A Sword and a Sacrament
Sermon
Mysterious Joy
Sermons for Lent and Easter
It is Passion Sunday. It is Palm Sunday. Which is it? According to our church calendar, it is both. At first, it may sound that these two Sundays just do not belong together. Passion Sunday has to do with the cries of the crucified one hanging on a rough and splintery cross. Palm Sunday has to do with joyous "Alleluias" and palm branches raised in a salute to a king and to his victory. Suffering and salutes seem out of harmony with each other. Are we to cry out in terror; or, are we to shout out for joy?
It is helpful to look at the facts concerning the so-called "Triumphant Entrance into Jerusalem." Jesus did not enter Jerusalem; he invaded it. The entrance into the Holy City was not a political plan of the disciples; it was our Lord's personal and deliberate decision. His invasion of Jerusalem was an enacted parable. It was a sermon dramatized.
It is often pointed out that Jesus did not enter the city in triumph like a conquering king. There was no armed escort. There were no chariots, no jeweled robes, no marching soldiers, no shining shields, no flashing helmets, or no glittering spears. Yet, in truth, Jesus did enter Jerusalem as a king - a conquering king. True, he entered on a humble beast of burden rather than a charging steed. His escorts were not armed soldiers. They were common, ordinary civilians; but, these people were pilgrims celebrating the Passover. They were the "people of God." They were armed with majestic memories, enthusiastic hope, and the dedicated conviction that they were the called and the chosen children of the one true God. The Word of God was on their lips. That Word on their lips and in their hearts was as sharp as a two-edged sword. They cried out in the sacred words of the psalmist, "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord." Pageantry and pomp are present. People applaud and wave their palm branches. But, the power of the scene is to be found in the words of the psalmist; because history testifies to the fact that in the final outcome of any conflict, it is the word that proves mightier than the sword. This is particularly true when that word is the Word of God.
The truth is that Jesus did enter Jerusalem as a king; however, his was not the popular concept of kingship. Our Lord tried to make this clear to Pilate, later that same week, when he said, "My kingdom is not of this world." Our Lord came to Jerusalem as an invader to do battle. He came to declare war on the enemies of God. He came to conquer perversity, prejudice, and pride. He came completely armed; his weapons were a criminal's cross, innocent suffering, and an undeserved death; but, most of all, he came with the weighty weapons of the Will and the Word of God.
Our Lord entered Jerusalem with a mighty meekness. Our First Lesson this morning speaks to this point. It describes a kingship of which a crown of suffering and palm branches of praise are not only brought together; they belong together. A cross of suffering and palm branches of praise and victory are revealed to be inseparable in God's harmonious plan for the redemption of the world.
The author of our lesson is a prophet and a poet whom biblical scholars have nicknamed "Second Isaiah." His prophecy is an exultant proclamation of the good news. The people, who dwell in a perpetual nightmare of darkness, learn that a new day is dawning which will fulfill all their dreams. Captives are told that deliverance and freedom are on the way. The broken hearted will be comforted. Those who suffer are promised relief. Each poem written by Second Isaiah is filled with the excitement and the expectancy of glorious events which are about to come to be. The horror of hell is being conquered and the coming of the kingdom of heaven is being fulfilled.
Our lesson reveals two insights into the unique kingship of Christ and the unprecedented presence of the Kingdom of God on earth. First, it points out that suffering is a weapon - a sword by which God conquers.
Most of us think in negative terms when we hear the word "suffering." It is an end-result that we would rather avoid. We live lives of careless dissipation, lack of self-discipline, and long-term abuse of our bodies. We come to one end - suffering. We do something morally wrong. We sin. We are disobedient to God's will, and he punishes us by making us suffer. Sometimes, we suffer without an apparent cause or an obvious reason. We believe ourselves to be victins of a blind fate; and, we fear that God is dead - or at least indifferent.
Isaiah, on the other hand, does not view suffering as a negative end of life; rather, he views suffering as a means of accomplishing redemption. It is a weapon - a sword with which to fight evil and to conquer it. Isaiah cries out, "I gave my back to the smiters ... I hid not my face from shame and being spit upon ... the Lord God helps me; who will declare me guilty?"
It is interesting that even though we use the word "suffering" as a noun, it always carries a verb-like meaning. It may be used as the object or the subject of a sentence; but, it still remains in our experience a verb - an action-loaded word. One knows from experience that, even though confined to a bed, or even if only sitting motionless in a chair, when one suffers, one is still doing something. Suffering is an active means, not a static end.
For Isaiah, suffering was a sword to be used to fight the good fight of faith. God was coming to liberate his people and to inaugurate his kingdom - and, the chief weapon in his hand was the sword of suffering. It was not the punishment of God's judgment; rather, suffering was a sword that was used by God and given to us to smite the enemy, to win the victory, and to usher in a new kingdom.
Isaiah was so excited and elated by the events surrounding the birth of this new kingdom that his words changed from prose to poetry. His words literally sing as he declares that Israel's nobility lies in her task of suffering. Israel would be highly exalted through, with, and by suffering. This was the deepest mystery of her calling. This mystery is personified in the figure of the Suffering Servant who would tread a path through defeat to victory. The method and the strategy of the kingdom to come are extraordinary. A secret to the world, redemptive suffering is a secret weapon that God and his people will use to destroy an old world and to create a new one.
Suffering is a sword to wield to win a victory. Secondly, our text points out that suffering is a sacrament to secure the peace for us. Our text says, "The Lord God has given me the tongue of those who are taught, that I may know how to sustain with a word him that is weary."
When we hear the word "sacrament," we generally think of the two sacraments of the church - baptism and communion. The Bible, however, is not so limited. In Holy Scriptures the one means of grace, properly understood, is The Word. It may take different forms. It may operate under the mask of water, or bread, or wine. It may be a word spoken or read. It may be a hymn sung or a picture seen. However and whenever, God gives himself to us personally, there is a sacrament. The cross of suffering and the palm branches of victory are united in the sacramental action of the grace of God. Israel had known bad days and good days; but all days were God's days, because he was their God and they were his people.
For the poet-prophet, Isaiah, the coming of God's Kingdom was such a magnificent event that no price was too high to pay, no experience was too repugnant to endure, and no method was too demanding to avoid. The end not only justified the means; it transformed the path of suffering into a glory road, a royal highway, and a via dolorosa!
The sheer enthusiasm and the complete conviction of the author of our text, that a victorious kingdom was coming, cannot be doubted. The profound and penetrating insight of Isaiah that suffering is not a negative end, but rather a positive means to an end, cannot be ignored. The fact that victory comes through defeat, and that salvation comes through suffering, cannot be denied. Suffering was and is a sacramental act of God's grace within us.
