ready ... ready for the comic relief
from this tragic drama. I am tired of being told and of telling
how guilty I am ... we are. I want to comfort and be comforted. I
want to tell funny stories and make people laugh ... as I laugh
with them.
But God's entry into history was more than a colorful drama.
It was a flesh and blood person. Christianity is more than a
story whose ending we can change or manipulate for our own
purposes. It is a life shared with Christ, which means sharing
his crucifixion as well as his resurrection.
The rhythm of the church year shows me this. It reflects the
rhythm of life and faith. Life, as well as faith, is not a stable
state, but a rhythm, an alternation, a succession of new births.
It does not go on indefinitely in an unchanging pattern, but
springs up anew from generation to generation, from birth to
birth.
The message of resurrection and victory would mean nothing if
we knew nothing of the battle over which the victory
was claimed. The message of liberation would mean nothing if we
did not recognize the shackles that keep us sub-human.
And so, once again, we come to contemplate that which we would
rather ignore ... the nail of cruelty.
Surely he has borne our
infirmities
and carried our diseases;
yet we accounted him stricken,
struck down by God, and
afflicted.
But he was wounded for our
transgressions,
crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the punishment
that made us whole,
and with his bruises we are
healed.
-- Isaiah 53:4-5
Where do we find the nail of cruelty in all this? Surely we
would not be among those who actually inflicted physical
punishment upon Jesus. None of us here tonight is of the type who
would actually crucify a person in the flesh. Few of us would
take to the dagger or pistol to bring revenge upon the object of
our hatred.
But there were others besides the soldiers around the cross
that day. Mark tells of those who mocked him, saluting with
derision: "Hail, King of the Jews." And there were those who
"passed by deriding him, wagging their heads saying, 'Aha! You
who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save
yourself, and come down from the cross.' " The chief priests made
fun of him, saying, "He saved others; he cannot save himself."
And those who were crucified with him also reviled him.
This is our Lord: one who was reviled, mocked and laughed at.
A suffering servant, who though he was in the form of God did not
count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but
emptied himself, humbled himself and became obedient unto death,
even death on a cross.
Certainly this is a fitting climax for one who claims to
submit to ultimate suffering, that he should be rejected by the
very ones for whom he suffered.
What we see in this man Jesus is a paradigm of what it means
for us to be fully human. It sets before us a human life of
concern and love that includes suffering, death and resurrection
victory.
The suffering and death are not ends in themselves; rather
they are an embodiment of the ultimate reality of all life. This
is the shape of God's presence among us; it is the form that
God's dwelling among us takes -- suffering, death and victory.
Jesus' love was an actual living with and for others. It is a
law of existence that if you love someone long enough and deeply
enough, that love will entail suffering. A casual love, a
superficial concern, can avoid suffering, because it backs off
when the going gets rough. The deep sort of concern and sharing
that characterized Jesus' love persists until the end, even to
suffering and death.
And it is of this love, suffering and death that Paul writes:
Through him God chose to reconcile the whole universe to himself,
making peace through the shedding of his blood, upon the cross;
to reconcile all things; whether on earth or in heaven, through
him alone.
I am not altogether sure that we can accept such a doctrine of
atonement. I am not altogether certain that we are big enough to
accept it. If we make any attempt to affirm such a belief in
atonement, it will stagger many of the cherished notions that we
have held about ourselves, both as individuals and as a Christian
community.
Can we accept an understanding of atonement that insists upon
reconciliation with all persons? This is a stern test indeed of
our life together in this place. Can a community that has built
into its very essence the idea of being an elite group really
accept the assertion that it is subhuman except it be reconciled
with the rest of society, the non-elite segments of humankind.
Can a group of people that is in nearly every sense privileged
both financially and intellectually, beyond the dream of most of
our society, really identify its destiny, its very humanity, with
the less privileged? Or must we always look upon those other
segments of society as lazy, unfortunate, or unnecessary? I
suspect that very few of us include their destinies as an
integral part of our own. But unless we see their humanity as a
part of our own, we do not take Christian atonement seriously,
nor Christian humanity seriously. To take these seriously means
to willingly and joyfully participate in the Christian mission of
suffering love.
If alienation, not reconciliation, is at the center of your
life, becoming involved is the antidote ... "rejoicing with those
who rejoice and weeping with those who weep" ... but always so
that hope does not get swallowed up by love, so that prayer does
not vanish in the white heat of action or become a brisk recital
to pep us up and improve our action.
