4th of the 7 last words

Matthew 27:38-46

Have you ever tried to do something really worthwhile, really noble, only to have it blow up in your face?

·         Maybe you took in someone in need only to have them steal from you.

·         Or maybe you went above and beyond to make amends with a friend only to have them berate you and tell you how awful you are.

·         Or maybe you sent substantial money to a charity only to find out the project was a scam.

                Having our earnest attempts at faithfulness blow up in our face knocks the wind out of us.  It can feel like we’re suffocating when we learn the awful news. Our heart stops and drops into the pit of our stomach as we try and wrap our minds around the truth of our heartbreak, the betrayal that we feel. 

                In the midst of our pain, we are tempted to ask, “God where are you?  I was seeking to serve you, to honor your laws.  What happened?  How could you let it go so wrong?  We are tempted to question we have misheard God, or whether God misled us?

·         Was I really supposed to take that person to my home?  Is that really what you wanted me to do?

·         Or was reconciliation even possible? Was forgiveness even worth it?  After all, I only made it worse…

·         Or how could that so called Philanthropist have lied? How could they show all those starving children and then take the money for themselves?  They said they were doing your work Lord, why did you let this happen?

·         Why God? How could you let such things happen?  Why is it worth being faithful if awful things happen?

We ask those questions, don’t we? When our hearts are breaking.  When we feel lost and betrayed.

This week, as we look at the 4^th of the 7 last words, we hear Jesus ask a similar question, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”  Jesus, in the midst of doing the most selfless thing ever done is betrayed, abused, and mocked.  He might have hoped for at least one person who understood—one person who recognized what he was doing as he hung there suffering. But instead of seeking eternal victory—eternal salvation—the crowds, the guards, the Pharisees—all they wanted was the quick fix. 

So what if he freed himself from the cross?  Aside from a quick show of power, what would have been accomplished?

What if he had fought the Romans, to what end? Even if he freed the Jews from Roman rule—for how long?  They couldn’t have been safe forever.

Instead, Jesus followed God’s plan for a lasting victory, for eternal salvation and so he hung there on the cross, ever faithful to God and to the people he sought to save. And things couldn’t have felt more desperate. 

·         Beaten

·         Rejected

·         Barely breathing

·         Spat upon

·         Mocked

·         Neglected

·         Betrayed

·         Heartbroken

“My God, my God why hast thou forsaken me?”

Jesus was desperate, alone, and hurting.  The Word who put on flesh hit bottom emotionally and ached for a reprieve.  He’s hurt as much as we have. That living hell that we experience from time to time—he was there, on the cross. 

Because of Easter, we are prone to romanticize the cross. Because we’ve seen the happy ending, we think the suffering must not have been that bad. But it was. It was worse than our greatest pain.  Christ’s pain was greater as he hung there alone, rejected, and  betrayed on the cross.  It was greater, not so he could win the “my-hurt-is-greater-than-yours” contest but so that no matter our circumstances no matter how awful we feel, how deeply we are wounded or how often we’ve been betrayed, God can always empathize and say, “I know how bad it hurts. I promise I do. And it will get better. I made sure of that.”

In addition to forgiveness, in addition to salvation, in addition to new family relations, God wanted us to know that we are never alone in our pain. As deeply as we’ve hurt, Christ has hurt.  As lonely as we’ve felt Christ has felt. It is because of Christ, through Christ that we know we are never neglected or forgotten.

That’s the first part of the story—God knows our pain. God has felt desperation, loneliness, and betrayal. And God has overcome all of that. Remember, when God tell sus God knows our pain—God also promises it will get better. A truth God knows because of Christ’s victory. A truth that was known even before then, a truth that has been known for centuries, one that was told by the psalmist.

Jesus’ words, “Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani. My God, my God why hast thou forsaken me?” come from the 22^nd Psalm—parts of which we read as the call to worship today.  The Psalm starts with the cry for help: My God, my God why hast thou forsaken me? The psalmist pleads to be heard by God, but hears no reply.  But even when he hears no answer, he still acknowledges that God has been faithful through the ages.  God saved the ancestors—they trusted and were not disappointed.  The psalmist reminds himself that God has provided for and helped him to this point.   And then the psalmist tells of the trial he faced. “many bulls surround me” “roaring lions open their mouths wide against me” “my strength is dried up”. The psalmist pleads again for help and then begins to praise God. He claims the promises, claims God’s victories—clinging to the hope of the future.

That’s the story of the psalm and, in essence, that’s Jesus’ story on the cross. His cry of dereliction wasn’t any ordinary plea for help.  It’s to claim the promise of hope—confidence in how God will heal and save. 

