Bread and Wine Reading: "The Mystery of Jesus", Blaise Pascal
Scripture Reading: Matthew 26: 38-45
Then he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.” Then he came to the disciples and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter, “So, could you not stay awake with me one hour? Stay awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” Again he went away for the second time and prayed, “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.” Again he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were heavy. So leaving them again, he went away and prayed for the third time, saying the same words. Then he came to the disciples and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? See, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners.
The Passion of Jesus is something at which we cannot bear to look and yet something that we cannot bear to ignore. It epitomizes the deepest of human pain. Not only did Jesus die the unthinkable death upon the cross, he, for all practical purposes, died alone. Blaise Pascal characterizes the Jesus of the Passion as “troubled”. He says that “Jesus seeks some comfort at least from his three dearest friends, and they sleep: he asks them to bear with him a while, and they abandon him with complete indifference, and with so little pity that it did not keep them awake even for a single moment.”
This is the part of the Passion that is uncomfortable. We can go along with Jesus’ humanity; even surmise that, if only for a time, God in Jesus Christ was “one of us”. But when Jesus starts showing loneliness or, even worse, fear, we squirm a bit because we start seeing a bit too much of our own selves in the story. It is easier for us to turn away; it is easier for us to sleep. Perhaps, then, it will all go away.
And yet, we are asked to share in Jesus’ Passion. This is not supposed to be his to endure alone, for it is only in sharing in the Passion, in taking on a “willing spirit” that we will find ourselves with Christ. It will not make us unafraid of death. Jesus, himself, was afraid of what was to come. Our faith does not take the fear away but rather awakens us to God’s very presence even at our lowest points. And as we see God, we also see ourselves. Pascal continues when he says, “I see the depths of my pride, curiosity, concupiscence…But he was made sin for me. All your scourges fell upon him. He is more abominable than I, and, far from loathing me, feels honored that I go to him and help him. But he healed himself and will heal me all the more surely.” In the Passion, God in Jesus Christ descends to our lowest point, that part of ourselves that we can not bear to acknowledge, that part of ourselves to which we would rather close our eyes and sleep. And, while we are sleeping, God raises even our lowest selves into glory.
Discussion Questions:
1.) In what ways do you think you close your eyes to Jesus’ Passion?
2.) Do you fear death? In what way does your faith speak to that fear?
3.) What is that part of yourself that is the hardest to acknowledge? What is that part that you are tempted to “sleep through”?
So go forth and be awake that you might see everything that God is doing in your life!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Prisoner of Hope
Bread and Wine Reading: "Prisoner of Hope", Jurgen Moltmann
Scripture Reading: Mark 14: 32-36
They went to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took with him Peter and James and John, and began to be distressed and agitated. And said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He said, “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.”
Of course, the cup was not removed. Jesus would ultimately go through an unbearably painful and unimaginable death. We as Christians struggle immensely with this. As Moltmann said, “We shall never be able to get used to the fact that at the very center of the Christian faith we hear this cry of the godforsaken Christ for God. We shall always attempt to weaken its effect and to replace it by ‘more pious’ parting words.” In our human minds, we can fathom no answer to the question of “why?” and we struggle with it. Why didn’t God step in at the last minute? Why didn’t God change the course of history? Why didn’t God save Jesus?
Moltmann contends that this question is at the center of Christ’s Passion, the center of the very God-experience. And rather than being the end of all human and religious hope, it is but the beginning. “For me,” Moltmann says, “it is the beginning of true hope, because it is the beginning of a life which has death behind it and for which hell is no longer to be feared.” Essentially, it is the deepest of hope born again from the deepest and most profound death, the very lowest of human godforsakenness.
We humans, of course, struggle when we think about death. And to think about death as hope is almost an anathema to our spirituality. After all, we believe in hope; we believe in life. But go back to the Hebrew Wisdom literature. Ecclesiastes tells us that “there is a time to die.” In other words, there is a time to let go, to move beyond where you are. And isn’t this what our whole Christian faith tells us? Death is not the end; it is the beginning of life.
What would it mean, then, to live with a “spirituality of death”, as Joan Chittister calls it in “There Is a Season”? What would it mean to let your old self die, to no longer cling to old ideas and old ways of doing things, no longer allow what is comfortable and usual to get in the way of the newness that God is offering? A spirituality of death brings light into the darkest dark and life into the most profound death. Without death, newness is never an option. That is the message of the cross—at the depths of human godforsakenness, God comes, breathes life, and death is recreated as life.