Scholars disagree as to whether the Suffering Servant of Isaiah is to be understood as a corporate or an individual figure. Most scholars agree that Second Isaiah was a great prophet; he had profound insight into how God was at work in the world. However, he was not a fortune-teller who was gazing into a crystal ball, seeing Jesus Christ being crucified on Calvary by the Romans. Isaiah was a man of vision, but his vision was that of a poet - the vision of words. As he spoke to Israel, he painted with his words a picture of the Suffering Servant; but, the title of his portrait was not "Jesus Christ of Nazareth." Its title was "True Israel." The Suffering Servant was what Israel, as a people down through history, had struggled to become but never could be; totally and completely faithful and obedient children of God. "True Israel" was a goal never achieved, a hope never realized, a dream never lived out in daily life - until!
Hundreds of years after Isaiah had lived, a baby was born in Bethlehem. He was an Israelite by birth. His human heritage was the history of Israel; but, his divine heritage was of God. This baby was more than an Israelite; he was the "True Israel." All of the history of God's dealings with his people had funneled down into this single life.
The poetic word-portrait of Isaiah's Suffering Servant took on flesh by becoming bone and marrow, muscle and meat. It was covered with skin under which flowed the body-blood of human life. However, Jesus Christ was not the incarnation of Isaiah's Suffering Servant; rather, Jesus Christ was the incarnation of the total Word of God. He was what Isaiah could never have envisioned in the limitations of his humanness - Jesus the Christ, God become flesh!
We are grateful to Second Isaiah because his poetic vision enlightens our appreciation of the mighty and the unique act of God becoming flesh in Jesus Christ. Isaiah helps us to understand how suffering is both a sword and a sacrament. This does not eliminate suffering from our lives; but, it does give a positive insight to our experiences of suffering. It assures us that, no matter how great our suffering might be, it is not an end; but, it is a means. Suffering in the hand of God is a mighty sword that he can use to slay the enemy. Suffering is a sacrament - a means of grace through which God can give us more than victory. He can give us his holy peace, and a joy that passes all understanding.
Look at the palm branches in our church today. They are so delicate that they can be moved by the slightest breeze or the effortless wave of the hand; but, palm branches which are waved in conjunction with the Word of God become a sacrament in and through which God himself is present and active - dynamically active to establish his rule over all existence.
Look at the cross. Empty and unoccupied, it is simply an object of brass or the timbers of a tree; but, when the crucified and suffering body of Jesus Christ is placed on the historic cross of Calvary, it becomes a sword - a sword in the hand of God that can conquer everything in heaven and on earth. It can even destroy the very gates of hell. Alleluia! Rejoice! Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!
Jeremiah 31:31-34
Maundy Thursday
A Holy Hunger
Tonight we come to the altar-table to celebrate Holy Communion. Why do we say, "Holy Communion"? Is there such a thing as "unholy communion"? Yes, there is. When one comes to the Lord's table with a hardened heart and with a life that is turned in upon itself; when one comes with a proud and an arrogant attitude; and when one comes thinking that he or she is worthy of what is about to be received; then, that person will receive communion, but it will not be holy.
Jeremiah, who speaks to us in our First Lesson this evening, knew firsthand the difference between holy and unholy communion with God. His total prophecy is dominated by a tormenting tension between a covenant made by a faithful and holy God, versus a covenant broken by an unfaithful and a disobedient people. They had broken the covenant at its most vital point - at its heart. They were worshiping a plurality of gods instead of the one true God. They were baking cakes for Ishtar, Queen of Heaven - the pagan mother-goddess who was worshiped by the Assyrians and the Babylonians. They were practicing the barbarious rite of child sacrifice. Pagan abominations desecrated the temple. Worst of all, the people thought that they were getting away with worshiping many gods as long as they fumbled through the formalities of the ritual and the sacrifices of the temple.
All of these betrayals of the covenant tore at Jeremiah's heart. He stood in the temple courtyard watching the people as they wandered thoughtlessly through the massive bronze gates of the temple. Suddenly, Jeremiah mounted the steps of the temple, and he began to preach. It was more than just a sermon. It was a sharp and a harsh summons. It was a prophetic condemnation. He shouted forth, "Amend your ways and your doings." His voice echoed and re-echoed throughout the halls of the temple. The people possessed no true hunger for righteousness. They desired no warm covenant communion with their God. The people chanted glib words about the temple being the "Holy Place of God." The truth was that they had made of the temple - as Jesus was to say many years later - "a den to harbor thieves and robbers." Even though the voice of Jeremiah penetrated every corner of the temple, his words failed to break open the sin-deafened ears of the people.
Jeremiah agonized, even wept, over the incurable spiritual sickness of the people. They were a people with "a stubborn and rebellious heart." They had broken the covenant with their God, not only by their outward actions; but, much more seriously, they had broken the covenant within their hearts. The abominations of idolatry practiced, not only in the temple, but also on every high hill and under every green tree, were only outward symptoms of a deadly disease of disobedience which festered like a malignant cancer in their hearts.
Through this painfully accurate diagnosis of the fatal illness of the chosen people of God, Jeremiah was led by God to discover the cure. When Jerusalem fell to its enemies, when the temple was destroyed, and when the people were captured and driven into exile, the words of Jeremiah turned from the prediction of wrath, judgment, and doom to a prophecy of promise, forgiveness, and grace.
God revealed to Jeremiah that the wrack and ruin that had fallen on Judah were only acts of preparation that would enable God to rebuild a new people on the ruins and to renew a holy relationship with his people. God's purpose was not merely revenge and punishment. His intent was not to destroy the people with a mighty flood, as he had done in the days of Noah. God's purpose and intent were to sweep clean the false foundations of an unholy faithlessness in order that he could build and plant anew.
God loved his people, and that love was so great that he could not let his people go. God's love, working by means of judgment and its resulting destruction, would create a new people, a new covenant, and a new kingdom. The vision of this new beginning is profoundly expressed in the prophecy of the new covenant which is presented in our text for today. Like the old covenant, it will rest alone on the divine initiative of God's authority; however, unlike the old covenant, the new covenant will be an inner covenant. It will not be chisled into tablets of stone; it will be indelibly written on the hearts of the chosen people of God.
This prophecy of a new covenant is appropriate for us to hear this evening. Especially, it is appropriate as we gather to celebrate the birth-event of the sacrament of communion. In the reading of the Gospel, we hear once again the familiar words that our Lord spoke to his disciples and to us: "This cup which is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood."
