FEELING ABANDONED "My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" THE SEVEN LAST WORDS A SERMON FOR GOOD FRIDAY, 1993 ¥ MARK 15:29-39 REV. JUDITH B. BRAIN PILGRIM CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH-UCC LEXINGTON, MA Revbrain@aol.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In his hour of need, Jesus turned to the Psalms as many of us do. The Psalms are full of comfortable words: "God who keeps you will not slumber. God will keep you from all evil. God will keep your life." (Ps. 121) But Jesus did not choose a comfortable Psalm. He quoted Psalm 22, "My God. Why have you forsaken me?" I think this is one of the most haunting phrases in the Bible. These words are echoing throughout churches today. Hanging in the air like a curse. Striking us with their sense of loneliness, betrayal, and despair. Jesus knew the scriptures. He knew the supportive 23rd Psalm. Why wasn't he quietly saying that to himself as he hung there in agony? Why wasn't he trying to console himself with the words of assurance: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me." No that wasn't his frame of mind. And the whole Christian world knows it. It's no secret. It was another Psalm that rushed into his mind. It was a lament that burst forth from his memory. And he cried with a loud voice. MY GOD. WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME? A few years ago there was a great controversy stirred up by the movie, "The Last Temptation of Christ." People complained that the film portrayed Jesus as far too human. This film was not the first time for that. People need only to look in the Gospel of Mark to see a human Jesus--vulnerable and beaten. This Gospel captures the human tragedy of the crucifixion in all its brutality. Throughout Mark's story, Jesus lives out the will of God in a tender and courageous way. Loving people; caring whether or not they were healthy; making sure they had enough to eat; giving hope when they were fearful or discouraged. Mark also shows Jesus sharing these human conditions--hunger, fear, and discouragement. And at the end of Jesus' ministry, there was a cross. He was not protected from suffering. None of us is. I recently spoke with someone whose faith was shaken when she was diagnosed with cancer. She could not allow herself to cry out loud, "My God. Why have you forsaken me," even thought that is what she felt. Instead, she kept her loneliness to herself, feeling guilty and afraid. But Jesus voiced his despair publicly. There was no hiding it. In the Gospel of Mark, these are the last words of Jesus. A loud cry of sadness and abandonment. Why didn't the church try to suppress this terrible story? How can we tell it over and over every year? Because it is not a terrible story. Because it is a profoundly human story rooted in our own reality, based on familiar experience. Because it finds a home in our own psyches. The poet, Miriam Kessler writes: My God, My God, he cried, if he is quoted right . . . Somehow that moan is comforting to us, alone at night, who tremble, daring dawn that He, so wise and strong, should weep and ask for aid. Somehow, my lovely distant god, it makes me less afraid. "My God. Why have you forsaken me?" How can we tell this terrible story over and over every year? Because it is not a terrible story. And mostly because it is not the end. That mournful sentence was only the beginning of the Psalm Jesus quoted. He knew the scripture-the whole story. Not just a few isolated sentences. He knew that the Psalm that started with a lament ended in promise. Did he get to the end of the Psalm in his mind? Was he able to hear the words of assurance in the end? "God has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted ones. God's face is not hidden from them but God has listened to their cry for help." Did he finally remember those words? I don't know. But the Gospel of Mark ends with this ironic incident. "When the centurion, who stood there in front of Jesus, heard his cry and saw how he died, he said, "Surely this man was the Son of God!" Jesus died crying, "Why have you forsaken me." And still the centurion saw the son of God on the cross. What an affirmation this is! And what release. God is seen in the midst of despair. We cannot always feel that God is present with us. But God's presence is not dependent on our feelings. It is simply there! God does not need our faith in order to be there for us. Though we can cry out in rage and despair, we do not negate the presence of God; we only confirm that we are human. Feeling abandoned by God is not the same as being abandoned. We know that Jesus' mournful cry was not the end. We know that God was there on Calvary as God is with us, as we struggle with our own calvaries. That is the message of the Gospel of Mark. But in the end, the veil that keeps us away from the holy of holies is torn away. We know that the love of God breaks forth in the darkest hour whether we can feel it or not. We know that Easter comes. ***************************************END*************************************** WOMAN, HERE IS YOUR SON ECUMENICAL GOOD FRIDAY SERVICE TEXT: JOHN 19:23-27 APRIL 1, 1994 JUDITH B. BRAIN PILGRIM CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH-UCC LEXINGTON, MA. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ INTRODUCTION TO THE SCRIPTURE The scripture passage for the third word, "Woman, here is your son," is really two stories. The first tells about the soldiers who cast lots for Jesus' seamless robe. The second relates Jesus' words to his mother and beloved disciple. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ If you knit, you know how to make a seamless garment. You need to knit in a circle. There is no beginning or end to the rows of stitches; they just go on and on, round and round. It is this image of an endless circle that holds these two stories together for me. Jesus' seamless garment has been, of course, a symbol of the man who wore it. A man who was whole in every way. A man who was, above all, in seamless communion with God. But what does this seamless circle have to do with the next story, the third word, "Woman, here is your son" . . .? I would like you to place yourself at the foot of the cross for a moment and imagine the setting that John describes for us. Jesus' mother, Mary, and the beloved disciple who is not named here, stand together in agony. They suffer with Jesus whom they both love, feeling the nails in their palms, their mouths are dry as his. They groan with his every groan and turn their eyes away when they can endure no more. They cling to one another for comfort, hiding their eyes from Jesus' tortured body. Then, they hear the words, "Woman, here is your son." Here is your son. Dying. The child you nursed and tended. The boy who was so precocious it was scary. The young man who cared nothing for his own safety but everything for the well-being of others. The man who heard the voice of God and followed it with such conviction that some began to regard him as the Messiah, the Chosen One. Here is your son. This is where tenderness, valor, and truth lead. Here is your son. Dying. She hears his word and cannot hide her eyes from his pain. She must bear it with him; her eyes hold his. Then Jesus turns toward the beloved disciple and speaks again, "Here is your mother." The dear friend reaches his hand to Mary's and palm to palm, fingers laced, they gather strength from one another. Jesus watches, his eyes full of concern for them both-they too, will suffer much. His gaze rests for a moment on the faithful disciple. Through tearing eyes, Jesus observes the scene. His disciple and friend is looking at Mary, holding her hand, promising with his eyes to keep her in his care. Mary's focus is her son. With a friend beside her, she can endure. The circle is complete. They are together in suffering as they were together in joy; the son, the mother, the friend. I always felt that Jesus' address to his mother, "Woman" was a poor translation. It did not capture the respect that is intended in the Greek. Instead it seemed cold and distant. But now I have come to appreciate it. "Woman"--the generic. That fits, because I think the words, "Here is your son," are appropriately addressed not just to one mother, but to all of us. "Here is your son, here is your mother. . ." are calls not merely to the two people standing by the cross that day; they are to all women, all friends. "Women, here is your son." The call goes on. "Here is your son." An emblem of courageous suffering. Tortured for political beliefs in Haiti. Dying in an AIDS hospice. Rendered paraplegic by war. "Here is your son." Can you bear his suffering? What can be done to stop it? "Here is your mother." Friends, here are the mothers of the world-weeping for their children who are lost to easily obtained drugs, paralized by fear of violence, wounded by abuse, emaciated by starvation. Can you enter into her pain? Can you assure her that things will change? The message of Good Friday is that salvation is near, even in the midst of terrible suffering. The message of this word, "Here is your son," is that we are drawn into one another's suffering, called to bear one another's burdens. Stand now, at the foot of the cross. Hold tight to one another, care for each other. Knit one another into a seamless circle and remember, the crucified and risen Christ is in the circle with us. ***************************************END*************************************** WOMAN, HERE IS YOUR SON Good Friday, April 5, 1996 REV. JUDITH B. BRAIN TEXT: JOHN 19:25-27 PILGRIM UCC LEXINGTON, MA ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ INTRODUCTION TO SCRIPTURE Scholars are not sure of the references in this scripture text. To whom is Jesus referring when he says to his mother, "Woman, here is your son."? Some say, he is indicating John, the beloved disciple. He is saying Mary will have a new son now, and John, a new mother; a family determined, not by blood, but by common cause. Other scholars think the phrase, "Here is your son," directs Mary's attention to her own son who hangs on the cross before her. I prefer this interpretation. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ She knelt on the rutted pavement of Blue Hill Avenue. The loose chunks of asphalt bit into her knees but she didn't notice. Her pain was in her heart as she held her 12-year-old son and watched his eyes roll back in his head and his body grow slack. His bike, wheels tossed against a mailbox, had rolled off without him when the bullet from crossfire in a gunfight cut him down. Who would have thought that such a small wound would allow his life to flow out. But it did. It did. Woman, here is your son. When the police knocked at the door, she was expecting them. He had come home to live with them after he lost his job; he was just too sick to work any more. She had watched his despair grow. He drank too much; he withdrew from his friends. There had been an accident, the police said, could she come with them. It was very bad-excessive speed-but a perfectly straight stretch of highway; how he lost control and hit that tree was a mystery, they said. It was no mystery to her an image of the crash lit up her brain. What is it they were saying? She'd have to identify the body. Woman, here is your son. She leaned against her sisters as his flag-draped coffin was paraded through the streets. He was a hero. A member of the resistance. His sacrifice was for a noble cause; eventually the revolution would bring freedom. His death would not be in vain. She remembered her fear as she watched him as a little boy, imitating the men in his town, shooting his imaginary gun at the enemy. And now, it had come to this. Woman, here is your son. Woman, here is your son. As a mother of three sons, I have always been chilled by those words. I admire Mary, the mother of Jesus; she is at her son's side at what is surely the most gruesome moment in both their lives. I also imagine her trying to protect herself from the terrible sight-not wanting to look at he nail holes, the blood. Not wanting to observe the slow and violent death. But Mary is compelled to be a witness. In the midst of his suffering, Jesus locks his eyes to hers and says, "Look at this. Do not forget." Woman, here is your son. Jesus' words are still calling to us from the cross. We are still called to be witnesses. In the Gospel of Matthew, when Jesus dies, there is an earthquake. A writer says, "The death of an innocent person is an abomination. Why shouldn't the earth split open and cry out?" But the earth does not split open and cry out each time death comes by violence, despair, or corruption. The cry must be ours. In this very short reading there is more than meets the eye: Woman, here is your son. And then Jesus said to the disciple whom he loved, "Here is your mother." And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. Mary is not alone. This burden will not fall only on her battered head. I see this as one of the first events in the formation of the Christian church, the followers of Jesus banding together in mutual support. It must be no different now. Just as Jesus drew us together even from the cross, so must we now be together as faithful witnesses to the cruelties of life. But as witnesses who say, "No more of this." It seems overwhelming, doesn't it? So much violence and misery. But Jesus calls us to act for life and its fulfillment. Even from the cross, he draws us together so that in loving one another, we will have the strength to face evil and overcome it. Let us think of all those suffering mothers and fathers and know that we can make a difference-in how we volunteer our time; in how we give and spend our money. In how we vote. In the way we interact with children, ours and those entrusted to us by social contract. The earth does not split open and cry out each time death comes by violence, despair, and corruption. The cry must be ours. ***************************************END*************************************** "I THIRST" Good Friday MARCH 28, 1997 JUDITH B. BRAIN TEXT: JOHN 19:28-29 PILGRIM UCC LEXINGTON, MA ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ We are used to reading the Bible in rather lofty translations. The title of this segment is probably taken from the King James version of John. But the New Revised Standard puts Jesus' cry in contemporary language, "I am thirsty!" That makes a difference to me. One of the central tenets of the Christian faith is that Jesus was both fully human and fully divine. This is the mystery of the incarnation--God become human. It is a daring and unfathomable belief. I see evidence of this core doctrine in these two verses of John's passion narrative. "I am thirsty." It is the moan of a helpless, dying man. Jesus hangs on the cross under a hot Middle Eastern sun. His life slowly ebbs out of him. In these three words we know he is one of us. Jesus is dying, partly of dehydration; his mouth parched, his body aching for water. In these words we see Jesus in his human-ness--wretched and needy. There is nothing he can do to help himself. "I'm thirsty. Help me, please. Give me something to drink." Someone hears his words--perhaps a Roman guard; or maybe one of the curious, sadistic folks who like to gather around and watch crucifixions. "He's thirsty. Give him something to drink." And they poke a stick through a sponge and dip it into a jar of wine that was almost vinegar. Sour, warm from the sun, acrid stuff. They hold it, dripping, to his lips. It's the best they can do. This is the human Jesus. In fact, this is a human being at its most vulnerable-weak from exposure, nailed.....NAILED.... to a cross. How much more helpless can one be? This Jesus