human beings. But the hard truth is that there is just no way to justify the depth of so much suffering with whatever good may come from it.

Transcription

1 DIVINE PASSION March 29, 2015, Palm/Passion Sunday Mark 11: 1-10; Mark 15: 1-5, 16-20, 25-27, Michael L. Lindvall, The Brick Presbyterian Church in the City of New York Theme: God is with us in suffering. Open your word to us in Scripture this morning, gracious God, even when it s so familiar it s like an old nickel worn smooth from handling. As we hear the story yet again, plant it in our imaginations so that it may take root there, flower beautifully, and bear good fruit. And now may the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer. Amen. The most radical thing that Christians believe is not that there is a God. The most radical thing that Christians believe is that there s a God who cares, cares about creation, cares about humanity a God who actually cares about you and me. Believing that some distant, vague, utterly removed creative force simply exists is a theological cakewalk. Merely affirming the existence of some passionless first principal, an unmoved mover, as Aristotle called such a divine proposition, is relatively easy. But believing in a God of love, a God of compassion, a God who cares is another thing altogether. I would even go so far as to say that believing that an unmoved mover first principal creative force cosmic-muffin-who-doesn t-give-adamn probably makes a marginal difference in how a person lives their life. But trusting in a God who cares, a God who loves, a God who s somehow with us, makes all the difference in the world. Today s not just Palm Sunday; it s also Passion Sunday. The Palm Sunday part recalls that ironically joyful entrance into Jerusalem we just reenacted with the children. It s ironically joyful because we all know what lies in that parade s path a few days later. The Palm Sunday part of today was unfolded in the first of - 1 -

2 the two passages Brian read from the Gospel of Mark. The Passion Sunday part of today remembers the last days of Jesus life his arrest and trial, the torture, and finally his death on the cross. The Passion Sunday part was narrated in the second reading, the one from the 15 th Chapter of Mark. Folks generally prefer the first part of this Sunday over the second. It s more agreeable to remember the crowd that shouted hosanna than the crowd that shouted crucify. Somebody once told me a doubtless apocryphal story about watching a group of young children play Jesus. They must have been faithful church kids because they were getting the story right. They reenacted Christmas, Jesus sojourn in the wilderness, and then his baptism. They acted out Jesus preaching the Sermon on the Mount and Jesus telling a parable. They did a good job with the Palm Sunday parade and the Last Supper of Thursday night. But then the little boy who was playing Jesus got a worried look on his face. As the story has it, he said to his playmates, Maybe we should play something else now. Both the Passion story and the Palm Sunday narrative are read in churches on this day for good reasons. First, there are a lot of people in church today; there won t be as many this Thursday night or Friday at noon. Those attendance facts are the adult version of Maybe we should play something else now. Secondly, and more importantly, you really can t come fully to the light of Easter morning without passing through the dark of Thursday and Friday. That s how the whole story goes. And equally to the point, that s how life goes. We need to hear the whole story because it s the whole truth about Christ and about us. The Passion story is the definitive enactment of our trust in a God who cares, a God who loves humanity, a God who loves you and loves me passionately, compassionately. The Passion tells the whole truth about a God who loves us quite literally to death. The day before I wrote this sermon, I visited a friend in the hospital. He d had surgery for cancer a few days earlier. It didn t go well. They couldn t get it all. They suggested more surgery, which might have given him a few more months at most, but it was risky. He s in his mid-90s, totally savvy, and wisely said No thank you to another surgery. When I saw him, he was on his way home and into hospice care. My friend has been widowed twice. His first wife died years ago, - 2 -