Even more important for an understanding of what we are about to do, when we come to the altar-table to partake of communion, is Jeremiah's prophetic insight that what makes communion with God holy is a "clean heart." Now, the word "clean," used here, does not mean morally spotless or ethically hygienic; rather, it means what is intended when we say that we have "swept something clean." It means "empty." It means that all the trash that has accumulated in our hearts has been eliminated, thrown out, disposed of, and swept away. A clean heart is an empty heart; and, like an empty stomach, it spontaneously cries out to be fed and filled. With a clean heart, the whole person hungers and thirsts for righteousness - a right relationship with the Lord and a holy communion with our God.
Those of you who cook know that there is nothing worse than, after having spent long hours preparing a meal, seeing people come to the table and fuss over the food. They push the results of your hard labor around on their plates to create the impression that they have eaten something, when in truth, they have eaten nothing.
The main reason that we do not eat is the simple and the obvious fact that we are not hungry. If "Junior" or "Sister" devours two candy bars, downs a milk shake, and finishes off a twelve ounce Pepsi before coming home to dinner, of course neither one of them is going to want to eat dinner! Even the most favorite food will not be enticing to a body that is already stuffed full of junk-food.
What makes Holy Communion "holy" is hunger. If we come to the Lord's table full of hatred, or greed, or jealousy, or envy, or just full of our own self-centered pride - if we come to the Lord's table after having served the false gods of material wealth and earthly power all week long; then, no amount of rightly performed ritual is going to make communion "holy." The hungry heart is what makes communion holy.
Hunger of the stomach or of the heart is not a matter of the will. Sometimes, we can entice people to want to eat by the way in which we prepare and serve food. All of us have experienced not being aware that we were hungry until we came to the table. After surveying all the appetizing dishes of food, or after inhaling the tantalizing aromas drifting from the kitchen, hunger becomes obvious. An elegant restaurant which is tastefully decorated, enhanced by candlelight and "singing violins" can contribute to our enjoyment of dining. However, all of this does not create hunger as an act of will; rather, it only makes us aware of our hunger by appealing to the senses.
God prepares a dinner for us - communion. The one basic requirement for this communion to be holy for us is hunger - not the hunger of the stomach, but the hunger of our total being - the hunger of our hearts. It may be the hunger for the assurance of forgiveness, or it may be a hunger for
experiencing the presence of Christ, or it may be the hunger for fellowship with God and with each other. No matter what basic desire or need causes us to be hungry, the experience of true preparation to receive the Lord's Supper is an inner emptiness that cries out to be filled.
That is why the warnings of Jeremiah fell on deafened ears; the people of Judah were not hungry. They had stuffed their lives full with spiritual junk-food - narrow nationalism, the teaching of false prophets, the following after of pagan idols, shallow ritualism, and immoral self-indulgences.
That is why Judas left the table before the meal was over. He was not hungry for the words of the Lord. His mind and his heart were full of self-devised schemes to take the destiny of the Lord into his own hands and to change the world; therefore, he failed to be present when our Lord declared that God was establishing a new covenant - a new relationship with his people - that would change the direction of the present world and the outcome of the future world as well.
For Judas, two thousand years ago, the meal that he ate with his Lord was the last supper he was to eat this side of hell. Because, after his act of betrayal, when he realized the irrevocable mistake that he had made, Judas truly hungered for God's forgiveness. He was driven not to the cross of our Lord, but to an empty tree where he hanged himself, to be left forever hungry for the forgiving words of God.
This term "The Last Supper" as a designation for communion is interesting. It appears nowhere in Scripture. For Judas, it is appropriate. In a sense, it is appropriate for all the disciples because it was the last meal that they would share with Jesus while he was in the flesh. However, in a far more profound sense, that communion which we remember this night, when the disciples broke bread with their Lord, would better be entitled "The First Supper." It was, and it is, the first supper of the new covenant. God was establishing a new world, and he began it with a fellowship meal. Our Lord sat at the table with a lingering look of love as he picked up the
cup that was before him. He blessed it. Then he handed it to his friends saying, "This cup which is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood."
God was moving from an outward relationship with his people to a new inner relationship. The revelation of redemption was rotated to a new focal point. The God, who had become flesh and had entered into the world, was now about to become spirit and to enter into our very hearts.
In our Second Lesson, the author of Hebrews places the new covenant in the comprehensive context of the Holy Trinity when he writes, "The Holy Spirit also bears witness to us ... I will make with them a new covenant ... I will put my laws on their hearts and write them on their minds." The Father establishes a new covenant with us by the blood of his Son. The Holy Spirit dwells within us, creating a holy hunger in our hearts for a continual communion with our God.
Rejoice. A new and living relationship with our God is now possible. It is a new covenant of love. It is not a new "rule" embedded in the law. It is an inner obedience rather than an outward observance. It is an act of forgiveness, rather, than an act of judgment. It is a gift of life, rather, than the wages of sin. It is grace - pure undeserved grace!
Therefore, let us rejoice as we come to this table, eat this bread, and drink this wine. It is the body of the living Lord. It is the life-giving blood of a new covenant. It shall never be broken because it possesses the sin-crushing strength of the cross - the life-giving power of an open tomb - and the live-preserving presence of the Holy Spirit. The cross, the empty tomb, and the Holy Spirit will come together and focus on your inner being, like a laser light, and will create within you - "A Holy Hunger!"
Isaiah 52:13--53:12
Good Friday
A Baptism of Blood
We cannot go back to Calvary. The cross was an event in history. It happened, never to be repeated. It was a deed of God determined, dared, and done. Our emotions may run high when we hear the words of the familiar spiritual, "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" But, there is only one honest answer. No! We were not there. We are here, with two thousand years separating us from the cross on which our Lord died. The cross is dated; but, it is not out-dated. What happened then affects us now. Why? Because we come here today, not to admire a cross, but to adore a crucified Lord. The cross has rotted. The Lord has risen. The original cross of Calvary has long since rotted away and is no more. The crucified one is risen, and he lives forevermore.
This is good. It is not the wooden cross of Calvary that saves us; rather, the Christ who hung on that cross and who still lives today is our salvation. Therefore, we rejoice. Even though we cannot confront the historic cross, we can encounter the living Lord.
The cross is not only an act and a fact of history; it is also a symbol. It is not only a deed done; it is a sign which incorporates the basic plot and theme of our redemption. The cross says to us two things. First, we are, by our very nature, sinners. Second, God is, by his very nature, a forgiving and a faithful savior. Any effort to deny either our sinfulness or God's saviorhood is fatal to our faith.
In our First Lesson, Isaiah caught a vision of the conflict between human sinfulness and divine grace. Isaiah was a great prophet. He was tall enough to stand high above the people of his era to catch a God's-eye view of what was happening in his times. The people, each one by having turned his or her own way, were like sheep that had gone astray. Judah was a diseased nation dancing a "dance of death." The people practiced greed and injustice. The rich robbed the poor. Their lives were marked and marred by sensual indulgences and perversities. With scathing denunciation, Isaiah lashed out at their hypocritical religiosity.