Discussion Questions:1.) In what ways do you struggle with Jesus’ Passion story, with the idea that God did not remove the “cup” from Jesus?
2.) How do you handle death? How do you deal with even dramatic changes, those “deaths” within your life?
3.) What does the concept of a “spirituality of death” mean for you? How would that change your faith journey?
So go forth and let go that God might create newness in your life!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Scripture Reading: Mark 14: 32-36
They went to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took with him Peter and James and John, and began to be distressed and agitated. And said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He said, “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.”
Of course, the cup was not removed. Jesus would ultimately go through an unbearably painful and unimaginable death. We as Christians struggle immensely with this. As Moltmann said, “We shall never be able to get used to the fact that at the very center of the Christian faith we hear this cry of the godforsaken Christ for God. We shall always attempt to weaken its effect and to replace it by ‘more pious’ parting words.” In our human minds, we can fathom no answer to the question of “why?” and we struggle with it. Why didn’t God step in at the last minute? Why didn’t God change the course of history? Why didn’t God save Jesus?
Moltmann contends that this question is at the center of Christ’s Passion, the center of the very God-experience. And rather than being the end of all human and religious hope, it is but the beginning. “For me,” Moltmann says, “it is the beginning of true hope, because it is the beginning of a life which has death behind it and for which hell is no longer to be feared.” Essentially, it is the deepest of hope born again from the deepest and most profound death, the very lowest of human godforsakenness.
We humans, of course, struggle when we think about death. And to think about death as hope is almost an anathema to our spirituality. After all, we believe in hope; we believe in life. But go back to the Hebrew Wisdom literature. Ecclesiastes tells us that “there is a time to die.” In other words, there is a time to let go, to move beyond where you are. And isn’t this what our whole Christian faith tells us? Death is not the end; it is the beginning of life.
What would it mean, then, to live with a “spirituality of death”, as Joan Chittister calls it in “There Is a Season”? What would it mean to let your old self die, to no longer cling to old ideas and old ways of doing things, no longer allow what is comfortable and usual to get in the way of the newness that God is offering? A spirituality of death brings light into the darkest dark and life into the most profound death. Without death, newness is never an option. That is the message of the cross—at the depths of human godforsakenness, God comes, breathes life, and death is recreated as life.
Discussion Questions:1.) In what ways do you struggle with Jesus’ Passion story, with the idea that God did not remove the “cup” from Jesus?
2.) How do you handle death? How do you deal with even dramatic changes, those “deaths” within your life?
3.) What does the concept of a “spirituality of death” mean for you? How would that change your faith journey?
So go forth and let go that God might create newness in your life!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Monday, March 4, 2013
Believing is Seeing
Bread and Wine Reading: "Believing is Seeing", Romano Guardini
Scripture Reading: John 20: 20-25
After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
Most of us are a lot like Thomas. We want proof. We want to be sure. We don’t want to make the wrong decision, go down the wrong road, assume the wrong thing, or look like a fool. Proof is good. Proof means certainty. Proof removes any doubt. But what does “proof” have to do with faith? Romano Guardini reminds us that “nothing that comes from God, even the greatest miracle, can be proven like 2 x 2 = 4. It touches one; it is only seen and grasped when the heart is open and the spirit purged of self. Then it awakens faith.”
The truth is, God never promised us certainty. God never promised us that we would see proof of our belief. Faith, you see, is not certainty. If there was certainty, why would we need faith at all? If you read farther beyond the Scripture passage, Jesus did indeed show Thomas his proof and Thomas believed. (Interestingly, the passage doesn’t say that Thomas even took Jesus up on his offer to touch his hands!) Then Jesus looked him in the eye and said “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” But this “proof” was not shown until one week later according to the Scripture. So, did Thomas all of a sudden believe because Jesus showed him the proof? (That’s usually how we read it.) Or, had Thomas spent that week mired in questions and doubts, searching and straining and exploring his own understanding of who Jesus was so that when he saw, it was because he believed?
