Good Friday 2022

Church of the Redeemer, Chestnut Hill

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Let’s get real. Today’s liturgy is about a violent death. Now, whoever you think Jesus was in real life, and why he was crucified, depends upon your perspective. Some claim he was an innocent man, unfairly accused and sentenced to death. Others say he was a good man who made claims of divinity that were blasphemous to His religious leaders; and so they asked for his death, claiming falsely that he was a rabble rouser, and a threat to the Roman emperor. Perhaps Jesus was your family member or a friend, and it didn’t matter what you thought about him. You just knew that you loved him.

John Dominic Crossan and Sarah Sexton Crossan wrote an article entitled “Rising up with Christ” in which they address the escalatory nature of human violence from the perspectives of anthropology, sociology, and theology. “Since Homo Sapiens spread out from Africa 70,000 years ago, we have never invented weapons we did not use, nor created ones less lethal than those we replaced. We moved inexorably from iron sword to atomic bomb in about 3,000 years. Given our history of escalatory violence, what can save our species from itself?” the authors ask.(1/19/18, Living Church) 

They say there is no getting to Easter unless you go through Good Friday. That is to say, there is no resurrection of the dead unless you die. But who wants to think about death when we’re still very much alive? Who wants to confront the painful reality of death, when we can still avoid it? And yet Good Friday is when death, injustice, and violence is shoved right into our faces and under our noses with the crucifixion of Jesus. 

Crucifixions were public spectacles, arranged to humiliate the ones who were crucified, not unlike warfare today. In courts of law, victims like Jesus were condemned to death by dispassionate tribunals, people of prejudice, and angry mobs. Avoiding responsibility and accountability, people passed Jesus from one hand to another, letting others take the blame. Death penalties were intended to send a clear message. Step out of line and this could happen to you. Keep your mouth shut and conform to the party line. If you sin, you will be punished, and you will pay with your life.

Death is ugly, no matter how it comes to pass, and crucifixions were intended to be especially ugly. The prophet Isaiah describes a suffering servant whose appearance was marred. He was a man of infirmity, despised and rejected by others. Like Jesus, in his last hours, his mouth is dry as dust; his body is wounded by abuse, and his arms are weakened by the nails that hold his arms open. Breathing becomes difficult, the effects of crucifixion, diseases like COVID, or a knee pressed down hard and unrelenting upon your neck. 

Death comes to innocent people. Maybe they are fleeing from the devastation of their own lives, sitting in their cars, and suddenly crushed by enemy tanks, or walking home from work and hit by a stray bullet. Terrified, innocent people hide in their buildings, behind closed and locked doors of fear. Bombs, dropping from above, explode, and destroy the temples of God’s Spirit, human bodies and sacred sanctuaries that were created for prayer. 

In a perversion of justice, our graves become open pits, holding rich and poor alike, the guilty and innocent lying side by side. People of various faiths are thrown together in unholy wars and hostile acts, initiated by human pride, greed, and violent aggression from the very beginning of time. Like Golgotha, the smell of death stinks to high heaven; and people often wonder, “Where now is our God?”.

Like a sniper or the secret police sitting atop a building, we watch people get picked off and die. Lying in a bed at home or in the hospital, on the street or in the battlefield, is our sibling, our parent, or an innocent child. Maybe it’s a friend, a community member, or a citizen of another country. “How can this be happening to them or to us,” we cry, as the hard truth of death breaks in upon us. “Why have you forsaken me or them?” we demand of our God. And is there any hope for us in a world where pandemics, wars, and injustice rage like wildfires around our globe?

Michael Fick, pastor of Ebenezer Lutheran Church in Chicago, reminds us that we are not re-crucifying Jesus on Good Friday, but we are looking “full on” at the reality of death. We are facing the profound feelings that arise when we look at innocent people who are dying. (Christian Century, 04/06/22, p19) We see the weapons we have used throughout history and how violence can easily escalate. And so we whisper, we wail, and we grieve our sins and our losses at the foot of the cross.

Jesus knows “the cup that the Father has given" to him is the cup of his own death; and rather than denying it or avoiding it, he steps forward to embrace it. He knew full well for whom the soldiers were looking, and for whom the bell tolls. Dominic and Sarah Crossan claim that “Very deliberately, Jesus of Nazareth lived and died, incarnating one obvious answer - indeed, surely the only possible answer. Programmatic nonviolent resistance to violence alone can end civilization’s trajectory of escalation.” (end quote)  

John’s gospel claims that God had created Jesus for a purpose - to live and die as one of us, and to show us the way into resurrection life. And so I close with a final story, whose author remains unknown. “There was a kind, decent, mostly good man who was generous to his family, and upright in his dealings with other people. He just couldn’t swallow the Jesus story, about God coming to earth as a man; and so he chose to stay home on Christmas eve, rather than going to church with his family.”

“Shortly after the family drove away in the car, snow began to come down quite heavily. He was reading the newspaper in a chair by the fire, when he was startled by a thudding sound. These sounds became so frequent that he thought someone might be throwing snowballs at the window. He went to the front door to investigate and found a flock of birds huddled miserably in the snow. Caught in the storm, and desperate for shelter. They had tried to fly through the window into the lighted room.”

