Sunday, April 9, 2017

Between the Celebrations: A Sermon for the Beginning of Holy Week - Matthew 27:11-60



"So Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn in the rock. He then rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb and went away.”
. . . In the beginning, before God spoke creation into existence, the earth was formless and void and the spirit of God hovered over the deep and when God died the earth shook, the body was laid in a tomb, a stone blocked the entrance and everyone walked away with everything they ever knew to be true shattered and broken. Darkness fell upon the earth and creation was undone.
In less than a week the crowds went from ready to crown him king, to calling for his crucifixion. In less than one week Jesus went from riding on a donkey, to hanging on a cross. In less than one week Jesus went from having praises sung to his name, to the silence of a cold dark tomb; from palms and cloaks laying out path before him, to being sealed behind a stone. In one day his disciples go from united together around him sharing a sacred meal, to scattered and scared watching as their world, the entire world, falls apart around them. From king to criminal. From beloved to abandoned. From festive celebration to funeral. From light to darkness.
This is the week in which we remember the events which take us to that place of darkness. This is the week in which we remember that the fate of all creation hung in the balance when Christ gasped his last breath, when his body was taken, dead and listless, down from the cross. That the earth shook, that darkness fell. The sun might have come up bright and beautiful on Saturday morning, but the world held its breath, and all creation like a widow standing over a tomb on a bright spring day, saw nothing but darkness and mourning. For one moment in time it all ceased to make sense and it seemed as if time stood still, that everything was frozen in that moment, that dark moment, "Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?", "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" And he cried out one more time and breathed his last breathed.” It was finished. The worst that could be done, was done. God hung on a cross and nothing was done to save the Christ as he suffered, bled and died. And all the earth joined in the cry, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Rocks were split, curtains were torn, graves thrown open and the earth shook. Creation was threatened to be undone, the one through whom all things were created had died.
Sometimes it is easy to forget what the death of Christ really meant. From this side of the events it is hard to get upset that our God died. For one brief moment in history all meaning and sense fell apart. The only explanation, makes absolutely no sense, is is utter gibberish: God died when Christ died. This is the non-sense that the world had to live in from Friday night until Sunday morning. We have our palms here in our hands. We have our songs, our shouts of Hosanna and then we have the glorious thing that is resurrection morning. It is easy to get lost in the celebration of it all and forget that neither of these events have any meaning outside of an understanding of the death.
The remembrance of the life of Christ is a remembrance of an entire life, the remembrance of a birth, of a life lived, of the teachings Christ gave us, as well as a remembrance of a death. It is fun to celebrate Christ’s birth. It is edifying to celebrate his baptism, to talk about and learn from his teachings and his miracles and we will come back next Sunday and celebrate the glorious, unexpected truth that defines us as Christians, but first we have to come to terms with Christ’s death.
In my experience dead things are just that, dead. Dead is a permanent thing. It is not something curable, or fixable. When you watch the coffin of one whom you loved and cherish go into the ground, there is nothing hopeful about that moment. When Joseph walked away from the tomb that day he was walking away from a dead man, a body, a corpse who would live no more. There was no hope. For him there was no bright Sunday morning on the horizon. The disciples did not know that they would break bread with him again in just a few short days time, that they would see, hear and touch him ever again. For them this was the end of the story. . “He then rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb and went away,” the end. How can the story go on? How can there be more? Jesus is dead. All the hopes and all the dreams of all humanity, nay all creation rested in the God-man, in the messiah, in Jesus who was called the Christ, the messiah. And they took him. They beat him, they made fun of him. They nailed him to a cross, he died, and then they took his body, laid it in a tomb, sealed the tomb with a stone and walked away.
That is the end of the story. Joseph believe it to be so. Mary and the rest of the women agreed. The disciples scattered, were scared, and could not think of how there possibly could be any hope. The world was cold. The world was dark. The world had lost all hope. They went back to their homes, back to their families and huddled together in the hopeless cold darkness and believe this was really the end. There was nothing to look forward to. Nothing to pray for. There was only despair.
And we have to walk with the disciples, we have to walk with the women, we need to walk away from a cold, limp body sealed in the darkness of a tomb, behind a big gray stone and believe with them that all is lost. We need to be there with them. Right now; this week; sit with them, feel with them. Understand the darkness, understand the forsakenness. Understand, really and truly that our God died. The world was upended. Black was white, day was night. The world shook, rocks broke open, curtains were torn, and all creation threatened to be undone. God died. The messiah, Jesus Christ, the hope of all nations, the bringer of new life, the fulfillment of time ,died. “My God my God, why have you forsaken me!” the cry of all humanity, the cry of all creation is heard screaming through the air, heard in the rocks, heard in the sky, heard in the silence of the grave. It rang out Friday night, it was whispered on the wind all day Saturday, it rung through the darkness of Saturday night and it threatened to be the final word. The end. Humanity forsaken, God dead.
Not a pleasant place to be. But that is where we are. We live daily in the death, daily in the forsakenness. We live daily in a world which seems absolutely and utterly godless. We need to understand the reality of the sacrifice which was made. This is the week for us to come to terms once again or for the first time with the darkness and hopelessness of what the death of Christ means. We walk with Jesus this week toward death. We walk with the disciples toward abandonment and hopelessness. We walk away with Joeseph away from a cold dark tomb containing our dead messiah and see the darkness around, feel the world as it really truly is and wait huddled together. Wait and mourn and cry. Our God died.
So let us commemorate together the end of our Messiah’s life, walk with him and his disciples to the last meal shared together on Thursday. Watch as Peter denies him, as he is handed over to one earthly ruler and then another, finally beaten mocked, and hung on a cross, and then died. Let us watch as they put him in the grave, seal the tomb and walk away, walk away as the earth shakes, and darkness surrounds, and feel what they felt, know only what they knew and wait as they waited with no celebration to look forward to.





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