I am excited that we will read Saint Mark's account of the Lord's Passion. Mark's narrative is not as smooth or stylistic as the accounts of the other two synoptic writers (i.e., Matthew and Luke), both of whom used the Gospel According to Saint Mark as a source. Surprisingly, for Mark, whose narrative can often seem a bit abrupt, this passion narrative is quite long.
Reading Mark's Passion account what we are hearing is very likely the oldest part of the first-written Gospel, making it, textually-speaking, the cornerstone of our uniquely Christian scriptures, which we call the New Testament.
Much is made of Jesus reciting the words of Psalm 22 as he hung on the cross: Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani? ("My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?"). In other words, like most of what Jesus says, his utterance is rooted in Israel's scriptures, not dredged up from some void or spoken off the cuff, as it were. It is more than a prayer or a plea. These words express hope.
The relevant passage from the twenty-second Psalm consists of the second and third verses:
My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?But beginning in verse four it is easy to see hope arising from beyond the horizon of optimism. Consider verses 4-5:
Why so far from my call for help,
from my cries of anguish?
My God, I call by day, but you do not answer;
by night, but I have no relief
Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One;Hence, God is not a Deus ex machina, swooping in at the last minute, as all our superheroes do, and saving His Son before he dies. Rather, God meets us in our despair and accompanies us through it. This is made clear in the very next psalm, the much loved Psalm 23, which is only six verses long: "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff comfort me" (v. 4).
you are the glory of Israel.
In you our fathers trusted;
they trusted and you rescued them
Being truly human, Jesus really died. This is the whole point of chapter 9 of the Letter to the Hebrews. Given our human propensities, it is hardly surprising that docetism ("seemingism") emerged early on. Docetism holds that Jesus only seemed to die, or, in what is perhaps its most extreme form, it was body double who died in Jesus's place. It's difficult to get our minds around the idea that Jesus did not deem equality to God something to be grasped at, clung to, insisted upon, etc. Instead, acting out of the deepest depths of divine nature, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, subjecting himself not only death but death on the cross (see Philippians 2:5-11).
In the days of the Roman empire, among subjugated peoples, like the Jews, death on a cross was a shameful, humiliating death. Instead, on the cross the Lord despoiled "the principalities and the powers," making "a public spectacle of them," and "leading them away in triumph by it" (Colossians 2:15). You see, as a Christian you add by subtracting, you win by losing, you gain everything by claiming nothing but Christ and him crucified.
Being Christian means being kenotic- self-emptying- or it means nothing. Trinune life is kenosis, creation is kenosis, the Incarnation is kenosis, Christ's ministry, passion, death, and resurrection are kenosis. In not clinging to divine prerogatives that humanity too often attributes to God, acting instead perfectly in accord with divine nature, which is self-emptying self-giving, Jesus shows us what he means when he bids those who would follow him to take up our cross. As a friend once said in response to my assertion that God uses all things, especially our suffering, to draw us to himself: "Well, I don't like his methods." Who can blame her?
Perhaps the most telling sign of our fallenness is our tendency to think that God can and often does whatever he damn well pleases. Well, God does what he pleases, which is not for divine self-pleasure. The Father didn't kill his Son. I did. This is a difference between Abraham and Isaac and the Father and Jesus: in the latter case, the Father did not raise his hand against his Son. It is beyond idle to ask "Could God have prevented this from happening?" Asking why God "let" it happen, on the other hand, is the most human of questions, albeit one to which there is no truly satisfactory answer. Perhaps here as no place else we are confronted with mystery that cannot be explained away.
This past Thursday, the Church observed the Solemnity of the Annunciation. Rather than the Sorrowful Mysteries, which I pray virtually every day during Lent, I meditated on the Joyful Mysteries. The fourth Joyful Mystery is Mary and Joseph presenting Jesus in the Temple. Once in the Temple, according to Luke's account, the Holy Family encountered two elderly people, a man and a woman: the prophetess Anna and Simeon. Recognizing who this infant is, Simeon tells his Mother "and you yourself a sword will pierce" (Luke 2:35). Indeed, the Blessed Virgin is our Mater Dolorosa, our Mother of Sorrows. This is why we, Eve's poor banished children, cry to her.
Jesus leads you to the cross so that he can lead you beyond it. But the only way beyond the cross is through it. Nowhere does Jesus say that material wealth, comfort, hands-in-your waistband, lip-smacking, lazy ease is what he has in store for those who follow him. As a result, wealth is not a sign of divine favor- this is a pretty pagan, that is to say, very human notion. There is a lot to ponder as we enter the week Christians call "Holy."
As the lengthy introduction to the Mass for Passion Sunday bids:
with all faith and devotion,
let us commemorate
the Lord’s entry into the city of our salvation,
following in his footsteps,
so that, being made by his grace partakers of the Cross,
we may have a share also in his Resurrection and in his life
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