The Conflict Rages

Photo of The Very Rev. Dean Terry White by The Very Rev. Terry White, Dean

The reality of the Crucifixion both draws and repels us.  The barbaric suffering and death inflicted on Jesus elicits a strong emotional response, even as our rational self recognizes that somehow, according to the witness of Scripture and the teachings of the Church through the ages, Jesus’ death frees us from our sins, and makes it possible for us to live with God forever.

The conflict that the Passion creates in each of us mirrors one or more of the conflicts found in the characters in the gospel accounts, and we often find ourselves identifying with one particular figure.  But we should be cautioned against emphasizing one facet of the struggle to the exclusion of the others.

Our lone congregational hymn today begins, “Sing my tongue, the glorious battle; of the mighty conflict sing.”  This is John’s theme throughout his Passion narrative. From the final supper to the agony in the garden, the betrayal and arrest, torture, and humiliation, through his suffering and death, God the Father glorifies the Son. Jesus reigns from the cross. “It is finished” does not refer to Our Lord’s final mortal breath; it refers to the perfect completion of the Father’s plan of salvation, perfect submission to the Father’s will, which also sets the stage for the Father’s most perfect act: the glorious resurrection of his crucified Son.

Orthodox priest Father Alexander Schmemann writes: “To be Christian, to believe in Christ, means and has always meant this: to know in a trans-rational and yet absolutely certain way called faith, that Christ is the Life of all life, that He is Life itself and, therefore, my life.” (For the Life of the World, p.104)

Yet the conflict rages.

Throughout her history, which is our story, the Church has rejected our baptismal covenant and engaged in shameful, blasphemous behavior toward others. Chiefly, the people of the First Covenant have been deemed acceptable targets of prejudice, coercion, violence, and death. Possessions confiscated, rights deprived, and coerced baptisms are black stains we cannot ignore.  And lest we consign these sins to the most evil eras of the past, performed in far away places, there are more genteel examples closer to home, expressed in phrases such as “this home is not for sale after all,” or “I’m sorry, the position has already be filled,” and “there are no club memberships currently available.”  The Jewish people became scapegoats, labeled as “Christ-killers.” The Church has been guilty of encouraging such actions, and still, too often today is silent when those old heinous sins re-surface in new ways.

In the words of a Good Friday anthem from a Canadian Prayer Book, God says to you and me: I grafted you into the tree of my chosen Israel, and you turned on them with persecution and mass murder. I made you joint heirs with them of my covenants, but you made them scapegoats for your own guilt.

The conflict rages on, asking: Who is the guilty?  Scapegoats come with many titles, based on religion, gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, and increasingly, politics.  When we retreat into such fortresses that are designed to keep “them” out there, while preserving purity and righteousness within –

Judas’ betrayal is easy to name.  But after Jesus handed the morsel of bread to Judas clearly identifying him as his betrayer, the other Eleven did nothing to keep him in the fold, to assure him of his worth, to invite him to preserve and continue to walk with them despite his doubts and anger and disappointment. The lack of action by the Eleven, their lack of love or any sign of caring or saying anything in response to betrayal was itself a betrayal of the Lord Jesus.  These “lacks” are our sins as well. In many circumstances today, the Church is silent, guilty of show no sign of love, carrying, or compassion, and in these things left undone, we are guilty of betraying the Lord of Life.

The sins we bring to the Cross today are things done and left undone.  The conflict between God’s ways and the world’s continues to rage, the conflict between mere existence and abundant life, the conflict between Satan’s temptations of glory and power and the glory of God’s reign which flows from humility and servanthood. We ask Jesus to save us from these sins, make us whole, and breath new life into us and our baptismal promises.

I leave you with a story I have shared before in this Week.

A friend and I, both second-year seminarians, had just attended Solemn Evensong at a city parish on Palm Sunday, and now were heading for a Rush Street diner to grab some supper before heading back to Evanston. The wind was strong off of Lake Michigan, and our route required us to walk straight into it.

As we trudged through the driving rain, a figure approached us. As the wind let up for a moment, I could see it was a man, his long, scraggly hair soaked from the rain. He wore an Army surplus coat missing all of its buttons. Beneath his coat he wore many layers of dirty, torn shirts. He was what we so easily call a streetperson.

My friend and I traveled this route often, encountering many street people asking for money. Seminarians rarely had extra change, and besides, it was likely that any handout would go towards a cheap bottle of booze. So, as he neared us, I instinctively dug my hands deeper into my pockets.

Within a few moments we were face to face, and sure enough, he stretched out a hand towards me. I was ready to say, "Nothing tonight." But he didn’t ask for anything. Rather, he was handing me something. I squinted through the rain, and saw that he was offering me a palm branch. He handed one to me and to my friend, and then, without a word, turned away from us and toward others hurrying by.

The two of us walked across the street to our diner and took a booth near a window, and watched the Palm Man. He offered branches to everyone who passed by. A few refused, but most took a palm. But after a few steps, the branch was thrown to the ground. Each time, the man hurried to pick up the discarded palm. He would wipe off the mud on his rain-soaked coat, and lovingly add it to the bunch of fronds inside his coat, which he was protecting from the rain. Eventually, the man moved on.

As my friend and I retraced our steps to the church parking lot to retrieve our car, we walked by a large outdoor crucifix affixed to an outside wall. Beneath the crucifix was a quote from Lamentations:  “Is it nothing to you who pass by?”

Feel the conflict. Embrace it. Face the temptations to betray Christ’s life and love. Find the Crucified One. For there you and I find God’s forgiveness, and true and everlasting life.