Does everything always have to be clear for us to believe? God doesn’t prove God’s existence. Instead, God shows us. God shows us in the unexpected and the ordinary, in the grand and in the seemingly unimpressive, in our successes and even in our failures. Faith isn’t about proof or certainty. I think God knew and perhaps even hoped that we would sometimes have doubts, hoped that we would question our understandings enough that they would become ours, rather than someone else’s that we had simply decided worked for us. Hans Kung said that “doubt is the shadow cast by faith. One does not always notice it, but it is always there, though concealed. At any moment it may come to action. There is no mystery of the faith which is immune to doubt.” “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Belief is not about seeing what is there but about seeing what you know. Faith is not about seeing things; it is about allowing yourself to see. God does not call us to a blind, unexamined faith, accepting all that we see as certain, unquestionable truth; God instead calls us to an illumined doubt, through which we search and journey toward a greater understanding of God, through which we see God for ourselves. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Believing is seeing.
Discussion Questions:
1.) Where in everyday life do you see God?
2.) What, for you, is the difference between faith and certainty? Which is more comfortable for you?
3.) What effect does certainty have on faith?
So go forth and see, whether or not you have seen!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Scripture Reading: John 20: 20-25
After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
Most of us are a lot like Thomas. We want proof. We want to be sure. We don’t want to make the wrong decision, go down the wrong road, assume the wrong thing, or look like a fool. Proof is good. Proof means certainty. Proof removes any doubt. But what does “proof” have to do with faith? Romano Guardini reminds us that “nothing that comes from God, even the greatest miracle, can be proven like 2 x 2 = 4. It touches one; it is only seen and grasped when the heart is open and the spirit purged of self. Then it awakens faith.”
The truth is, God never promised us certainty. God never promised us that we would see proof of our belief. Faith, you see, is not certainty. If there was certainty, why would we need faith at all? If you read farther beyond the Scripture passage, Jesus did indeed show Thomas his proof and Thomas believed. (Interestingly, the passage doesn’t say that Thomas even took Jesus up on his offer to touch his hands!) Then Jesus looked him in the eye and said “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” But this “proof” was not shown until one week later according to the Scripture. So, did Thomas all of a sudden believe because Jesus showed him the proof? (That’s usually how we read it.) Or, had Thomas spent that week mired in questions and doubts, searching and straining and exploring his own understanding of who Jesus was so that when he saw, it was because he believed?
Does everything always have to be clear for us to believe? God doesn’t prove God’s existence. Instead, God shows us. God shows us in the unexpected and the ordinary, in the grand and in the seemingly unimpressive, in our successes and even in our failures. Faith isn’t about proof or certainty. I think God knew and perhaps even hoped that we would sometimes have doubts, hoped that we would question our understandings enough that they would become ours, rather than someone else’s that we had simply decided worked for us. Hans Kung said that “doubt is the shadow cast by faith. One does not always notice it, but it is always there, though concealed. At any moment it may come to action. There is no mystery of the faith which is immune to doubt.” “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Belief is not about seeing what is there but about seeing what you know. Faith is not about seeing things; it is about allowing yourself to see. God does not call us to a blind, unexamined faith, accepting all that we see as certain, unquestionable truth; God instead calls us to an illumined doubt, through which we search and journey toward a greater understanding of God, through which we see God for ourselves. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Believing is seeing.
Discussion Questions:
1.) Where in everyday life do you see God?
2.) What, for you, is the difference between faith and certainty? Which is more comfortable for you?
3.) What effect does certainty have on faith?
So go forth and see, whether or not you have seen!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Sunday, March 3, 2013
They Took My Lord Away
Bread and Wine Reading: "They Took My Lord Away", John Donne
Scripture Reading: John 20: 11-16
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher).
For us, this is probably one of the most painful accounts in the whole Passion story. How could we bear it? How could we bear having God taken away from us? We identify with Mary’s heart wrenching lament and we identify with the feeling of loss and helplessness. But John Donne points out that there are many ways that Christ is “taken from us”, that, in essence, we are separated from Christ. And, as we must admit, many of them are of our own doing. We can lose sight of Christ for all kinds of reasons: perhaps we have experienced a hurt or a loss so deep that we can no longer sense God’s presence in it; perhaps we have held on so tightly to doctrines and understandings of God that no longer make sense to us that we cannot see God anywhere else; and perhaps, perhaps, we have just let our lives consume us, falling so victim to the temptations of “busy-ness” and the feeling of being overwhelmed that we no longer have time to stop and see God.
“But,” as Donne says, “if we do not return to our diligence to seek him, and seek him, and seek him with a heavy heart, though we began with a taking away—other [people], other temptations took him away—yet we end in a casting away, we ourselves cast him away since we have been told where to find him and have not sought him.” In other words, no matter what the reason that God has been taken away from you, no matter why it is that you cannot seem to be able to see God, neglecting to seek God is the same as casting your Lord away all over again.