Yet, despite the perverseness of the people, Isaiah was thoroughly convinced that Judah was the nation that God had chosen to be the Messianic Nation - the nation through whom a great and a wonderful blessing would one day come from God to all the nations of the earth. That blessing would come in the form of a servant of God - a suffering servant.
As we read Isaiah, his description of the Messiah is so similar to what we know about Jesus Christ that it sounds as if Isaiah stood tall enough to pierce into the future and to catch a vision of Calvary with Jesus of Nazareth being crucified by the Roman soldiers. Scholars of the Scriptures present convincing evidence that Isaiah was neither that tall, nor was his vision that photographic. Therefore, the value of Isaiah is that he did, with amazing accuracy, present to us a prophetic portrait of what kind of a Messiah was needed to accomplish the salvation of a disobedient, an unfaithful, and a sinful people.
Today, when we are preparing to call a pastor or to hire a person for a position of skill and responsibility, we develop what we call a "job description." This written description contains an inventory of the desirable personality traits and a list of the tasks to be done. This is what Isaiah does for us. He does not point seven hundred years into the future to Jesus Christ of Nazareth, identifying him as the Messiah; rather, Isaiah presents in poetic prophecy a job description of the kind of person that the Messiah will be and what tasks he will have to accomplish. He will be a suffering-servant savior. He will be despised and rejected. He will be acquainted with grief. He will be wounded for our transgressions. He will be bruised for our iniquities. As a lamb, he will be slaughtered. Even though he was without sin, he will be counted as a sinner. Also, he will bear on his back the burden for the sins of the world.
This vision from Isaiah is the key to understanding the cross as the saving solution to the conflict of our deliberate sinfulness and God's determined desire to save and to redeem us. The cross is more than just a revelation of our sinfulness and of God's forgiving grace; the cross is the means by which a deed is done by God. God is at work on that cross changing us from sinners into his obedient children. The cross does not just say something; it does something. The cross does something to us as well as for us. The cross is an act of creation. We need more than to realize the truth that God loves us despite our unworthiness. We need an act that changes and transforms us. We need to be reborn - baptized into a new life.
The knowledge that we are sinners cannot by itself save, nor can it change us. We know that it is better for us mentally and physically to love than it is to hate. We know that anger serves no purpose except to cause our blood pressure to soar, which harms the heart, and ultimately endangers life itself. However, just as surely as someone insults us or betrays us, we can produce a long list of reasons as to why we should make an exception in this particular case of insult or betrayal; therefore, our reaction is to hate rather than to love. We know that it is more practical and more efficient to be kind than it is to be nasty and hot-tempered. But, when we have a splitting headache or we are in a bad mood, we do not think; we just act, snap back, find fault, lash out, curse, or even strike our assailant.
We know that it is better for our happiness to be honest than it is to be dishonest: "Better humble than proud." We know that hope is better than despair, faith better than fear, forgiveness better than resentment, and industry better than idleness. We know all this! Nevertheless, in a given moment, we act or react spontaneously without thinking, without reasoning, or without considering the consequences. After the damage is done, we can give all manner of excuses and logical rationalizations for what we have done. We can even, at times, convince others that we were not really ourselves. The truth is, however, in our disobedience to God's will, we are our true selves. That is the problem. It is not what we do that is wrong; it is what we are. It is us. We are wrong. We are, as Isaiah says in the First Lesson, "strayed sheep." We have left God's path to follow a path of our own choosing. We know exactly where we are in relationship to our God. We have deliberately strayed from God's way. We know that we are wrong. Salvation is not a matter of knowing; it is a matter of growing - becoming a new and a different person.
We are possessed, taken captive, and held fast by something deep within ourselves that is evil. There is no amount of moral plastic surgery or ethical cosmetics that can change what we are inside. Beauty, it is said, is only skin deep, but sin is not. Sin is at the very depth of our nature. Sin is what we are.
This is why we need more than the historic event of the cross to enlighten us and to remind us of how much God loves us. We need a crucified Lord who can truly bear the burden of our sins and give us a new and a redeemed inner self. We need God to die for us. We need God to baptize us with his own sacrificial blood. We need to be made new persons. This is what only God, and God alone, can do.
When Jesus turned his face like flint toward Jerusalem and told his disciples that he was to be mocked, scourged, condemned, and crucified, the disciples did not hear. In their minds, the holy city of Jerusalem was the place where Christ would be crowned king and where they would hold places of honor beside him. They even argued about who should be at his right hand and who should be at his left. As they argued, our Lord asked them, "Are you able to drink of the cup that I shall drink of and to be baptized with the baptism that I am to be baptized with?" And the dumbfounded disciples answered, "We are able."
Generally, we do not associate baptism with the cross. Oh, we hear the words of the baptismal service which declares that in our baptismal experience we die with Christ and are raised with him to a new life. But baptism is associated with babies - not death.
When we participate in the baptismal liturgy and see the water in the font, do we ever think of blood? It is doubtful that we do. Water is a refreshing element. It is clear and clean - not at all like blood. But, there is blood in the baptismal waters, and we need to see it.
When we use the expression "blood is thicker than water," we are saying that being related to a person by blood bonds us in a very special way to that person. That is why today/tonight, on this Good Friday, we need to see the blood in the baptismal waters. The cross was our Lord's baptism of blood. If our Lord had not suffered and shed his blood on the cross, then the water of our baptism would be just water that would wash only the outside of our bodies like a shower or a bath. But, because of the shed blood of Christ, our baptism cleanses our innermost being, and gives us new life. Because of Christ's shed blood on the cross, and because that shed blood is in the waters of baptism, we are related to Christ in a special way. We are a blood-bought and blood-baptized people. Our Lord's shed blood not only gives us a new life; it also gives us a new relationship to him and to one another.
A pastor stood in an intensive care unit of a hospital. His mother was dying. He spoke to her softly, "Mother, do you want communion?" There was a long, silent stare and then the pastor's mother answered, "I want to be baptized." The son knew that his mother had been baptized and that baptism is a one-and-for-all-times event. He also knew that this was no time to teach his mother a lesson in theology. Then it occurred to him that what his mother desired was a reaffirmation of her baptism. As she was leaving this life, she wanted to hear once again the reassuring words that in her baptism she had been given a life that does not end. What should he do? Then he saw that a tear had fallen on the back of his hand. He dipped his finger into his own tear, and he made with it the sign of the cross on his mother's forehead. She died smiling.
This is the meaning of Good Friday. This is the day when the whole human race was baptized with the tears of a suffering savior. This is the day when we were washed by the blood of the Lamb of God who was slain for our sins. Our Lord's tears and his blood, shed on the cross, seal for us the sacrament of Holy Baptism and consecrate the wine of Holy Communion.