Jesus cried out in desperation that day. That cannot be denied.  He hurt as deeply as any of us have ever hurt. And he hoped—as earnestly as any of us have for the fulfillment of God’s promises.  He cried out as we have, in his darkest hour, desperate to hear God’s voice and though he heard no answer, he had hope—hope that carried from his ancestors—hope that allowed them to keep on despite the magnitude of their pain. Hope that was transformed and amplified by Christ’s death on the cross.

The 4^th of the 7 last words gives us assurance that God knows the depth of our pain intimately AND it reminds us to have hope even through our toughest trials and worst heartbreaks.

 Let us give thanks to God.  Amen

2nd of the 7 last words

This is the second Sunday in Lent and our 2^nd week studying the 7 last words of Christ. We are examining the last things he said while on the cross at Calvary.  And we are seeking to understand what they mean for us and our understanding of the cross, as well as in our faith walk.

Last week we heard the 1^st saying from the Gospel of Luke.  “Forgive them Father, for they do not know what they do.”  We saw how central forgiveness is for us. We say how Christ asks God to forgive us even as we sin. We saw how forgiveness is offered firsts, before we repent, before we confess, Christ offers us forgiveness.  His first action on the cross was to pray for us, the sinners, so that we might be forgiven. We also saw that as part of our discipleship, as part of our attempt to follow him, and walk in his ways, we are called to forgive others as we have been forgiven.

Today, we will look at the 2^nd word—the word we hear from the gospels of Matthew and mark.  “Today you will be with me in paradise.”  To understand any of the last sayings, we have to see Jesus on the cross—we have to imagine the scene at Calvary and this passage helps us to do that.   Today, we will hear from a woman, a passerby, he remembers that day, those events, only too well. 

There were 3 crosses, 3 criminals hanging from them.  They are all 3 battered, bruised and bleeding.  They have all 3 endured incredible abuse by the soldiers, that’s how they liked to do it, the bloodier the better by their standards—it wouldn’t work as a “deterrent to future crime” if it didn’t look absolutely awful. Normally, they would each have to carry their own crosses, though the one they hung in the middle, for whatever reason, a different man was carrying his cross.  They hung their, battered and hurting just from the beating. And then they hammered those awful nails into their wrists and the one into their ankles.  The sight of it made me want to wretch.  I can’t even imagine how painful it all is. You’re so tired already and then you have your arms spread out like an eagle and it gets harder and harder to breathe.  I hate the crucifixions.  I try to avoid them if I can, but the Romans insist on doing them on the main roads and when you have to go that way, you have to pass them. 

I don’t think I would have noticed any real difference between the three men, except the one in the middle seemed to be the center of attention. He was wearing a crown of thorns and they had an old board above his head that said “King of the Jews.”  Though I thought, “He can’t possibly be a king. There’s no way they would get away with this if he were!”  I don’t know what he did, but it must have been awful. The crowd was outraged at him. They were ruthless—hurling insults at him.  Angry as wet hornets.  It seemed awfully spiteful since he was clearly powerless hanging on that cross. But they kept telling him to save himself.  He looked so pitiful.  Bloody and broken.  You could tell it wasn’t just his body—his heart seemed broken too. It seemed like no one would show him even the smallest kindness.  Even one of the other guys hanging there started in on him, “Save yourself and us!” 

I’m not sure if he was as angry and mean as the others or if he was just desperate. I think I might have asked the same.  I’m pretty sure I’d feel desperate hanging there in agonizing pain. I’d want someone to save me too. 

Never once did the man with the crown defend himself. He didn’t beg for mercy. He didn’t argue with them. He didn’t even get angry and tell them to “shut up”.

But then the other man, the third man, he spoke up.  It was the firsts courageous thing anyone did all day. He got after the other guy—the one on the other side. He said, “aren’t you even afraid of God? We’re not in any better shape hanging here and you have the audacity to mock him?!? How dare you. We’re at least getting what we deserve. We’re guilty. But this guy, he’s not.”

It was amazing. Not one person was willing to stand up for this supposed king, except for the murderer hanging on the cross.  And in that moment—something shifted for me.  Being an outsider I didn’t know any of these people. I didn’t know the Jews even had a king. The only king I knew was Cesar.  I couldn’t figure out what a king would have to do to be hung like this. I mean, if you’ve never seen one, a crucifixion is awful. It’s gotta be the worst way to die.  Never mind, of course you’ve seen one, we’ve all seen one around here.  They happen all the time.  Anyway, like I was saying, something happened. Remember the 3^rd guy said the king guy was innocent.  He hadn’t done anything wrong.  And then the 3^rd man turned to the king and said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

Jesus. His name was Jesus.  I don’t know that I can explain the power of that moment—but it was special—sacred even.  “remember me when you come into your kingdom.”  I’m not really sure what kingdom he meant. I mean, kings rule here on earth—while they are alive, not in death. I thought maybe the third gugy was hallucinating—you know with all the pain. But then Jesus responded. He said, “today you will be with me in paradise.  There was clearly something I did not understand,.