Admittedly, seeking God is sometimes hard. In fact, sometimes seeking God is downright painful. But that is what this journey of faith, this walk to the Cross, is about. It is about our act of seeking God, of stripping away those things that stand in the way of our seeing God, of getting rid of those things that do not allow us to see ourselves as God sees us, and of surrendering ourselves and our lives to that journey. It is about seeing the God who has already sought us out, the Christ who has found us. Donne reminds us that “Christ is at home with you, [Christ] is at home within you, and there is the nearest way to find [Christ].” In There Is a Season, Joan Chittister tells a story from the Sufi mystic tradition:
Discussion Questions:
1.) What things cause you to feel that “your Lord has been taken away”?
2.) What stands in the way of your seeking Christ?
3.) Where are you likeliest to find Christ?
So go forth and seek the God who is always with you!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Scripture Reading: John 20: 11-16
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher).
For us, this is probably one of the most painful accounts in the whole Passion story. How could we bear it? How could we bear having God taken away from us? We identify with Mary’s heart wrenching lament and we identify with the feeling of loss and helplessness. But John Donne points out that there are many ways that Christ is “taken from us”, that, in essence, we are separated from Christ. And, as we must admit, many of them are of our own doing. We can lose sight of Christ for all kinds of reasons: perhaps we have experienced a hurt or a loss so deep that we can no longer sense God’s presence in it; perhaps we have held on so tightly to doctrines and understandings of God that no longer make sense to us that we cannot see God anywhere else; and perhaps, perhaps, we have just let our lives consume us, falling so victim to the temptations of “busy-ness” and the feeling of being overwhelmed that we no longer have time to stop and see God.
“But,” as Donne says, “if we do not return to our diligence to seek him, and seek him, and seek him with a heavy heart, though we began with a taking away—other [people], other temptations took him away—yet we end in a casting away, we ourselves cast him away since we have been told where to find him and have not sought him.” In other words, no matter what the reason that God has been taken away from you, no matter why it is that you cannot seem to be able to see God, neglecting to seek God is the same as casting your Lord away all over again.
Admittedly, seeking God is sometimes hard. In fact, sometimes seeking God is downright painful. But that is what this journey of faith, this walk to the Cross, is about. It is about our act of seeking God, of stripping away those things that stand in the way of our seeing God, of getting rid of those things that do not allow us to see ourselves as God sees us, and of surrendering ourselves and our lives to that journey. It is about seeing the God who has already sought us out, the Christ who has found us. Donne reminds us that “Christ is at home with you, [Christ] is at home within you, and there is the nearest way to find [Christ].” In There Is a Season, Joan Chittister tells a story from the Sufi mystic tradition:
“Where shall I find God?” the disciple asked the elder. “God is with you,” the
Holy One replied. “But if that is true,” the disciple asked, “why can I not see
this Presence?” “Because you are like the fish who, when in the ocean, never
notices the water.”…It is not that God is not with us; it is that we are
unaware.
Discussion Questions:
1.) What things cause you to feel that “your Lord has been taken away”?
2.) What stands in the way of your seeking Christ?
3.) Where are you likeliest to find Christ?
So go forth and seek the God who is always with you!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Truth To Tell
Bread and Wine Reading: "Truth To Tell", Barbara Brown Taylor
Scripture Reading: John 1: 5-11
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.
Our story of Good Friday has taken on many versions over the last 2,000 years and the blame for what happened has of course settled onto a variety of characters in a variety of ways. For years, the Jews around Jesus were blamed, lumping “Jews” into a large class of “non-believers”, as if forgetting that all of Jesus’ inner-circle and Jesus himself were actually Jewish and that at that point “Christianity” was non-existent! It is easy, too, to blame the Romans, the “powers that be”, speculating that they were threatened by Jesus’ rule. And then there are the theories that in effect “blame” God, citing that God sent Jesus with the specific purpose of dying. In “Truth to Tell”, Barbara Brown Taylor contends that “one of the many things this story tells us is that Jesus was not brought down by atheism and anarchy. He was brought down by law and order allied with religion, which is always a deadly mix…Beware those who cannot tell God’s will from their own.”
