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Part One
A Good Friday Meditation
Scripture:
Luke 23:24-49
Sidney Michaels, in the preface
to his play Dylan, writes: “In the dark of the
theatre we can go and remember ourselves… Our private selves
are as differing pearls that yet hang integrated on a
strand; the force that through us runs and tethers us
together, be it called heart or soul or God or being… That
is where we live, in the reality of the theatre. Not in the
fiction of society. It is where we can identify.” The
playwright concludes by acknowledging his “respect for all
the uncommon things we have in common.”
It is interesting to me that he
characterizes the theater as the place to remember where we
live our reality. It is the place where we can identify the
uncommon common threads in our connected lives.
Roger Rosenblatt, in the
foreword to Erik Kolbell’s book, Were You There?Finding
Ourselves at the Foot of the Cross, quotes the author:
“The Passion is the story of one person with the echoes of
many, and while I stand in awe of the one who laid down his
life for me, I stand in sympathy with those around him,
because in their stories I so readily see my own.”
We hear of the famous Passion
Play at Oberamergau performed every ten years. We are told
of the passion story by preachers. Or simply we are told of
the Passion as in the Mel Gibson movie, The Passion of
the Christ. Whatever its power, it is because we can
enter the story and find ourselves. Holy Week is a casting
call for each of us. With whom do you and I identify? The
real question is not “Are you there?” but “Are you here? And
who are you?”
The Passion story grips us not
only because of its drama, but because it is also about
cowards, power brokers, the self-righteous, traitors, the
gentle, the unsuspecting, the valorous, the criminals, the
bystanders, the crowd, the soldiers, the politicians and the
establishment leaders. Mary comforts, Judas betrays, Thomas
doubts, Peter swears fealty, Cleopas ignores, Joseph seeks,
Simon helps, the Daughters of Jerusalem weep, Pilate
pontificates. How could we not find the drama of the Passion
so compelling? It has themes of guilt, forgiveness,
betrayal, compassion, injustice, mobocracy, cruelty, sadism,
valor, courage, loyalty and power struggles. These are
themes and roles we find in all our lives. Which ones do we
connect with today? Remember, this is a casting call for
your role.
First a word about the play. Its
title might be Where is God? or Where am I?
There are plot twists and reversals. There is violence and
love. From the world’s perspective, the play has had a
checkered history. It was not popular from the start. It
still has the power to shock and even dismay its
participants. We need to remember, however, that today’s
play is only Part One. Part Two opens Sunday. Part Two is
more popular and better known. It is glitzier and definitely
Broadway bound. The attendance figures between Part One and
Part Two attest to the latter’s popularity and the former’s
obscurity. Part Two has a glorious finish and consistently
outdraws our play which opens today. Our play is more
somber, usually plays smaller venues and is much less
popular. It is about us. It is about reality. However, it is
not the end of the story, but merely the prologue for the
triumph of Part Two.
Today’s play is about a loser,
about weakness, tragedy, brokenness, suffering, agony,
disaster, failure—from the world’s perspective. It is a
counter-cultural story. It contains lots of blood and gore.
It chronicles humanity’s inhumanity to humanity! In a word,
it has death as its center.
Having set the stage, now for
the casting call for you and me. There are numerous parts—at
least one for each of us. Some of the characters have names;
others are anonymous but no less present. As Seaholm High
School finds a part for every student who turns out for the
spring musical, so does this passion play. There are enough
parts to go around. While it is often hard to find an
audience for this play, it is easy to find people who suit
the roles. Remember, you won’t get a role in the sequel
unless you take a part now. It is, first of all, an
inclusive play, for the male/female roles are
interchangeable. It is a classic!
First, we have the secret
admirers. A great number of people followed him, those
anonymous persons who stood back and observed but didn’t
want to get involved. They are the ones who, when quoted,
say, “Not for attribution.” They keep their options open.