Today you will be with me in paradise. 

Today.

In paradise.

He had to mean there was something after death.  I mean they were both dying there.  There’s no surviving the cross.  But Jesus said, “today you will be with me in paradise.”  If Jesus was right, there has to be an afterelife.  There has to be something more.  And it’s called Paradise. I don’t know what you know about Paradise, but what I know is it’s amazing. Paradise is the king’s garden and it’s gorgeous.

Flowers.

Trees.

Waterfalls.

Animals. Beautiful exotic animals

Giraffes. Elephants. Peacocks. Horses. 

I even heard about one garaden that had a lion. Can you imagine?!?

I was sort of dumbstruck. It seemed like maybe this Jesus guy was a king. And obviously his kingdom came after death. I don’t really understand that but he said, ‘today you will be with me in paradise.” That must mean if we ask him to remember us, he will and we will get to join him in paradise. He will be our king and we get to go to his amazing gardens.

Luke 23--First Word

Throughout Lent, we will be looking at the 7 last words of Jesus.  Technically, it is the 7 last statements or sayings of Jesus, but somewhere along the way, they became the 7 last words.  They come from all 4 of the gospels.  Matthew and Mark have the same phrase, verbatim.  “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabacthani, My God, my God why has though forsaken me.”  They both have both the Aramaic that would have been spoken and the Greek translation.   Luke has 3 and John has 3.  No one gospel has all 7 sayings.  There is a traditional order to the sayings, and that is the order we will follow, but it is merely a best guess since no gospel has all of the sayings. 

                Dying words are important and powerful for the simple fact that they come at the end of life.  They often provide a window into the soul.  Sometimes the words reveal fear, sometimes peace, sometimes love.  They can reveal where someone is physically, or emotionally, or mentally. 

                In the coming weeks, we will be looking more closely at the things Jesus said while on the cross and we will seek to understand him better, appreciate the significance of his sacrifice and draw closer to him throughout Lent.  We have a new focal point during worship to help us keep the cross central in our minds as we hear these sacred words.  Hopefully, some old understandings about the cross will be solidified and clarified and some new understanding may be exposed. 

                Today’s word is: “Father forgive them for they know not what they do.”  It is a simple phrase, yet it is packed with meaning.  The first thing worthy of mention is that it is a prayer. In the middle of his suffering, after being beaten, mocked, and tortured—the first words across Jesus’ lips were a prayer. I’m pretty sure most of us would not have been so gracious.

·         Some of us would have hurled insults. 

·         Some of us would have sworn a blue streak

·         Some of us would have done it in true style and thrown insults covered in curses. 

·         Others of us would have simply asked, “Why? Why me? Why this?”

·         Some of us would have begged for mercy. We would have asked for release, for pardon, whatever might have been necessary to make the suffering stop.

It is the rare person who offers a prayer first and foremost while being persecuted.  And Jesus was that person.  You could argue, “Well, he was divine, he was supposed to do that.” But you have to remember he was fully human. The thing that makes him so special is that despite being God—he lived as a man and experienced all that we do.  And he showed us what it means to live the best in each of us. Jesus shows us that the best of our nature is to pray for those who persecute us, even while they are hurting us physically and emotionally.  That doesn’t mean we tolerate abuses and make it ok.  It simply means that when we live with Christ in our hearts that we are more inclined to pray, to seek God’s redemption and mercy for the other, than we are to wish them harm. 

The second thing worth mentioning is that even as a prayer, Jesus said these words aloud.  They were loud enough to be heard and overheard. “Father forgive them.”  Them.  All of them.  The soldiers. The Sanhedrin. The Pharisees. Father forgive them. The disciples. His family. His best friend. Father forgive them. The onlookers.  The criminals. Those that sneered. Those that mocked. Father forgive them. Them. All  of them . No matter their status. No matter their rank.  Father forgive them.  No matter their gender. No matter their religion. Father forgive them. No matter their doubt. No matter their beliefs. Father forgive them.  No matter their faithfulness. No matter their sinfulness.  Father forgive them. No matter their role in his crucifixion.  Father forgive them for they know not what they do. No one could have fully understood that day what it was that was about to transpire.  No one fully understood who Jesus was.  No one fully grasped what it would mean for him to die.  And certainly no one would understand what it would mean for him to be resurrected, for him to live again after death had fully taken hold.  Forgive them for they know not what they do.  Jesus wanted those people to hear his prayer. He wanted God to forgive them.  And it was critical that they know that. It was essential that they understood that part of the significance of the cross is forgiveness, for all of them. Not just for the disciples. Not just for a chosen few. Not just for the Jews. But for them, all of them.  Forgiveness for everyone.

