2009-Lent-Forty Days with Jesus

Alleluia, Christ is risen!
The Lord is Risen indeed, Alleluia!

The penitential season of Lent is over. With the dawn of this new day, the time for rejoicing has come. Triumphant Alleluias replace our solemn laments. Fasting gives way to joyful feasts. Today the empty tomb transforms the cross from a symbol of agony and death to a symbol of triumph and new life.

After forty days, I am finally ready for Easter. These daily meditations on Matthew’s gospel have helped me think more deeply about the ministry of Jesus and about my own ministry. The conversations with many of you in the small groups I’ve met with at church on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings, and the conversations on this blog have brought new insights to my understandings of God’s word. This year’s season of lent has been a wonderful gift and I want to thank everyone who shared the journey with me.

“Do not be afraid…I am going ahead of you.” Those are the most powerful words of Easter to me. There is so much I don’t know or understand, so much I can never comprehend, but I can choose to put my confidence in Jesus. Today I celebrate the mystery of Easter with confidence and joy knowing that Christ has gone ahead of me and waits to see me.

After the busyness of all of the Holy Week celebrations, Saturday feels strange to me. There is nothing that can be done. Jesus lies dead in a sealed tomb. The horror of crucifixion has passed, the crowds have disbursed, the scheming has run its course. What is done is done. Saturday, while Jesus lies dead in the sealed tomb, we are left with numbed silence.

Today I need to be still. I’m not ready to sing triumphant alleluias yet. I need to allow the significance of Jesus’ death to sink in. It feels like a fragile time to me, an in between time, a time of dislocation. The quiet isn’t soothing. It feels heavy, almost oppressive. Something should be said or done but there is nothing to say or do. Today is a day to sit with the stillness. What has been is finished. What is to be has not yet begun.

Sometimes I forget that the day between crucifixion and resurrection was a Sabbath day.

We don’t really find a theology of the cross in Matthew’s gospel. It is simply reported as an event that took place, like a news report relating the details of what actually happened. Simon was compelled to carry the cross, a drink of wine mixed with gall was offered to the condemned man, a sign was displayed above his head, the crowd mocked him, bandits were crucified next to him, even the inglorious final words of the dying man are reported: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Matthew doesn’t speculate on the meaning of the cross. Those theological queries are left for others to take up. It is one of Paul’s favorite themes in his letters, especially the letter to the Romans. But Matthew isn’t compelled to make sense out of the crucifixion. There is no speculation about an atoning sacrifice, nothing about the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, nothing about the blood price of our sins being paid for in the blood of Jesus. For Matthew, it is just another execution. Jesus was crucified for treason by the Romans.

At the moment of Jesus’ death, Matthew reports that the curtain in the temple was torn in half, and the earth shook, and rocks were split and a terrified soldier acknowledged, “truly this was the Son of God.” It is as if Matthew is acknowledging that even though Jesus was killed, the power of God could not be destroyed. Three days later the reality of that truth would be revealed in the resurrection.

I don’t have much of a theology of the cross. I can’t imagine a bloodthirsty God whose righteous anger needed to be appeased by a perfect and unblemished sacrifice. Jesus paying the price for my sin doesn’t make much sense to me. If God is gracious, then I don’t understand the need for someone else to settle my debt. To me, the cross is a reminder of the depth of God’s deep love for the world. Even after the blood of the beloved Son of God was shed by human hands, God has not forsaken us. Instead of destroying the earth, it shook for a moment, and then God’s love redeemed us all.

In the aftermath of the catastrophic episode in the temple, while nerves were frayed and tempers were raw, the disciples prepared to celebrate the Passover. The quiet calm of that upper room was quite a contrast to the turmoil in the temple when Jesus overturned the tables of the money changers and merchants.

The ritual meal they shared that night reminded them of God’s faithfulness to their ancestors. They told the story of how their forefathers had been slaves in Egypt, oppressed by Pharaoh and forced to bear heavy burdens. They remembered how God heard the cries of their people and sent Moses to deliver them from their bondage. They remembered the blood of the lamb that marked their doorposts and delivered them from the angel of death. They recalled their passage through the waters of the Red Sea, the manna from heaven that fed them in the wilderness, the water that flowed from the rock to quench their parched throats in the desert.

Unleavened bread, bitter herbs, wine, lamb…just ordinary ingredients. But as they told the stories of their ancestors, the meal they shared that night gave them a new perspective on their own situation. As they broke bread and drank wine with Jesus, they recognized how God was delivering them again. “Take, eat; this is my body…this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”

As we move through these familiar events of Holy Week, it is not enough to remember the stories of what took place two thousand years ago. We must allow them to give us a new perspective on our own situation. Tonight I hope that you find a quiet place to shut out the turmoil of your life and share the simple meal that people of faith have been sharing for centuries as God continues to feed us with the bread of life and the cup of salvation.

Today we have two people whose stories have been preserved for thousands of years: one who gave and one who took.

The woman who anointed Jesus with precious oil is never named in Matthew’s gospel. We don’t know who she is; instead she is remembered by what she did. On the way to the cross, she anointed Jesus with expensive perfume. I’m sure she would have been surprised to hear Jesus say that she had anointed him for burial. I doubt that was her intent. It was simply the best gift she could think to give him, and Jesus commended her for it.

In contrast, Judas’ name is infamous. He has been vilified for betraying Jesus because he took Jesus’ love, trust and loyalty and used it to destroy him. It wasn’t Judas who nailed Jesus to the cross, and I doubt Jesus would have left Jerusalem unharmed without Judas’ betrayal, but our contempt for Judas makes little distinction. He exploited the vulnerability of Jesus’ love, and for that he is despised. Even Judas couldn’t live with himself afterward.

The woman who anointed Jesus portrays us at our best: selflessly sharing what we have without seeking any reward. Judas portrays us at our worst: exploiting vulnerabilities and betraying trusts for our own selfish gain. One is the source of joy in our lives; the other is a source of deep shame. Both are unforgettable.