The Last Sunday after
Pentecost, November 25, 2007, Proper 29C
Why the Cross today?
The Rev. Robert B. Wood,
St. Aidan’s Episcopal Church, Alpharetta, Georgia
Three years ago, I preached my first
sermon here at St. Aidan’s—on these same lessons. That’s the way it
works with the lectionary, and that three-year lectionary cycle is one
of the ways we clergy measure time. It takes three years to journey
through the life and teachings of Jesus as told by Matthew, Mark,
John, and Luke—who we have read most recently. And whether we find
ourselves in Lectionary year A, B, or C—our scriptural journey ends
with words of “last things,” with Jesus saying something about
judgment. Today, those words come as we meet Jesus on the cross.
It’s an interesting place to end the
lectionary year because we know that the cross is not the end of the
story. There are other chapters, happier chapters, like resurrection,
Pentecost, and even the yet-to-be chapter of judgment day. So it is
fair to ask why, on this “last day” traditionally known as Christ the
King Sunday, why not read a more triumphant passage, like Jesus
sitting on a heavenly throne—a place of power and victory. Thrones
are the places of kings.
Jesus is on the cross—which, on the
other hand, does make sense if we consider the cross as his
place of victory over sin and death. So let’s take a closer look at
this scene that Luke paints. They are at a place called the Skull. I
imagine heat, a cactus or two, and a lot of rocks. Not much life…and
a lot of crosses.
Jesus is on one of them surrounded by
people, like Jewish leaders, Roman soldiers, a voiceless crowd of
bystanders that likely included some disciples and some followers, and
two criminals -- hanging on their own crosses right beside Jesus.
Almost all have something to say, and most of it is not very nice.
Luke reports slur after slur after
slur. “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah
of God, his chosen one.” That from the Jewish leaders who have
been waiting for this false prophet to receive justice. The soldiers
join in, adding a more earthly title,
“If you are the King of the Jews, save
yourself!” Even one of the criminals can say through his own pain,
“Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself, and us!”
All three tell Jesus to “save yourself,”
and no doubt, Luke sees that as a malevolent tease on Jesus’ own name,
which means, “the Lord saves.” Of course, they are all looking for a
big miracle—and physical survival. But Jesus has come not to save
himself, but to save them—to save us—by forgiving sins
and restoring our relationship with God.
Words of forgiveness are actually the
first words we hear from Jesus today: “Father, forgive them, because
they know not what they do.” Can you imagine? On that hot day, he is
suffering, bleeding, groaning and he prays for his enemies.
Of course, he had taught his disciples
to do the same—and that’s all well and good in principle. But really,
to do it, to muster up forgiveness in the midst of pain and anger and
betrayal—that is holy strength. The strength of a king. If it were
you, who might you pray that God forgives? You’ve got a clear mind at
the moment. No physical duress. No one taunting you.
If we are to be Christ-like—and we
are—we take our cues from Christ and pray for God to forgive our
enemies. Near or far.
That even includes our political or
business leaders when they mock the rules and the common good, and
care for their own interests. God, forgive them. Forgiving enemies
likely includes terrorists—whether they are brainwashed or in full
control of their murderous actions. God-forgive them. And on this
day when we remember the MDGs in prayer, forgiving includes the
“haves” of this world who often voicelessly and unknowingly perpetuate
the suffering of the “have-nots”—the hungry, unemployed, and
illiterate.
When we hear Jesus ask God to forgive
those around the cross, we should take note, and we should hear that
plea as a request for all those present—even the voiceless
bystanders. Forgive them too, Father. Forgive them too.
I think Jesus’ plea also echoes
mercifully through the generations to us—who are too often voiceless,
too often ignorant, of the things we do to betray Jesus. Yes, we may
not be the mockers or the hard-hearted—outwardly betraying God. But
our sins of omission are just as criminal.
So listen carefully on this last Sunday
of the church year. Hear some of the last words of our Lord. There
on the cross, Jesus asks God to forgive them and to forgive us. That
is good news. The other two significant characters in this scene are
the criminals. They have their own cross, their own death sentence.
We don’t know why they’re there. Theft? Murder? Treason? We don’t
even know if they are Jewish. All we really know is there are two,
and they are hanging in pain the same way Jesus is.
One of them, even in his own pain and
guilt, has the pluck to taunt Jesus a little bit himself. “Are you
not the Messiah? Save yourself, and us!” `Make this pain and
judgment go away.’ And I can almost hear him saying, “and I’ll
promise that I’ll never do it again.” Oh, it’s very human…and very
self-absorbed.
The other criminal speaks up—rebukes him
and admits that they have been condemned justly, “getting what we
deserve.” He asks his fellow criminal, “Do you not fear God?” `Do
you not know you are moments from death, moments from judgment?’ You
have done something wrong, “but this man, he has done nothing wrong.”
With those words, he’s the only human
being defending Jesus that day. Through all the taunts, all the
silence, comes the voice of a criminal the voice of one who knows he
needs help, and asks, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
He calls Jesus by name—reaffirming the saving power of that name—and
offers what amounts to a profession of faith. At least a profession
of hope. “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
Of all the unlikely confessors! He
acknowledges his sin (like a prodigal son), and he recognizes Jesus’
power to save—to have power and memory and mercy that transcends pain
and more importantly, transcends death.
That holy power is what commends this
lesson to be read on the last Sunday of the church year. This is the
picture we are to have—of a merciful Jesus surrounded by criminals,
by sinners, of all types. Not just the obvious ones on the
crosses, but the mockers and the silent on the ground. There is no
one in that picture who doesn’t need forgiveness, just like there is
no one in the picture of all humanity that doesn’t need forgiveness.
And as the one confessor shows, the humble request makes an impression
on Jesus. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
So the question is, how do you want
Jesus to remember you? As one who mocked, as one who is silent, as one
dying in bitter cynicism just a few feet away from salvation, or as
the penitent confessor asking for mercy? Jesus helps us with that
answer in his second proclamation of the day’s lesson—by reassuring
the penitent criminal, “Today, you will be with me in Paradise.”
What an amazing response from one
carrying the painful burden of betrayal in his crucified hands and in
his heavy heart. But remember the name: Jesus. “The Lord saves.”
Even in that painful place, he could think of others—reach out to
them—and offer more than they deserve.
When that criminal saw him again…in
paradise…there on his real throne, the seat of mercy, he knew he
got more than he deserved. And has he looked around, I pray that he
saw others from that day at the place of the Skull, others who had
been forgiven, and had come to discover the power of the mercy of God.
And I pray that whatever the church year, all we do and say at St.
Aidan’s leads you to that place of confession—that through the
powerful mercy of God and with our penitent hearts, we’ll be there to
see them…and see Him…and join in the chorus: Amen, Jesus. The
Lord Saves.
© The Rev. Robert B. Wood. All Rights
reserved.
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