March 29, 2024, John 18:1-19:42, Why We Do What We Do – Mtr. Kathryn Boswell
No recording is available for this sermon.
Of all the seasons of the Church year, Holy Week is probably the most deeply moving, as well as the most emotionally draining for us. All through Lent we’ve been walking through the Passion of our Lord every Friday, in preparation for this week. We have felt the weight of the cross as Jesus stumbled, once, then twice, and again a third time. We have heard the voices of the women weeping and wailing as Jesus walked by; we have felt the cool relief of the cloth when the woman offers Jesus the kindness of wiping the blood and sweat from his face. We have felt the lash of the whips, the piercing of the thorns, the unimaginable pain of the nails. Maybe most painful of all, for me at least, because it is so very near to my heart, we have felt the wrenching grief of the mother, Mary, who stood so close to the cross, unable to help, but unable to look away.
And what I want to think about tonight is why? Why do we focus on all this pain and cruelty, the blood and the sweat, the horror, as Joe Swan used to say to me every year, of man’s inhumanity to man? We know that Easter morning is just hours away. We know that our Lord Jesus Christ left an empty tomb behind him more than two thousand years ago. We know that he sits at the right hand of his Father at this very moment, in glory and power. We know that all authority in heaven and on earth belongs to Jesus now, today. Joy won. Life won. Love won. And sin and death were dealt a fatal blow. “The strife is o’er, the battle done; the victory of life is won; the song of triumph has begun,” we have sung, every year, with great joy, and we will sing it again! We claim all of that in faith and hope and joy.
But meanwhile, tonight, we read the story of our Lord’s arrest and torture, the mock trial, the betrayal by his own people. Why do we do this to ourselves every year, when we could just skip to the good part?
First, here’s what is not the reason we do this. We don’t immerse ourselves in the pain and suffering of Jesus in an effort to force ourselves to be truly repentant, to sink ourselves under the weight of our own guilt. We are all sinners, and goodness knows we have all offended against the goodness and righteousness of God in a multitude of ways this week alone, but sharing in the sufferings of Christ is not an exercise in self-hatred and shame.
We know that because we know that God’s purpose in sending his Son to us was out of his great love for us. Julian of Norwich had a series of visions where she saw Christ crucified, and after meditating deeply on his suffering, she wrote this:
“I learned that love was our Lord’s meaning. And I saw for certain, both here and elsewhere, that before ever he made us, God loved us; and that his love has never slackened, nor ever shall.”
Love was our Lord’s meaning as he stumbled under the weight of the cross, and love was our Lord’s meaning as he comforted the weeping women along the way, and love was our Lord’s meaning as he gave his grieving mother into the care of his friend, John, and love was our Lord’s meaning as he spoke from the cross,
offering salvation to the dying thief
offering forgiveness to the soldiers who had driven the nails through his hands
and to the Pharisees who had plotted and connived to have him condemned
and to his friends, who had abandoned him in their terror
and to us, for our own willful participation in the sin and suffering of this world.
And so that’s the first reason why. We gaze upon the sorrow and suffering of Jesus Christ because it is the deepest and most real expression of unlimited, unconditional love we will ever encounter in our lives. And all the love that we find in our lives, the love of our parents, and the love of our children, and the love of our friends, and the noble acts of unselfish love we see in the world around us – those are all beautiful reflections of the sacrificial love of Christ.
But I think there is another reason why we meditate on the Passion and death of Jesus, even though it causes us pain; and that is because the suffering of Christ is a sign to us that suffering matters. Easter morning doesn’t erase the Passion of Christ, just as his Resurrection didn’t erase the scars that he still bears in his body, even as he reigns in glory.
As his people, we are called to look at suffering and to grieve over it in our hearts – to abhor the abundant violence and cruelty in the world around us – to do everything in our power to show mercy and grace in the face of cruelty and indifference. We are called to allow ourselves to be wounded by the suffering of others.
We are called to be people who mourn, people who show mercy, people who hunger and thirst after righteousness. And I truly believe that our participation in the Passion of Jesus Christ forms us, little by little, year after year, into people who are willing and able to feel the suffering and sorrow of this broken creation, even as we wait in hope for the restoration and healing of all things, even as we long for the end of all suffering.
St. Philip's Episcopal Church 