Taylor proposes that perhaps all of these “blame games” are nothing more than our attempt to avoid seeing our own reflection in the mirror, to see that we, too, are easily cast as the villain in this story. She says that “as long as [others] remain the villains, then we are off the hook—or so we think.” In other words, as long as we can remove ourselves from the story, what happened will never be our fault. And yet, as Taylor claims, “sons and daughters of God are killed in every generation. They have been killed in holy wars and inquisitions, concentration camps, and prison cells.” Anytime we kill in the “name of God", anytime we commit violence in the “name of God”, we are guilty of crucifying Christ. Anytime we exclude someone “in the name of God” or even neglect standing up for justice “in the name of God”, we are guilty. And anytime that we are so sure that we are right, so sure that we know God’s will that we cannot see God’s will in others, we are guilty.
The reason this story is so hard for us is that it does call us to look at our own reflection. In the Light of Christ, the Crucifixion, unable to remain in darkness because of the light, becomes a mirror. And all those who have been “crucified”—killed, hurt, excluded, shunned--in the name of God or in the name of justice or in the name of our attempt to preserve the way things are also become mirrors. And, as uncomfortable as it may be, they do have a truth to tell as they show us who we are in the Light of Christ. Taylor said that “[Jesus] was the truth, a perfect mirror in which people saw themselves in God’s own light.” She recounts a story of a group being asked who represented Christ in their lives. One woman stood up and said, “I had to think hard about that one. I kept thinking, ‘Who is it who told me the truth about myself so clearly that I wanted to kill him for it?’”
Discussion Questions:
1.) What image of the reason for Jesus’ Crucifixion is the most comfortable for you? What image is the least comfortable for you?
2.) What are some ways in our 21st century modern society that we “crucify” Christ anew?
3.) Who is it that shows you the truth about yourself so clearly that you want to kill him or her for it, or, at the very least, simply walk away and pretend that they do not exist?
So go forth into the mirror and let the truth be reflected for you and in you!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Scripture Reading: John 1: 5-11
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.
Our story of Good Friday has taken on many versions over the last 2,000 years and the blame for what happened has of course settled onto a variety of characters in a variety of ways. For years, the Jews around Jesus were blamed, lumping “Jews” into a large class of “non-believers”, as if forgetting that all of Jesus’ inner-circle and Jesus himself were actually Jewish and that at that point “Christianity” was non-existent! It is easy, too, to blame the Romans, the “powers that be”, speculating that they were threatened by Jesus’ rule. And then there are the theories that in effect “blame” God, citing that God sent Jesus with the specific purpose of dying. In “Truth to Tell”, Barbara Brown Taylor contends that “one of the many things this story tells us is that Jesus was not brought down by atheism and anarchy. He was brought down by law and order allied with religion, which is always a deadly mix…Beware those who cannot tell God’s will from their own.”
Taylor proposes that perhaps all of these “blame games” are nothing more than our attempt to avoid seeing our own reflection in the mirror, to see that we, too, are easily cast as the villain in this story. She says that “as long as [others] remain the villains, then we are off the hook—or so we think.” In other words, as long as we can remove ourselves from the story, what happened will never be our fault. And yet, as Taylor claims, “sons and daughters of God are killed in every generation. They have been killed in holy wars and inquisitions, concentration camps, and prison cells.” Anytime we kill in the “name of God", anytime we commit violence in the “name of God”, we are guilty of crucifying Christ. Anytime we exclude someone “in the name of God” or even neglect standing up for justice “in the name of God”, we are guilty. And anytime that we are so sure that we are right, so sure that we know God’s will that we cannot see God’s will in others, we are guilty.
The reason this story is so hard for us is that it does call us to look at our own reflection. In the Light of Christ, the Crucifixion, unable to remain in darkness because of the light, becomes a mirror. And all those who have been “crucified”—killed, hurt, excluded, shunned--in the name of God or in the name of justice or in the name of our attempt to preserve the way things are also become mirrors. And, as uncomfortable as it may be, they do have a truth to tell as they show us who we are in the Light of Christ. Taylor said that “[Jesus] was the truth, a perfect mirror in which people saw themselves in God’s own light.” She recounts a story of a group being asked who represented Christ in their lives. One woman stood up and said, “I had to think hard about that one. I kept thinking, ‘Who is it who told me the truth about myself so clearly that I wanted to kill him for it?’”
Discussion Questions:
1.) What image of the reason for Jesus’ Crucifixion is the most comfortable for you? What image is the least comfortable for you?
2.) What are some ways in our 21st century modern society that we “crucify” Christ anew?
3.) Who is it that shows you the truth about yourself so clearly that you want to kill him or her for it, or, at the very least, simply walk away and pretend that they do not exist?
So go forth into the mirror and let the truth be reflected for you and in you!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
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