needs to be attended to. Served. It is this image we hold when we hear his own words, "Inasmuch as you have done it to the least of these, you have done it unto me." Do you hear them calling now from Golgothas that still exist? ¥ "I'm thirsty. Our rivers are polluted, our ground water has dried up, our wells are poisoned. Exploitation has contaminated our land. I'm thirsty; please help." ¥ "I'm hungry. I live on the street. Mental illness prevents me from holding a job. When I get a little money, I don't spend it on food because alcohol works much better to blot out my misery. I'm hungry; please help me." ¥ "I'm afraid. Afraid of being abused. Of being rejected by my friends and family. I'm afraid of dying. I'm afraid of living. Please, help me." These are the people Jesus ministered to. These are his own "little ones." As he dies on the cross, calling out, "I'm thirsty," he experiences the pain of these victims. He asks for help. Asks us to reach out to them as if we were extending to him a sponge full of wine to quench his own thirst. Jesus, is seen here as the essence of suffering humanity. It is the antithesis of the suicide cult in California. He advocates no escape to another planet. Death is not a wished-for release. It is to be endured only if necessary. Jesus calls us to engage in life--to be fully human. To be with those who suffer and do what we can to alleviate it--feed the hungry, clothe the poor, visit the sick, free the prisoner. But the writer of this gospel also presents Jesus as divinity. John puts his request into a spiritual dimension. "He said it in order fo fulfill the scripture..." is a reference to Psalm 69." This Jesus is the one who "hungered and thirsted for righteousness" throughout his ministry. The one who lived the Psalm that says, "my soul thirsts for God, for the living God." (Ps 42:2) His death is a triumph. Bishop Krister Stendahl calls it "majestic." It tells us of a power and glory that are not of this world. It is the death of God's own Son. It is all of another order of magnitude than anything known to human experience. The response can only be that of Thomas, "My Lord and my God!" -- Krister Stendahl, Holy Week Preaching What a mystery this whole thing is. I can't explain it. But I saw it last night at the Maundy Thursday service at our church. Around a candlelit table stood the members of our church council. Reverently they read the passion narrative, entering into the death of our Lord. I looked into the faces of those dear people and I knew their stories--stories of suffering: the death of a child, a spouse; troubled relationships, divorce, addictions, chronic pain, depression, stresses at work. Thirteen who came to the cross last night and brought their suffering with them. Thirteen people who, because of their faith, have endured. Christ's victory has become their hope. His suffering has bought their salvation. This is the mystery of our faith. It is why they call this Friday, "Good." ***************************************END*************************************** WOMAN, HERE IS YOUR SON Good Friday, April 21, 2000 REV. JUDITH B. BRAIN TEXT: JOHN 19:25-27 PILGRIM UCC LEXINGTON, MA ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ INTRODUCTION TO SCRIPTURE THE CRUELTY OF CRUCIFIXION Crucifixion was a gruesome way to die, an intentionally cruel, drawn-out death. The Romans knew that an effective way of keeping order among its conquered nations was to provide these vivid object lessons. "It is not wise to question the authority of the government, to break the law, or to promote unrest. This could happen to you. You could be the next victim." It didn't matter much that sometimes an innocent person was executed. Law and order were more important than human life. Jesus taught just the opposite. He taught that God was the originator and keeper of life. God desired life for all of this glorious creation. Life with a capital "L"-deep, rich, free, abundant, whole, honorable, eternal life. And for this subversive teaching, for the threat that this free life posed to an opressive system, he is sentenced to die. This teaching about the radical love of God was enough to put nails through Jesus' hands and feet. Enough to raise him on the cross in the hot sun outside the walls of the city. The love of God expressed in Jesus brought him to this place of death. WERE YOU THERE? ONLY FIVE CAME TO THE CROSS The Gospel of John tells us that when that time came, there were only 5 people there. Five people! After all those he healed and fed and forgave and taught. Ten lepers and dozens of others healed, a few even raised from the dead; 5000 fed; hundreds taught and forgiven and made whole, 70 missionaries sent out 2 by 2, 12 close disciples, many many more followers. But only 5 stood by now. Four women and the disciple whom he loved. John writes: Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. "When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, 'Woman, here is your son.' Then he said to the disciple, 'Here is your mother.' And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home." I think every single one of those five are remarkable. They are there because of love. They are courageous enough to face potential danger and they are strong en