There is no need for us to go back in time to stand at the cross on Calvary. Because of Christ's baptism of blood and tears, we are moving forward to an unending glory. Therefore, rejoice! We have been baptized with blood and with tears. Now we are able to live with God forever in glory.
It is helpful to look at the facts concerning the so-called "Triumphant Entrance into Jerusalem." Jesus did not enter Jerusalem; he invaded it. The entrance into the Holy City was not a political plan of the disciples; it was our Lord's personal and deliberate decision. His invasion of Jerusalem was an enacted parable. It was a sermon dramatized.
It is often pointed out that Jesus did not enter the city in triumph like a conquering king. There was no armed escort. There were no chariots, no jeweled robes, no marching soldiers, no shining shields, no flashing helmets, or no glittering spears. Yet, in truth, Jesus did enter Jerusalem as a king - a conquering king. True, he entered on a humble beast of burden rather than a charging steed. His escorts were not armed soldiers. They were common, ordinary civilians; but, these people were pilgrims celebrating the Passover. They were the "people of God." They were armed with majestic memories, enthusiastic hope, and the dedicated conviction that they were the called and the chosen children of the one true God. The Word of God was on their lips. That Word on their lips and in their hearts was as sharp as a two-edged sword. They cried out in the sacred words of the psalmist, "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord." Pageantry and pomp are present. People applaud and wave their palm branches. But, the power of the scene is to be found in the words of the psalmist; because history testifies to the fact that in the final outcome of any conflict, it is the word that proves mightier than the sword. This is particularly true when that word is the Word of God.
The truth is that Jesus did enter Jerusalem as a king; however, his was not the popular concept of kingship. Our Lord tried to make this clear to Pilate, later that same week, when he said, "My kingdom is not of this world." Our Lord came to Jerusalem as an invader to do battle. He came to declare war on the enemies of God. He came to conquer perversity, prejudice, and pride. He came completely armed; his weapons were a criminal's cross, innocent suffering, and an undeserved death; but, most of all, he came with the weighty weapons of the Will and the Word of God.
Our Lord entered Jerusalem with a mighty meekness. Our First Lesson this morning speaks to this point. It describes a kingship of which a crown of suffering and palm branches of praise are not only brought together; they belong together. A cross of suffering and palm branches of praise and victory are revealed to be inseparable in God's harmonious plan for the redemption of the world.
The author of our lesson is a prophet and a poet whom biblical scholars have nicknamed "Second Isaiah." His prophecy is an exultant proclamation of the good news. The people, who dwell in a perpetual nightmare of darkness, learn that a new day is dawning which will fulfill all their dreams. Captives are told that deliverance and freedom are on the way. The broken hearted will be comforted. Those who suffer are promised relief. Each poem written by Second Isaiah is filled with the excitement and the expectancy of glorious events which are about to come to be. The horror of hell is being conquered and the coming of the kingdom of heaven is being fulfilled.
Our lesson reveals two insights into the unique kingship of Christ and the unprecedented presence of the Kingdom of God on earth. First, it points out that suffering is a weapon - a sword by which God conquers.
Most of us think in negative terms when we hear the word "suffering." It is an end-result that we would rather avoid. We live lives of careless dissipation, lack of self-discipline, and long-term abuse of our bodies. We come to one end - suffering. We do something morally wrong. We sin. We are disobedient to God's will, and he punishes us by making us suffer. Sometimes, we suffer without an apparent cause or an obvious reason. We believe ourselves to be victins of a blind fate; and, we fear that God is dead - or at least indifferent.
Isaiah, on the other hand, does not view suffering as a negative end of life; rather, he views suffering as a means of accomplishing redemption. It is a weapon - a sword with which to fight evil and to conquer it. Isaiah cries out, "I gave my back to the smiters ... I hid not my face from shame and being spit upon ... the Lord God helps me; who will declare me guilty?"
It is interesting that even though we use the word "suffering" as a noun, it always carries a verb-like meaning. It may be used as the object or the subject of a sentence; but, it still remains in our experience a verb - an action-loaded word. One knows from experience that, even though confined to a bed, or even if only sitting motionless in a chair, when one suffers, one is still doing something. Suffering is an active means, not a static end.
For Isaiah, suffering was a sword to be used to fight the good fight of faith. God was coming to liberate his people and to inaugurate his kingdom - and, the chief weapon in his hand was the sword of suffering. It was not the punishment of God's judgment; rather, suffering was a sword that was used by God and given to us to smite the enemy, to win the victory, and to usher in a new kingdom.
Isaiah was so excited and elated by the events surrounding the birth of this new kingdom that his words changed from prose to poetry. His words literally sing as he declares that Israel's nobility lies in her task of suffering. Israel would be highly exalted through, with, and by suffering. This was the deepest mystery of her calling. This mystery is personified in the figure of the Suffering Servant who would tread a path through defeat to victory. The method and the strategy of the kingdom to come are extraordinary. A secret to the world, redemptive suffering is a secret weapon that God and his people will use to destroy an old world and to create a new one.
Suffering is a sword to wield to win a victory. Secondly, our text points out that suffering is a sacrament to secure the peace for us. Our text says, "The Lord God has given me the tongue of those who are taught, that I may know how to sustain with a word him that is weary."
When we hear the word "sacrament," we generally think of the two sacraments of the church - baptism and communion. The Bible, however, is not so limited. In Holy Scriptures the one means of grace, properly understood, is The Word. It may take different forms. It may operate under the mask of water, or bread, or wine. It may be a word spoken or read. It may be a hymn sung or a picture seen. However and whenever, God gives himself to us personally, there is a sacrament. The cross of suffering and the palm branches of victory are united in the sacramental action of the grace of God. Israel had known bad days and good days; but all days were God's days, because he was their God and they were his people.
For the poet-prophet, Isaiah, the coming of God's Kingdom was such a magnificent event that no price was too high to pay, no experience was too repugnant to endure, and no method was too demanding to avoid. The end not only justified the means; it transformed the path of suffering into a glory road, a royal highway, and a via dolorosa!
The sheer enthusiasm and the complete conviction of the author of our text, that a victorious kingdom was coming, cannot be doubted. The profound and penetrating insight of Isaiah that suffering is not a negative end, but rather a positive means to an end, cannot be ignored. The fact that victory comes through defeat, and that salvation comes through suffering, cannot be denied. Suffering was and is a sacramental act of God's grace within us.