Their concern is for the praise of men. The onlookers, the
bystanders, the spectators—those who like a good show. Bread
and circuses! These are the ones who go with the flow. Among
the bystanders were the “Daughters of Jerusalem” for whom
Jesus shows concern that they not weep for him, but for the
world.
Then we have the authorities,
the establishment, the accusers, the ones whose first
loyalty is to protecting the status quo. How does one
silence this dangerous Jesus person? These folks are the
protectors of the public order and religious orthodoxy. They
are defenders of the system. “We have always done it that
way” is their mantra. They have a “with us or agin’ us”
mentality. There is no room for dissent or disagreement.
Public order trumps justice. Fear of revolution or political
unrest dominates the public square.
Of course, these authorities
have names in our play: Pilate, Herod. They are the ones
looking out for their own necks. Holding focus groups and
sifting through polling data to do the popular, not the
right thing. Pandering to the religious authorities. Kolbell
refers to the Herods and Pilates of the world with these
damning words: “Denying responsibility for something you
have the power to stop is the refuge of cowards.” Herod,
like Pilate, attempts to distance himself from the verdict.
We’ll form five commissions to study these rabble rousers’
behavior.
Then there is the mob, the ones
caught up in the moment. Recent news stories from an
esteemed university remind us of a mob mentality. The
headlines once again come alive in the passion story. Pilate
was the ultimate oxymoron: a ruthless coward. The group is
self protective. As Reinhold Niebuhr has pointed out, a
group is an inherently more arrogant, self centered and
ruthless entity than any of its component parts, and a mob
only more so. It is hard to be heard over the voices calling
for crucifixions great or small, or choruses that champion
sameness for sameness sake.
The faithful followers. Where
are they? After last night’s supper with their Lord, they
disappear into thin air. Are they fair weather friends? Do
you count yourselves among the faithful followers?
Or do you aspire to be the
executioner, the good soldiers who merely carry out their
orders? Let the politicians and the judges do the dirty
work; we are only following orders. The landscape of history
is littered with the loyal soldiers who were only following
orders.
Then we have the traitor Judas,
who even today is being painted in a good light, if we
believe the recently revealed Gospel of Judas.
Traitors are the ones with their own agendas, the moles.
One of my favorite roles is that of Simon of Cyrene, the
passerby. The task of bearing the cross fell to a complete
stranger. The Roman soldier who relieved Jesus of his burden
and Simon, who was compelled to take it up, are not heroic
figures. The soldier just wanted to make sure Jesus was
alive by the time he reached the cross. Like Simon, we are
defined by the burdens we choose and the burdens which
choose us. Simon’s experience invites us to ask not why the
cross is lashed to our shoulders, but what we will do with
it. What will we see that we would not otherwise have seen?
From the executioner who drove the nails into Jesus’ hands
to the mother who wept at his feet, Simon recognizes that,
in the end, none of us is solely a spectator. We all
participate in this drama called life.
How about one of the thieves on
the cross? Are you the one who cries out, “Are you not the
Christ? Save yourself and us”—all the while looking
for the Superman Jesus to make it right? Or are you the one
who gets it and rebukes the other thief, saying, “Do you not
fear God, since you are under the same sentence of
condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly… but
this man has done nothing.” Then comes the dramatic moment
from one cross to another: “Jesus, remember me when you come
into your kingdom.” Can we as sinners utter these words? I
think of the Robert Frost poem, The Road Not
Taken. One thief had the courage to recognize
that Jesus was unjustly on the cross and “as two roads
diverged in a yellow wood, I took the one less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference.” His statement to
Jesus made all the difference because he found an invitation
to paradise.
Or are you the centurion who,
Mark reports, said: “Truly this man was the Son of God.”
Perhaps these are the most important lines in the play. What
is remarkable is that we have a career soldier, a centurion,
who commanded one hundred soldiers, one who had sworn
allegiance to Caesar as a god. Here we have a career officer
risking censure and his life by recognizing the Prince of
Peace. Again, today’s headlines are echoed. Think how
difficult it is for any of us to do a complete one-eighty in
our beliefs, habits and values.
