April 18: Good Friday
It is good to hear this story once more. To sit in its darkness. To join Jesus in the garden. To stand with Mary at the foot of the cross, as the world rips her son away from her. To gaze upon Jesus’ pierced feet, still fragrant with Mary’s perfume. To hear again how Jesus of Nazareth died, how he loved us to the end, even as we did our worst to him.
Today, we gather in this sacred place with the cross shrouded, altar bare, and candles hidden… Symbols of light and life taken away, forcing us to remain in the shadow of death. Today is a hard day, even when we know what will happen on Sunday. But it is good for us to hear and stay with this story once more.
Years ago, in the Wall Street Journal, Kavin Rowe, one of my former teachers, wrote of a love story, a love story deeply shaped by death.1
1 https://www.wsj.com/articles/dying-gives-us-a-chance-to-confront-truth-11587682436
Rowe and his wife were young and happy, married with a little child. They were so lucky, they told themselves, grateful for the life they shared. They had all they could ever want. But then his wife got sick. They went to the hospital, the doctors ran their tests, and the couple soon received news that upended their lives. Her illness would be long and cruel, the doctors told them, and it would eventually end her life. Going home, they quickly had to decide what to do now, how they were going to live, knowing her days were numbered. And that’s when they decided that they would let death teach them how to live.
They decided they would talk to each other about their successes and failures without fear. They’d openly, vulnerably reveal to the other their hopes and sorrows. That they wouldn’t shy from sharing their beliefs and doubts. They decided to live these next days telling each other the truth, because they didn’t have time for anything else. Their decision to face death head-on focused them on ‘sharing the truths (they) needed to hear, like “I hate this. I wish we could grow old together. I’m scared. I will be with you until the end.”
They trained for death, Rowe called those hard conversations. And this truth telling, with death as their companion, allowed them to practice resurrection together. To practice and to live into the gift of the cross, the gift of the Lord who completes his work through death, not in spite of it, or on the other side of it. To practice the work of resurrection that begins on this side of Easter Sunday.
For Rowe, living with the closeness of death brought him and his wife a clarity of purpose and love to their lives. In facing death, they were more able to embrace their life together now. …and to allow mercy and love to be their sole driving forces.
As hard as this was, such focus gave them a remarkable freedom.… a freedom to actually take the time to say “I love you”;…to stop nursing resentments, thinking that forgiveness could wait for another day;…to stop pretending that little annoying things matter so much;…to pick up their heads to look at the beauty of the world;…to examine their beliefs about what really, really counts in life;…to mend relationships;…to pray.
For Rowe, death did not get the final say in their relationship. Death did not, and does not, win.
That is why I am so glad to hear this story again this Good Friday. I need to hear the story again about how death does not win. About how our Lord, who as he dies, names that his work of mercy is finished, not ended, not snuffed out. Finished. About how he loves us, the very ones who put him up there, to the end. About a love so strong that even the might of Rome could not conquer. About a love that puts the power of fear in its place. About a love that is the only way, that is the ultimate truth, a love that offers all of creation life, life as life is meant to be.
In 2009, representatives from the United States and Germany commemorated the 65th anniversary of D-Day.2 They did so by visiting Buchenwald, one of the many concentration camps where, as one politician named, terror reigned; a place not for living, but a place for dying.
At Buchenwald, there are two memorials in honor of the more than 56,000 people murdered at the site. The first lists the names of the victims of the camp; the second, names the 51 nationalities of those victims.
2 https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/president-obamas-remarks-at-buchenwald
When envisioning this second memorial, the artists charged with creating it, wanted to make a living monument; there had been enough death and terror in that place. At first, what they created seems quite the opposite of their intention, as the memorial is a large, steel slab. But if you kneel down to touch the steel, you will feel that it is warm. Year-round this monument is kept heated to 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, the warmth of a human body. This monument, one observer named, serves as a reminder- in a place premised on hate and intolerance- of the common humanity we share. It is no longer a place for dying, it is a place for living. Hate, terror, division does not win. Death does not win.
Today we remember the death of Jesus, so that we may remember the way of life. That does not mean that we don’t feel death’s sting. Death still hurts. So we must hold each other, like Jesus tells John to do for Mary. We must tell each other the truth, our pains, our fears, our hopes and dreams. We must continue the work of Jesus’ mercy and life in places of fear and injustice. Because we don’t have time for anything else.
The love which poured from Jesus’ side on that first Good Friday now covers the earth. Today, we remember and give thanks to our Lord who loved us, who loves us, to the end. And we remember his death so that we may remember his life, the life we are now called to live, which is the way of love. Amen.
The Rev. Daniel J. Reeves