Scholars disagree as to whether the Suffering Servant of Isaiah is to be understood as a corporate or an individual figure. Most scholars agree that Second Isaiah was a great prophet; he had profound insight into how God was at work in the world. However, he was not a fortune-teller who was gazing into a crystal ball, seeing Jesus Christ being crucified on Calvary by the Romans. Isaiah was a man of vision, but his vision was that of a poet - the vision of words. As he spoke to Israel, he painted with his words a picture of the Suffering Servant; but, the title of his portrait was not "Jesus Christ of Nazareth." Its title was "True Israel." The Suffering Servant was what Israel, as a people down through history, had struggled to become but never could be; totally and completely faithful and obedient children of God. "True Israel" was a goal never achieved, a hope never realized, a dream never lived out in daily life - until!
Hundreds of years after Isaiah had lived, a baby was born in Bethlehem. He was an Israelite by birth. His human heritage was the history of Israel; but, his divine heritage was of God. This baby was more than an Israelite; he was the "True Israel." All of the history of God's dealings with his people had funneled down into this single life.
The poetic word-portrait of Isaiah's Suffering Servant took on flesh by becoming bone and marrow, muscle and meat. It was covered with skin under which flowed the body-blood of human life. However, Jesus Christ was not the incarnation of Isaiah's Suffering Servant; rather, Jesus Christ was the incarnation of the total Word of God. He was what Isaiah could never have envisioned in the limitations of his humanness - Jesus the Christ, God become flesh!
We are grateful to Second Isaiah because his poetic vision enlightens our appreciation of the mighty and the unique act of God becoming flesh in Jesus Christ. Isaiah helps us to understand how suffering is both a sword and a sacrament. This does not eliminate suffering from our lives; but, it does give a positive insight to our experiences of suffering. It assures us that, no matter how great our suffering might be, it is not an end; but, it is a means. Suffering in the hand of God is a mighty sword that he can use to slay the enemy. Suffering is a sacrament - a means of grace through which God can give us more than victory. He can give us his holy peace, and a joy that passes all understanding.
Look at the palm branches in our church today. They are so delicate that they can be moved by the slightest breeze or the effortless wave of the hand; but, palm branches which are waved in conjunction with the Word of God become a sacrament in and through which God himself is present and active - dynamically active to establish his rule over all existence.
Look at the cross. Empty and unoccupied, it is simply an object of brass or the timbers of a tree; but, when the crucified and suffering body of Jesus Christ is placed on the historic cross of Calvary, it becomes a sword - a sword in the hand of God that can conquer everything in heaven and on earth. It can even destroy the very gates of hell. Alleluia! Rejoice! Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!
Jeremiah 31:31-34
Maundy Thursday
A Holy Hunger
Tonight we come to the altar-table to celebrate Holy Communion. Why do we say, "Holy Communion"? Is there such a thing as "unholy communion"? Yes, there is. When one comes to the Lord's table with a hardened heart and with a life that is turned in upon itself; when one comes with a proud and an arrogant attitude; and when one comes thinking that he or she is worthy of what is about to be received; then, that person will receive communion, but it will not be holy.
Jeremiah, who speaks to us in our First Lesson this evening, knew firsthand the difference between holy and unholy communion with God. His total prophecy is dominated by a tormenting tension between a covenant made by a faithful and holy God, versus a covenant broken by an unfaithful and a disobedient people. They had broken the covenant at its most vital point - at its heart. They were worshiping a plurality of gods instead of the one true God. They were baking cakes for Ishtar, Queen of Heaven - the pagan mother-goddess who was worshiped by the Assyrians and the Babylonians. They were practicing the barbarious rite of child sacrifice. Pagan abominations desecrated the temple. Worst of all, the people thought that they were getting away with worshiping many gods as long as they fumbled through the formalities of the ritual and the sacrifices of the temple.
All of these betrayals of the covenant tore at Jeremiah's heart. He stood in the temple courtyard watching the people as they wandered thoughtlessly through the massive bronze gates of the temple. Suddenly, Jeremiah mounted the steps of the temple, and he began to preach. It was more than just a sermon. It was a sharp and a harsh summons. It was a prophetic condemnation. He shouted forth, "Amend your ways and your doings." His voice echoed and re-echoed throughout the halls of the temple. The people possessed no true hunger for righteousness. They desired no warm covenant communion with their God. The people chanted glib words about the temple being the "Holy Place of God." The truth was that they had made of the temple - as Jesus was to say many years later - "a den to harbor thieves and robbers." Even though the voice of Jeremiah penetrated every corner of the temple, his words failed to break open the sin-deafened ears of the people.
Jeremiah agonized, even wept, over the incurable spiritual sickness of the people. They were a people with "a stubborn and rebellious heart." They had broken the covenant with their God, not only by their outward actions; but, much more seriously, they had broken the covenant within their hearts. The abominations of idolatry practiced, not only in the temple, but also on every high hill and under every green tree, were only outward symptoms of a deadly disease of disobedience which festered like a malignant cancer in their hearts.
Through this painfully accurate diagnosis of the fatal illness of the chosen people of God, Jeremiah was led by God to discover the cure. When Jerusalem fell to its enemies, when the temple was destroyed, and when the people were captured and driven into exile, the words of Jeremiah turned from the prediction of wrath, judgment, and doom to a prophecy of promise, forgiveness, and grace.
God revealed to Jeremiah that the wrack and ruin that had fallen on Judah were only acts of preparation that would enable God to rebuild a new people on the ruins and to renew a holy relationship with his people. God's purpose was not merely revenge and punishment. His intent was not to destroy the people with a mighty flood, as he had done in the days of Noah. God's purpose and intent were to sweep clean the false foundations of an unholy faithlessness in order that he could build and plant anew.
God loved his people, and that love was so great that he could not let his people go. God's love, working by means of judgment and its resulting destruction, would create a new people, a new covenant, and a new kingdom. The vision of this new beginning is profoundly expressed in the prophecy of the new covenant which is presented in our text for today. Like the old covenant, it will rest alone on the divine initiative of God's authority; however, unlike the old covenant, the new covenant will be an inner covenant. It will not be chisled into tablets of stone; it will be indelibly written on the hearts of the chosen people of God.
This prophecy of a new covenant is appropriate for us to hear this evening. Especially, it is appropriate as we gather to celebrate the birth-event of the sacrament of communion. In the reading of the Gospel, we hear once again the familiar words that our Lord spoke to his disciples and to us: "This cup which is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood."
Even more important for an understanding of what we are about to do, when we come to the altar-table to partake of communion, is Jeremiah's prophetic insight that what makes communion with God holy is a "clean heart." Now, the word "clean," used here, does not mean morally spotless or ethically hygienic; rather, it means what is intended when we say that we have "swept something clean." It means "empty." It means that all the trash that has accumulated in our hearts has been eliminated, thrown out, disposed of, and swept away. A clean heart is an empty heart; and, like an empty stomach, it spontaneously cries out to be fed and filled. With a clean heart, the whole person hungers and thirsts for righteousness - a right relationship with the Lord and a holy communion with our God.