Not only were those words meant to be heard on that day, but they were meant to be repeated often enough so that they were deemed worthy of recording, worthy of being included in the gospel story.  Jesus wanted us to hear this prayer.  He wanted us to know that we are forgiven people.  Even in the midst of our sin, Christ prays for us: Father forgive them for they know not what they do.  Not that we aren’t aware of our sinful behaviors, most of us are.  But that we don’t understand fully the consequences of our sin. That we don’t comprehend fully how damaging our sinful behaviors are.  We need forgiveness.  No matter who we are. No matter what we have done. No matter our doubt. No matter our belief. Christ asked that we would be forgiven.

We talk a lot about forgiveness in the church.  Even preaching about it today sort of feels a little odd since we spent so much time last week in prayer asking for forgiveness.  But once a week forgiveness isn’t even often enough.  Forgiveness is to be a daily discipline for us.  It is a sacred action. In some ways it should be worthy of being a sacrament.  But, in essence, through baptism and communion, it is.  Through the sacraments, we receive God’s grace, we receive God’s forgiveness.  And because we have received, we should be willing to share it. 

        Last week, we sang “Freely, freely”.  The beginning words to the hymn are, “God forgave my sin in Jesus’ name. I’ve been born again in Jesus’ name.  And in Jesus’ name, I come to you, to share his love as he told me to. He said, ‘Freely, freely you have received, freely freely give.”  Forgiveness and grace are not simply meant for us.  Once we have received, we are meant to give.  Even in the Lord’s prayer, we are taught to pray for both the giving and receiving of forgiveness.  “And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”   Forgive us Lord as we forgive others. Forgive us in the ways we forgive others. Forgive us while we are in the midst of forgiving.  Our forgiveness, in more than one scripture, hinges upon us forgiving others.  

A More Excellent Way

A couple of weeks ago, we heard Wesley’s description of a Methodist.  In essence, it was, a perfect disciple.  And while we could appreciate the ideal, most of us would be put to shame if compared to a true Methodist. 

                At the beginning of his ministry, John Wesley held a pretty hard line about good Christians and what you had to do to qualify.  As is often the case, ministry taught him a few things.  Wesley “softened” a bit over the years.  Not in a bad way, but in a way that made room for the realities, pitfalls, and shortcomings of being human.  As Wesley gained some perspective in practical ministry he moved from an idealist perspective to one that was more feasible. 

                Some might say Wesley lost his salt, that he lost sight of the truth. But I’d have to disagree.  I think Wesley found the truth.  The truth is that a classroom theory often loses touch with the complexities of reality.

                I know because it happened to me.  In seminary they teach you a lot. You study the Old Testament for a year, you study the New Testament for a year.  You study Christian history, systematic theology, preaching, teaching, worship, administration and more.  And in the practice of ministry classes like preaching and worship, you explore endless possibilities of how to do things. You use a dozen different hymnals, dancers, poets, all types of choirs and musicians.  In classes on mission and politics you study how to change the world—one life and one law at a time.  In most cases you learn some sort of ideal of how things should be if the Gospel were lived perfectly and the church weren’t riddled with conflict.       All of that tends to make you very hopeful—which is a good thing. But it can also set you up for a fall. 

                When I entered full time ministry, I was shocked that my church looked nothing like the one I had prepared for.  My church had hurts and wounds and resentments that lasted years. It had a trend of decline rather than growth. It had orange carpet on the floors and the ceilings.  It wasn’t a bad church by any means—the people were amazing.  But it wasn’t always what I expected.  And I had been trained to institute MY ideas, but I quickly learned it wasn’t about me.  I couldn’t run roughshod with all of my ideas because my ideas hadn’t taken into account the uniqueness of my people. 

                If the seminary connection isn’t helpful, think of it this way…at an early age most of us saw Disney movies and we learned a very romantic and problem free version of relationships and love, right?  And depending on our parents’ relationship, we may or may not have had that notion challenged.  Later we began to think we might fall in love—that we might have our own love story.  And we thought we’d get married and have all that romance and beauty.  And then when we got married, we were confronted with the reality—love can be wonderful and sweet and full of romance, but it can also be frustrating, hurtful, and fraught with problems.  There is sickness, there is debt, there is hardship and family conflict…none of which were featured on the big screen of love.  In essence, we were prepared for something different than the reality of love and marriage. 

                I think in some ways, Wesley had a similar problem.  Early in ministry he held to an ideal so strongly that he neglected the individuality of the people.  But time taught him that life and ministry and discipleship weren’t always ideal.  John still sought after the highest standard, but with a lot more room for grace and encouragement. 

                Toward the end of his life, he wrote a sermon called “A More Excellent Way” and in it he describes two ways of being Christian.

1)      The general way

2)     The more excellent way

The general way was good—you avoided sin, sought to do good, and followed the commandments.  The more excellent way included all of that and added the idea of Christian perfection where you strive to have the mine of Christ.