As Evraf says in Doctor Zhivago, "Remember, you must never,
under any circumstances, ultimately despair. To hope and to act,
these are our duties and misfortunes. To do nothing and finally
to despair is to neglect our duty."
Why is it both our duty and misfortune to act? It seems to be
a cruel consequence of human existence that to act is to invite a
risk, a chance. An illusion to the realm of law clarifies this.
Suppose you are standing by while a small baby is crawling toward
an open well. You decide to try to save the baby before he falls
into the well, but in your attempt to grab him at the edge, you
inadvertantly push him over the edge. According to the law you
are guilty of misfeasance. But suppose you merely stood by and
watched the baby crawl to the edge of the well and fall in. Your
inaction would then be described as non-feasance for which you
are in no way guilty under the law.
Jesus was never a passive bystander, a "non-feaser." He showed
what it meant to be fully human, to take the real risk of living.
To live the Christian life is to take the risk of acting,
becoming involved, opening the doors to outsiders, not closing
yourself off in safety behind your walls and barriers.
To hope and to act, these are our duties and misfortunes. To
do nothing and finally to despair is to neglect our duty.
Yes, it would be easy for most of us to non-fease our way
through life -- to do nothing and finally despair. But Christ asks
us to follow a different way: to take the risk of living. He took
it. It cost him the nail of cruelty, but he took it. Yet cruelty
and death did not hold Jesus. Christ did not vanish, but rather
he showed that blind alleys could be opened up to be paths to
life, frustrations could be cleared away. Life could be cleared
away. Life could be found where before people could except only
destruction.
This is what it means to say "Jesus is Lord." Those are the
most glorious words you shall ever hear. Cling to them, repeat
them for yourself, make them your own and you will come to
realize that the nail of cruelty was one of the nails that shed
Christ's blood up on the cross, so that you might be reconciled
to God and to one another. For in being reconciled to God, you
will find yourself reconciled with others.
anxiously a relief from the intensity of the drama of the Lenten
season. I know that it is not time yet, that the suffering and
agony of the crucifixion must precede the joyous proclamation of
the resurrection. Yet my heart and my mind revolt against this
continual confession of personal inadequacy, of personal pride
and guilt. Never before have I longed so for the peace and
comfort which my church can give me; for the contented and
comfortable feeling which the gospel can proclaim, that all is
according to God's plan and the taste of victory and the vision
of glory are already upon us. Yet I know that it is not time yet;
for in my impatience I am met with the awesome patience of God,
who traveled the road of suffering, persecution and death before
revealing himself in the new life of the resurrection.
These nails are beginning to hurt; I no longer wish to hear
nor preach about the nail of pride, the nail of hatred, the nail
of envy, the nail of indecision, the nail of infidelity, the nail
of cruelty. I am ready ... ready ... ready for the comic relief
from this tragic drama. I am tired of being told and of telling
how guilty I am ... we are. I want to comfort and be comforted. I
want to tell funny stories and make people laugh ... as I laugh
with them.
But God's entry into history was more than a colorful drama.
It was a flesh and blood person. Christianity is more than a
story whose ending we can change or manipulate for our own
purposes. It is a life shared with Christ, which means sharing
his crucifixion as well as his resurrection.
The rhythm of the church year shows me this. It reflects the
rhythm of life and faith. Life, as well as faith, is not a stable
state, but a rhythm, an alternation, a succession of new births.
It does not go on indefinitely in an unchanging pattern, but
springs up anew from generation to generation, from birth to
birth.
The message of resurrection and victory would mean nothing if
we knew nothing of the battle over which the victory
was claimed. The message of liberation would mean nothing if we
did not recognize the shackles that keep us sub-human.
And so, once again, we come to contemplate that which we would
rather ignore ... the nail of cruelty.
Surely he has borne our
infirmities
and carried our diseases;
yet we accounted him stricken,
struck down by God, and
afflicted.
But he was wounded for our
transgressions,
crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the punishment
that made us whole,
and with his bruises we are
healed.
-- Isaiah 53:4-5
Where do we find the nail of cruelty in all this? Surely we
would not be among those who actually inflicted physical
punishment upon Jesus. None of us here tonight is of the type who
would actually crucify a person in the flesh. Few of us would
take to the dagger or pistol to bring revenge upon the object of
our hatred.
But there were others besides the soldiers around the cross
that day. Mark tells of those who mocked him, saluting with
derision: "Hail, King of the Jews." And there were those who
"passed by deriding him, wagging their heads saying, 'Aha! You
who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save
yourself, and come down from the cross.' " The chief priests made
fun of him, saying, "He saved others; he cannot save himself."