Those of you who cook know that there is nothing worse than, after having spent long hours preparing a meal, seeing people come to the table and fuss over the food. They push the results of your hard labor around on their plates to create the impression that they have eaten something, when in truth, they have eaten nothing.
The main reason that we do not eat is the simple and the obvious fact that we are not hungry. If "Junior" or "Sister" devours two candy bars, downs a milk shake, and finishes off a twelve ounce Pepsi before coming home to dinner, of course neither one of them is going to want to eat dinner! Even the most favorite food will not be enticing to a body that is already stuffed full of junk-food.
What makes Holy Communion "holy" is hunger. If we come to the Lord's table full of hatred, or greed, or jealousy, or envy, or just full of our own self-centered pride - if we come to the Lord's table after having served the false gods of material wealth and earthly power all week long; then, no amount of rightly performed ritual is going to make communion "holy." The hungry heart is what makes communion holy.
Hunger of the stomach or of the heart is not a matter of the will. Sometimes, we can entice people to want to eat by the way in which we prepare and serve food. All of us have experienced not being aware that we were hungry until we came to the table. After surveying all the appetizing dishes of food, or after inhaling the tantalizing aromas drifting from the kitchen, hunger becomes obvious. An elegant restaurant which is tastefully decorated, enhanced by candlelight and "singing violins" can contribute to our enjoyment of dining. However, all of this does not create hunger as an act of will; rather, it only makes us aware of our hunger by appealing to the senses.
God prepares a dinner for us - communion. The one basic requirement for this communion to be holy for us is hunger - not the hunger of the stomach, but the hunger of our total being - the hunger of our hearts. It may be the hunger for the assurance of forgiveness, or it may be a hunger for
experiencing the presence of Christ, or it may be the hunger for fellowship with God and with each other. No matter what basic desire or need causes us to be hungry, the experience of true preparation to receive the Lord's Supper is an inner emptiness that cries out to be filled.
That is why the warnings of Jeremiah fell on deafened ears; the people of Judah were not hungry. They had stuffed their lives full with spiritual junk-food - narrow nationalism, the teaching of false prophets, the following after of pagan idols, shallow ritualism, and immoral self-indulgences.
That is why Judas left the table before the meal was over. He was not hungry for the words of the Lord. His mind and his heart were full of self-devised schemes to take the destiny of the Lord into his own hands and to change the world; therefore, he failed to be present when our Lord declared that God was establishing a new covenant - a new relationship with his people - that would change the direction of the present world and the outcome of the future world as well.
For Judas, two thousand years ago, the meal that he ate with his Lord was the last supper he was to eat this side of hell. Because, after his act of betrayal, when he realized the irrevocable mistake that he had made, Judas truly hungered for God's forgiveness. He was driven not to the cross of our Lord, but to an empty tree where he hanged himself, to be left forever hungry for the forgiving words of God.
This term "The Last Supper" as a designation for communion is interesting. It appears nowhere in Scripture. For Judas, it is appropriate. In a sense, it is appropriate for all the disciples because it was the last meal that they would share with Jesus while he was in the flesh. However, in a far more profound sense, that communion which we remember this night, when the disciples broke bread with their Lord, would better be entitled "The First Supper." It was, and it is, the first supper of the new covenant. God was establishing a new world, and he began it with a fellowship meal. Our Lord sat at the table with a lingering look of love as he picked up the
cup that was before him. He blessed it. Then he handed it to his friends saying, "This cup which is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood."
God was moving from an outward relationship with his people to a new inner relationship. The revelation of redemption was rotated to a new focal point. The God, who had become flesh and had entered into the world, was now about to become spirit and to enter into our very hearts.
In our Second Lesson, the author of Hebrews places the new covenant in the comprehensive context of the Holy Trinity when he writes, "The Holy Spirit also bears witness to us ... I will make with them a new covenant ... I will put my laws on their hearts and write them on their minds." The Father establishes a new covenant with us by the blood of his Son. The Holy Spirit dwells within us, creating a holy hunger in our hearts for a continual communion with our God.
Rejoice. A new and living relationship with our God is now possible. It is a new covenant of love. It is not a new "rule" embedded in the law. It is an inner obedience rather than an outward observance. It is an act of forgiveness, rather, than an act of judgment. It is a gift of life, rather, than the wages of sin. It is grace - pure undeserved grace!
Therefore, let us rejoice as we come to this table, eat this bread, and drink this wine. It is the body of the living Lord. It is the life-giving blood of a new covenant. It shall never be broken because it possesses the sin-crushing strength of the cross - the life-giving power of an open tomb - and the live-preserving presence of the Holy Spirit. The cross, the empty tomb, and the Holy Spirit will come together and focus on your inner being, like a laser light, and will create within you - "A Holy Hunger!"
Isaiah 52:13--53:12
Good Friday
A Baptism of Blood
We cannot go back to Calvary. The cross was an event in history. It happened, never to be repeated. It was a deed of God determined, dared, and done. Our emotions may run high when we hear the words of the familiar spiritual, "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" But, there is only one honest answer. No! We were not there. We are here, with two thousand years separating us from the cross on which our Lord died. The cross is dated; but, it is not out-dated. What happened then affects us now. Why? Because we come here today, not to admire a cross, but to adore a crucified Lord. The cross has rotted. The Lord has risen. The original cross of Calvary has long since rotted away and is no more. The crucified one is risen, and he lives forevermore.
This is good. It is not the wooden cross of Calvary that saves us; rather, the Christ who hung on that cross and who still lives today is our salvation. Therefore, we rejoice. Even though we cannot confront the historic cross, we can encounter the living Lord.
The cross is not only an act and a fact of history; it is also a symbol. It is not only a deed done; it is a sign which incorporates the basic plot and theme of our redemption. The cross says to us two things. First, we are, by our very nature, sinners. Second, God is, by his very nature, a forgiving and a faithful savior. Any effort to deny either our sinfulness or God's saviorhood is fatal to our faith.
In our First Lesson, Isaiah caught a vision of the conflict between human sinfulness and divine grace. Isaiah was a great prophet. He was tall enough to stand high above the people of his era to catch a God's-eye view of what was happening in his times. The people, each one by having turned his or her own way, were like sheep that had gone astray. Judah was a diseased nation dancing a "dance of death." The people practiced greed and injustice. The rich robbed the poor. Their lives were marked and marred by sensual indulgences and perversities. With scathing denunciation, Isaiah lashed out at their hypocritical religiosity.
Yet, despite the perverseness of the people, Isaiah was thoroughly convinced that Judah was the nation that God had chosen to be the Messianic Nation - the nation through whom a great and a wonderful blessing would one day come from God to all the nations of the earth. That blessing would come in the form of a servant of God - a suffering servant.
