Good Friday.06                                                  April 14, 2006

Great events in history can be moral moments,
         occasions that test the mettle of our characters,
         that shine a spotlight into our souls
         and show us who we are, both good and bad.
September 11 has been such a moral moment.
It has brought out the best and the worst in us.
It has brought out heroism, generosity, and wisdom.
It has brought out fear, vindictiveness, and prejudice.

The trial of Robert Moussaoui has been
         a chance to look at heroism
                 with humility and wonder.
The jury has been hearing the voice recordings
         of cell phone calls made by people
                 who knew they were about to die.

These recordings are not being made public.
You and I will not hear them,
         and that is as it should be.
There is a dignity in that. A respect.
Our society does not always demonstrate such decency,
But September 11 has shown
         that we are still capable of it.

Those who have heard the recordings though
         say that they are moving in the simple courage
                  of those who knew they were facing death.
They gave practical instructions, told their families
         where to find things, reminded them of appointments.
Rather than disintegrating in the face of death,
         they spoke with serenity and simplicity
                  that confound our imaginations.

In John’s account of the Passion of Our Lord,
         there is such a serene courage in the way Jesus
         moves through this horror,
         a quiet dignity with which he faces death.

I do not mean to deny that Jesus was in a sense unique.
But there is also a sense in which Jesus
         represents Everyman.

St. Paul, in explaining how atonement works,
         emphasized Jesus as Everyman, the 2nd Adam.
Just as the first Adam was a representative or agent
                  for the human race,
         Jesus was also an agent or representative
                  for all of us.
He was so profoundly and perfectly human
         he could act on our behalf.

Adam showed our human capacity
         for pride and overreaching.
Adam showed that part of humanity
         we see in corporate scandals like Enron.
But Jesus showed another part of humanity,
         another way of being human,
         the way of dignity and concern for others
                  that we hear in the voices of 9-11.

Before Pilate, Jesus does not make speeches
        like an angry chief of state charged with war crimes.
He does not present complex explanations of his innocence
        like a CEO on trial.
He does not grovel or plead for mercy.

Asked if he is a king, Jesus answers, “I just tell the truth.
        People who follow the truth, do what I say

                 – not because I have any power.
        It’s just that what I say is true.”

When asked to elaborate or answer questions,
        Jesus is silent.
And his silence threatens Pilate’s power.
Pilate, the Procurator for the Roman Empire,
        a man of seeming power,
        actually needs the prisoner to grovel and beg,
                 so he can feel powerful.
Jesus’ silence makes Pilate feel weak and afraid,
        so he shouts at him,

        “Do you not know I have power over your very life?”
And Jesus gently reminds him,

        “You have no power except
                 what someone else gives you.”

And therein lies the key.
Pilate’s power is not his own.
It depends on others.
So he is insecure.

The text says, when Pilate heard
         Jesus claimed to be the Son of God,

                 “he was even more afraid.”
Pilate is afraid of the crowd, afraid of the Emperor,
         and afraid of Jesus.

But Jesus is not afraid.
His power doesn’t depend on anyone else.
His power is all in the truth.
The crowd, the Emperor, and Pilate
         cannot change the truth.

Jesus has already faced his mortality.
He did that in our lesson on Lent 5,
        and said “It is for this that I was born.”
So Jesus isn’t afraid he may die.
He knows he will die,
        but he still has the truth in him,
        and nobody can take that away.

So while the crowd shouts, the soldiers mock,
        and Pilate wrings his hands,
                Jesus is serene, balanced.

From the cross, he attends to domestic details.
Like the people calling on their families
        from doomed airplanes on 9-11,
        he makes provisions for those he will leave behind.
He entrusts Mary and the Beloved Disciple
        to each others care.

The Passion Narrative in John isn’t about Jesus
        suffering so we don’t have to.
The idea that Jesus dies to satisfy God’s need
        to see somebody punished
                 is in St. Anselm and John Calvin.
But, whether it’s true or not, it isn’t in John.

In this Gospel, Jesus is lifted on the cross to draw all people
         to himself,
         to show us the way to die,
                 and the way to live.

It’s a matter of letting go of the things
         that are shaky, that are undependable,
         that depend on other people

         – like health, wealth, power, and prestige.
It’s recognizing that anything that can be lost
         will be lost.

The people in the airplanes on 9-11 learned that
         immediately before they died.
Jesus knew it all along.
So when he came to trial,
         he didn’t have anything invested
                  in what he already knew he would lose.
We all lose it.

Jesus had invested his life in the truth.
He had placed his well-being in God’s love,
         not the public opinion polls.
So Jesus died as he lived, without fear.

There is a freedom in that.
There is also a certain simplicity.
When we aren’t tensed up fretting over our security,
         we can attend to the little things,
         and we can attend to each other.

The admonition Jesus gave most often was, “Fear not.” //

Whatever can be lost will be lost.
All our fretting will do us no good.
The best of luck will only change the timing a little.

But when all that can be lost is lost,
         the way to life opens up before us,
                  and it leads right here
         into this moment in all its simplicity,
         in the necessity of life’s details
         and the grace of each other’s need.

                                                     Amen.