3 far too young; his second wife barely a year ago after a long descent into Alzheimer s. His only son had died suddenly in his 50s. I prayed with him and read Scripture. He said the words of the 23rd Psalm King James Version of course along with me from memory. Eighty-some years ago, when he learned it Sunday school, there was only the King James. As a pastor, I have been pulled into many such scenes in my life; so have many of you. This one was easier than others. My friend has known suffering aplenty, but going-on-a-100 is a long and full life, and it s been one full of success, a life that knew deep love and much joy. He was philosophical; we even had a laugh or two. But it s still what it is that hospital room, the losses he s known, hospice to come. In the face of suffering and loss, there are several things people say. Some of them are unfortunate; some are so-so. To my mind, there s just one thing to say that s good enough. First, people in these days of cynical post-modernism, often think, but seldom say, Nothing means anything; it s all random and pointless. Live with it. Some years ago, the old Life magazine ran a feature article that asked 49 oddly-assorted Americans to pen a few words in response to the question, What are we here for? The responders included movie stars, working Joes, even a handful of philosophers and theologians. One respondent, a New York cabbie named Jose Martinez, offered a startlingly frank and dismal answer to the Why are we here? question the quintessential nothing means anything response. We re here to die, Martinez wrote, just live and die. I drive a cab. I do some fishing, take my girl out, pay taxes, do a little reading, and then get ready to drop dead. You ve got to be strong about it. Of course I couldn t say that to my friend in the hospital. I d never say it, but not just because it would be cruel. I wouldn t say it because I don t believe it s the truth at least not the whole truth. Another generally unfortunate thing people sometimes really do say in the face of suffering is something to the effect that the experience of it will make you a stronger person. This is often true, but it s not good enough. Suffering has indeed deepened many a soul; loss has really grown people into more compassionate - 3 -

4 human beings. But the hard truth is that there is just no way to justify the depth of so much suffering with whatever good may come from it. In some of his early thinking, the popular theologian C.S. Lewis suggested that suffering might be God s what he called alarm clock, a divine device to awaken us to what really matters. Later in life, as he watched his wife, Joy Davidman, die of bone cancer at the age of 45, Lewis changed his mind about suffering being God s alarm clock. No alertness of soul could ever compensate for her pain and his loss. The good that can come from suffering is sometimes a word that might be spoken there s truth in it but I could hardly say such a thing to my 95-year-old friend in the hospital. Anther answer to suffering is found in the Old Testament Book of Job. Job, as everyone knows, is all about suffering. The title character, a cartoon of upright prosperity, suffers loss and pain beyond conceiving he s himself deathly ill, he loses his fortune, his children are killed in a freak accident. The bulk of the book is made up of off-putting speeches made by a series of long-winded friends who visit Job in his affliction, generally telling him that he must have done something to deserve this. Nice they visited, but they d have done better to hold their tongues. Job stubbornly responds that he may not be perfect, but no way does he deserve what he got. The book ends with a better response than his so-called comforters, but it s still not quite good enough. In the last several chapters, Job experiences a vision of God, a theophany, a divine apparition. In some of the most gorgeous poetry in all the Bible, the Voice of God basically says to Job and to us, I am God and you are not. What do you know, Job? The unfathomable mystery of it all. Who knows? Maybe it all unfolds in a way that reconciles suffering to a good God. True enough perhaps, but still not good enough. I might hint at some of this answer to my friend in the hospital, but It s a mystery is small comfort, if any. The only answer that I can say with any comfort to someone who s suffering, whether illness or loss, depression or fear, is to remind them that I believe that God is with them every step of the hard journey. That s exactly the promise of the - 4 -

5 second story that was read to us today the Passion story. Passion means suffering, of course. It is precisely in Christ s suffering that God enacts the promise to be with us through it all. Planted as it is at the very center of the faith, the cross makes Christian faith radically and inescapably down-to-earth. By the cross, God declares in a way deeper than any words: "There is no pain that you may bear that I have not born; there is no darkness that can overtake you that I have not seen; there is no fear that might grip you that I have not known. All that might come to you, I have passed through. And when you come to pass through it, know that I am with you." None of this explains away suffering; it s simply the sign of the ages that God is with us. Through it all, God is with us. But then of course, the cross is not the end of the story. But that s for next week. That s what I told my friend in the hospital. I told him about the cross that God was with him. And then I told him about next Sunday. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen - 5 -