As we read Isaiah, his description of the Messiah is so similar to what we know about Jesus Christ that it sounds as if Isaiah stood tall enough to pierce into the future and to catch a vision of Calvary with Jesus of Nazareth being crucified by the Roman soldiers. Scholars of the Scriptures present convincing evidence that Isaiah was neither that tall, nor was his vision that photographic. Therefore, the value of Isaiah is that he did, with amazing accuracy, present to us a prophetic portrait of what kind of a Messiah was needed to accomplish the salvation of a disobedient, an unfaithful, and a sinful people.
Today, when we are preparing to call a pastor or to hire a person for a position of skill and responsibility, we develop what we call a "job description." This written description contains an inventory of the desirable personality traits and a list of the tasks to be done. This is what Isaiah does for us. He does not point seven hundred years into the future to Jesus Christ of Nazareth, identifying him as the Messiah; rather, Isaiah presents in poetic prophecy a job description of the kind of person that the Messiah will be and what tasks he will have to accomplish. He will be a suffering-servant savior. He will be despised and rejected. He will be acquainted with grief. He will be wounded for our transgressions. He will be bruised for our iniquities. As a lamb, he will be slaughtered. Even though he was without sin, he will be counted as a sinner. Also, he will bear on his back the burden for the sins of the world.
This vision from Isaiah is the key to understanding the cross as the saving solution to the conflict of our deliberate sinfulness and God's determined desire to save and to redeem us. The cross is more than just a revelation of our sinfulness and of God's forgiving grace; the cross is the means by which a deed is done by God. God is at work on that cross changing us from sinners into his obedient children. The cross does not just say something; it does something. The cross does something to us as well as for us. The cross is an act of creation. We need more than to realize the truth that God loves us despite our unworthiness. We need an act that changes and transforms us. We need to be reborn - baptized into a new life.
The knowledge that we are sinners cannot by itself save, nor can it change us. We know that it is better for us mentally and physically to love than it is to hate. We know that anger serves no purpose except to cause our blood pressure to soar, which harms the heart, and ultimately endangers life itself. However, just as surely as someone insults us or betrays us, we can produce a long list of reasons as to why we should make an exception in this particular case of insult or betrayal; therefore, our reaction is to hate rather than to love. We know that it is more practical and more efficient to be kind than it is to be nasty and hot-tempered. But, when we have a splitting headache or we are in a bad mood, we do not think; we just act, snap back, find fault, lash out, curse, or even strike our assailant.
We know that it is better for our happiness to be honest than it is to be dishonest: "Better humble than proud." We know that hope is better than despair, faith better than fear, forgiveness better than resentment, and industry better than idleness. We know all this! Nevertheless, in a given moment, we act or react spontaneously without thinking, without reasoning, or without considering the consequences. After the damage is done, we can give all manner of excuses and logical rationalizations for what we have done. We can even, at times, convince others that we were not really ourselves. The truth is, however, in our disobedience to God's will, we are our true selves. That is the problem. It is not what we do that is wrong; it is what we are. It is us. We are wrong. We are, as Isaiah says in the First Lesson, "strayed sheep." We have left God's path to follow a path of our own choosing. We know exactly where we are in relationship to our God. We have deliberately strayed from God's way. We know that we are wrong. Salvation is not a matter of knowing; it is a matter of growing - becoming a new and a different person.
We are possessed, taken captive, and held fast by something deep within ourselves that is evil. There is no amount of moral plastic surgery or ethical cosmetics that can change what we are inside. Beauty, it is said, is only skin deep, but sin is not. Sin is at the very depth of our nature. Sin is what we are.
This is why we need more than the historic event of the cross to enlighten us and to remind us of how much God loves us. We need a crucified Lord who can truly bear the burden of our sins and give us a new and a redeemed inner self. We need God to die for us. We need God to baptize us with his own sacrificial blood. We need to be made new persons. This is what only God, and God alone, can do.
When Jesus turned his face like flint toward Jerusalem and told his disciples that he was to be mocked, scourged, condemned, and crucified, the disciples did not hear. In their minds, the holy city of Jerusalem was the place where Christ would be crowned king and where they would hold places of honor beside him. They even argued about who should be at his right hand and who should be at his left. As they argued, our Lord asked them, "Are you able to drink of the cup that I shall drink of and to be baptized with the baptism that I am to be baptized with?" And the dumbfounded disciples answered, "We are able."
Generally, we do not associate baptism with the cross. Oh, we hear the words of the baptismal service which declares that in our baptismal experience we die with Christ and are raised with him to a new life. But baptism is associated with babies - not death.
When we participate in the baptismal liturgy and see the water in the font, do we ever think of blood? It is doubtful that we do. Water is a refreshing element. It is clear and clean - not at all like blood. But, there is blood in the baptismal waters, and we need to see it.
When we use the expression "blood is thicker than water," we are saying that being related to a person by blood bonds us in a very special way to that person. That is why today/tonight, on this Good Friday, we need to see the blood in the baptismal waters. The cross was our Lord's baptism of blood. If our Lord had not suffered and shed his blood on the cross, then the water of our baptism would be just water that would wash only the outside of our bodies like a shower or a bath. But, because of the shed blood of Christ, our baptism cleanses our innermost being, and gives us new life. Because of Christ's shed blood on the cross, and because that shed blood is in the waters of baptism, we are related to Christ in a special way. We are a blood-bought and blood-baptized people. Our Lord's shed blood not only gives us a new life; it also gives us a new relationship to him and to one another.
A pastor stood in an intensive care unit of a hospital. His mother was dying. He spoke to her softly, "Mother, do you want communion?" There was a long, silent stare and then the pastor's mother answered, "I want to be baptized." The son knew that his mother had been baptized and that baptism is a one-and-for-all-times event. He also knew that this was no time to teach his mother a lesson in theology. Then it occurred to him that what his mother desired was a reaffirmation of her baptism. As she was leaving this life, she wanted to hear once again the reassuring words that in her baptism she had been given a life that does not end. What should he do? Then he saw that a tear had fallen on the back of his hand. He dipped his finger into his own tear, and he made with it the sign of the cross on his mother's forehead. She died smiling.
This is the meaning of Good Friday. This is the day when the whole human race was baptized with the tears of a suffering savior. This is the day when we were washed by the blood of the Lamb of God who was slain for our sins. Our Lord's tears and his blood, shed on the cross, seal for us the sacrament of Holy Baptism and consecrate the wine of Holy Communion.
There is no need for us to go back in time to stand at the cross on Calvary. Because of Christ's baptism of blood and tears, we are moving forward to an unending glory. Therefore, rejoice! We have been baptized with blood and with tears. Now we are able to live with God forever in glory.