In summary, John Newton, the one
who gave us “Amazing Grace,” sums up this play when he says:
“I remember two things: that I am a great sinner, and that
Christ is a great Savior.” That is where we enter the drama
in whatever role we have chosen.
As you can see, the play is
about us. We can’t escape because, like death, it confronts
us. Where then is God in all this drama? Gathering up our
uncommon humanity on the cross, revealing not the God we
want but the God who shares our rage, pain, agony and grief.
The God who journeys with us in life through whatever trials
we encounter. The God of Easter makes no sense without the
God of Good Friday.
My fervent wish is that between
now and Easter, we engage the cross and the waiting of Holy
Saturday so that we can rejoice in the play’s sequel on
Sunday. Because in this two-part drama, we have the good
news that divinity meets humanity on the cross, and through
death on a cross we are redeemed—whatever our roles in the
play. Hallelujah!!
Part Two
"A Sunday Kind of Love"
An Easter Evening Meditation
Scripture:
Luke 24:36-48
I
introduced my Good Friday meditation with the following
quote.
Sidney Michaels, in the preface
to his play Dylan, writes: “In the dark of the
theatre we can go and remember ourselves… Our private selves
are as differing pearls that yet hang integrated on a
strand; the force that through us runs and tethers us
together, be it called heart or soul or God or being… That
is where we live, in the reality of the theatre. Not in the
fiction of society. It is where we can identify.” The
playwright concludes by acknowledging his “respect for all
the uncommon things we have in common.”
It is interesting to me that he
characterizes the theater as the place to remember where we
live our reality.
Just last Thursday at our Maundy
Thursday worship, the sermon was about the room named
“Remember” and the act of remembrance—Holy Communion. It is
the place where we can identify the uncommon common threads
in our connected lives.
The Wall Street Journal
reported on Thursday that “The Play’s the Thing at
Pittsburgh Church.” The article was about the Hot Metal
Bridge Faith Community, a joint venture of the United
Methodists and the Presbyterians. No one preaches at Hot
Metal Bridge; plays are the liturgy. As one of the ministers
said: “Instead of coming to our church and listening to a
sermon, you can be part of the sermon.” The events of last
week—leading us from Palm Sunday through Holy Week, the
supper in the Upper Room, the Passion and Crucifixion of
Christ, and the seemingly endless wait of yesterday, to the
Good News of this morning, ending on the road and once again
around a meal—are all part of the drama in which each of us
plays a part. Now that we have heard of “all those things
that had happened,” what role do you choose in the unfolding
drama?
Roger Rosenblatt, in the
foreword to Erik Kolbell’s book, Were You There? Finding
Ourselves at the Foot of the Cross, quotes the
author: “The Passion is the story of one person with the
echoes of many, and while I stand in awe of the one who laid
down his life for me, I stand in sympathy with those around
him, because in their stories I so readily see my own.” This
evening we stand in sympathy with those on the road and at
the table with him. Their doubts are our doubts. His
injunction, “You are witnesses of these things,” is our
great commission.
Thus, if you were with us on
Good Friday, you would have heard your casting call. You
would have been invited into the drama. In Lent, we all have
been on the road to Jerusalem. But now we are on another
road—the road not just to Emmaus, but the road from
Jerusalem.
Now for tonight’s casting call.
Are we one of the two walking on the road who have heard all
the wonderful and strange things—the empty tomb, the report
of the women who saw “the vision of angels” who reported
that he was still alive? Are we the ones who love the story,
who talk about what happened in amazement that so many have
not heard the story, yet do not recognize him when we
encounter Jesus along the road of life? Do we
self-righteously proclaim to those we encounter along the
road the good news in an attitude of “are you the only
stranger who does not know these things?” Do we not want to
recognize Jesus in the people we encounter along the way?