And those who were crucified with him also reviled him.
This is our Lord: one who was reviled, mocked and laughed at.
A suffering servant, who though he was in the form of God did not
count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but
emptied himself, humbled himself and became obedient unto death,
even death on a cross.
Certainly this is a fitting climax for one who claims to
submit to ultimate suffering, that he should be rejected by the
very ones for whom he suffered.
What we see in this man Jesus is a paradigm of what it means
for us to be fully human. It sets before us a human life of
concern and love that includes suffering, death and resurrection
victory.
The suffering and death are not ends in themselves; rather
they are an embodiment of the ultimate reality of all life. This
is the shape of God's presence among us; it is the form that
God's dwelling among us takes -- suffering, death and victory.
Jesus' love was an actual living with and for others. It is a
law of existence that if you love someone long enough and deeply
enough, that love will entail suffering. A casual love, a
superficial concern, can avoid suffering, because it backs off
when the going gets rough. The deep sort of concern and sharing
that characterized Jesus' love persists until the end, even to
suffering and death.
And it is of this love, suffering and death that Paul writes:
Through him God chose to reconcile the whole universe to himself,
making peace through the shedding of his blood, upon the cross;
to reconcile all things; whether on earth or in heaven, through
him alone.
I am not altogether sure that we can accept such a doctrine of
atonement. I am not altogether certain that we are big enough to
accept it. If we make any attempt to affirm such a belief in
atonement, it will stagger many of the cherished notions that we
have held about ourselves, both as individuals and as a Christian
community.
Can we accept an understanding of atonement that insists upon
reconciliation with all persons? This is a stern test indeed of
our life together in this place. Can a community that has built
into its very essence the idea of being an elite group really
accept the assertion that it is subhuman except it be reconciled
with the rest of society, the non-elite segments of humankind.
Can a group of people that is in nearly every sense privileged
both financially and intellectually, beyond the dream of most of
our society, really identify its destiny, its very humanity, with
the less privileged? Or must we always look upon those other
segments of society as lazy, unfortunate, or unnecessary? I
suspect that very few of us include their destinies as an
integral part of our own. But unless we see their humanity as a
part of our own, we do not take Christian atonement seriously,
nor Christian humanity seriously. To take these seriously means
to willingly and joyfully participate in the Christian mission of
suffering love.
If alienation, not reconciliation, is at the center of your
life, becoming involved is the antidote ... "rejoicing with those
who rejoice and weeping with those who weep" ... but always so
that hope does not get swallowed up by love, so that prayer does
not vanish in the white heat of action or become a brisk recital
to pep us up and improve our action.
As Evraf says in Doctor Zhivago, "Remember, you must never,
under any circumstances, ultimately despair. To hope and to act,
these are our duties and misfortunes. To do nothing and finally
to despair is to neglect our duty."
Why is it both our duty and misfortune to act? It seems to be
a cruel consequence of human existence that to act is to invite a
risk, a chance. An illusion to the realm of law clarifies this.
Suppose you are standing by while a small baby is crawling toward
an open well. You decide to try to save the baby before he falls
into the well, but in your attempt to grab him at the edge, you
inadvertantly push him over the edge. According to the law you
are guilty of misfeasance. But suppose you merely stood by and
watched the baby crawl to the edge of the well and fall in. Your
inaction would then be described as non-feasance for which you
are in no way guilty under the law.
Jesus was never a passive bystander, a "non-feaser." He showed
what it meant to be fully human, to take the real risk of living.
To live the Christian life is to take the risk of acting,
becoming involved, opening the doors to outsiders, not closing
yourself off in safety behind your walls and barriers.
To hope and to act, these are our duties and misfortunes. To
do nothing and finally to despair is to neglect our duty.
Yes, it would be easy for most of us to non-fease our way
through life -- to do nothing and finally despair. But Christ asks
us to follow a different way: to take the risk of living. He took
it. It cost him the nail of cruelty, but he took it. Yet cruelty
and death did not hold Jesus. Christ did not vanish, but rather
he showed that blind alleys could be opened up to be paths to
life, frustrations could be cleared away. Life could be cleared
away. Life could be found where before people could except only
destruction.
This is what it means to say "Jesus is Lord." Those are the
most glorious words you shall ever hear. Cling to them, repeat
them for yourself, make them your own and you will come to
realize that the nail of cruelty was one of the nails that shed
Christ's blood up on the cross, so that you might be reconciled
to God and to one another. For in being reconciled to God, you
will find yourself reconciled with others.