Are you, on the other hand, one
of the “women of our group who astounded us?” Or are you one
of the ones who went to check out the story and, yes, found
the tomb empty, but “they did not see him”? Already the
seeds of doubt have been planted. What does it take to
recognize Jesus? To believe in the resurrection? Are we to
be confused by the Da Vinci Code speculations, as
many have suggested? As Jack Harnish preached this morning
and emphatically proclaimed, “NO!!” The Easter story has
stood the test of time and numerous heresies, and it will
withstand Dan Brown’s speculations and yet another Gnostic
Gospel, the Gospel of Judas.
A choice role is the one of the
group that urges the stranger to stay with them in a
ministry of hospitality. It is astonishing that they offered
hospitality to the roadside stranger. But is it not in a
ministry of hospitality, when we host the stranger, that we
encounter the Risen Lord?
Do you prefer a character with a name like Cleopas, the one
who interrogates Jesus? Erik Kolbell has written in his
book, Were You There? Finding Ourselves at
the Foot of the Cross: “It is not an easy road to travel
the road to Emmaus. Hope dissolves into heartaches, and
dreams become disappointments. But traveling the road is
worth the trouble and worth the risk. It is the road that
takes us back to home and family.” It is the road down which
these common citizens—you and I—talk with one another, as
did Cleopas and his friend, about those things which lift
our hearts and that weigh heavy on our souls.
The recognition begins first
with an invitation to hospitality, and then Jesus is
revealed in the breaking of the bread.
Or are you one of the faithful
disciples who were still in Jerusalem, gathered with their
companions, afraid and hunkering down, planning what to do
now that their beloved Jesus had departed from them? You can
imagine their sense of loss, feeling all is lost. But then
two strangers find them to tell them of their experience on
the road to Emmaus—another Lukan example of the lost being
found. Is this our call to go tell others of our experiences
on the road? When Jesus appears, they are startled. Have we
been startled when Jesus appears to us? Have we been among
the doubters? The remarkable thing about this encounter is
that Jesus invites them to touch, to see that his wounds are
real, that he is really human, not a ghost. Yet “while in
their joy, they were still disbelieving and wondering,” he
asked if they had anything to eat and “they gave him a piece
of boiled fish and he took it and ate in their presence.”
Once again a meal reveals the true Christ, and commissions
the disciples to go forth into the world proclaiming the
good news as witnesses. We reenact this story every time we
receive communion.
What does it mean to be witness
to these things? How have you been a witness? In the African
American community, a genre of music has arisen called the
Blues which attests to life’s trials and tribulations, pains
and sufferings—emotional, physical and spiritual. One such
song is entitled a “Sunday Kind of Love.” It was made famous
by Etta James. Easter is the epitome of a Sunday kind of
love. Sundays are often called little Easter celebrations.
Easter celebrates a love for the ages, not just one day a
week or two days a week. It is a love that is genuine. It is
a love that is caring. It is a love of hospitality. It is a
love of table fellowship with strangers. Jesus is the lover
who shows us the way. He is always there, whether we are
ready or not. His love is made manifest through us, the
disciples, to help people when they are lonely, when they
are cold, when they are sad, when they are hungry. Jesus is
the one who envelops us with love—a Sunday kind of love, an
Easter kind of love!
Have you ever felt deserted by
God, as did the two persons on the road to Emmaus or the
disciples this evening in Jerusalem? Emmaus can seem like a
lonely road that leads nowhere unless we encounter Jesus
along the road. Remember, you can be Jesus to another. Our
lives are an Emmaus story. We are called to live a
Sunday/Easter kind of love every day. Unconditional! A love
that lasts! A love that is honest! A love that shows the
way! A love that enfolds us during life’s darker moments! Is
our lament, “Oh, I want a Sunday kind of love”? Have you
ever felt abandoned on a lonely road to nowhere? Alone?
Afraid? Exclaimed, “Oh, I want a Sunday kind of love”?
Remember, it is Jesus who walks with us on our roads of
life.
In closing, listen to Sharon
Ulep’s stirring rendition of the Blues lament, “A Sunday
Kind of Love,” and listen for God’s word for you.
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