“Well this man couldn’t let the poor creatures lie there and freeze to death, and then he remembered their barn. It could provide a warm shelter, if he only could direct the birds into it. So going out into the storm, he opened the barn doors wide and turned on a light, but the birds did not go in. He then figured that food might entice them, and so he fetched bread crumbs, and sprinkled them onto the snow, making a trail to the open doorway. The birds continued to flap around helplessly in the snow.”

“Next he tried shooing them into the barn by walking around them and waving his arms. Instead, they scattered in every direction, except into the warm, lighted barn. And then, suddenly, he realized that they were afraid of him. If only I could think of some way to let them know that I am not trying to hurt them, but rather to help them.”

“‘If only I could be a bird,’ he thought to himself, ‘and then I could mingle with them and speak their language. I would tell them not to be afraid, and show them the way into the safe warm barn. I would have to be one of them, he realized, so they could see, and hear, and understand.” (end of story)

This is the story of our salvation, of the incarnation when God became human, and lived and died as one of us. Jesus shows us that the cross is not the end of our story; for it is a symbol for Christians, not only of suffering and death, but also of everlasting life. On one cross hangs a man; on another cross, it is empty. 

If there is punishment to be had, we are forgiven. If a debt is owed, it has been paid. If our bodies, minds, and spirits have become broken, we are healed. For God so loved the world, that He stretched out his arms of love on the hard wood of the cross, so that everyone might come within the reach of his saving embrace. It is a good Friday when we remember Jesus.

Death no longer has its sting; the war is over and the victory is ours. So let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful.The tomb will become empty and the barn door is wide open. And Jesus has shown us the Way into Resurrection Life.

Sacrificial Love

 Maundy Thursday, April 14, 2022

Church of the Redeemer, Chestnut Hill

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

 

The gospel of John is very different from the other three gospels. As John tells the story, Jesus knew from the very beginning of his life, who he was and what he had to do. He was on a mission to incarnate the love of God; and Jesus served with a spiritual force. He was willing to get down and dirty, fighting sin and evil in the trenches, washing the feet of his disciples, and doing the work of a soldier without resorting to violence. 

John Wesley once wrote, “Beware you be not swallowed up in books. An ounce of love is worth a pound of knowledge.” Or as Ralph Waldo Emerson once warned, “Character is higher than intellect.” Too often we think that our knowledge will increase our power, our control, and our authority, sometimes at the expense of our ethics. Too often we discover moral tragedy amongst our highest achievements. We forget what St. Paul told the Corinthians, that even if we have “prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if we have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, we are nothing.”

In John’s gospel, the disciples knew who Jesus was right from the get go. He was their Lord and their Teacher; and that is “what I am” Jesus said. Jesus was called rabbi; for He knew their scripture story, their religious laws, the history of their prophets, and the commandments of God. He knew God personally, his heavenly Father, intimately. And at his last Supper, Jesus knew that his hour of death was coming, that he had come from God and that he was going back to God. Sadly, Jesus knew that Judas would betray him. 

“I give you a new commandment,” Jesus said, “that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” And yet, I wonder how he continued to love others, most especially his disciples, in the face of their betrayal and denial. The disciples were like family members, with closest access to Jesus, and yet sometimes they seemed clueless about who He was. They were like secret service members, charged with protecting their leader; and yet they left him alone in his darkest hour.

Jesus knew that Judas was not “clean”; and yet he didn’t try to change his mind or deter his actions. Nor did Jesus attempt to hide in a military bunker or sleep in the soft bed of a fortified palace. He was in the garden of Gethsemane, just outside the city of Jerusalem, and vulnerable to anyone who wanted to do him harm. Not rallying his troops to storm the capital, nor asking his disciples to defend Him with swords, Jesus was found praying. He was preparing for his death. 

Judas knew where the Roman soldiers could find Jesus that night, after the dinner plates had been cleared, and his feet had been washed. And so, in the dark of night, when evil is crouching at the door, and roaring like a lion, Judas led the Roman soldiers to arrest Jesus in the garden. Upon arrival, Judas betrayed his faithful leader with a kiss. The Devil made him do it..

Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote that “Jesus had called and chosen Judas; and that he knew from the very beginning who would betray him. And yet nowhere is there any suggestion that Jesus secretly hated Judas. Quite the contrary, as keeper of the disciples’ purse, Judas even seemed to have been distinguished from among the other disciples.” (end quote) Keeping both his friends and his enemies close, Jesus loved them all to the end. (Meditations on the Cross, pp33-34)

Now if you have had any experience of love at all, you know that betrayal and denial are very much part of our human relationships. They reveal the dark side of human love. Betrayal, like denial, is oftentimes not intentional, perhaps not even conscious; and they usually happen to us by those we trust - like our parents, our spouses, our siblings, and our children. Like our friends, our community members, and business partners. Like our political, law enforcement, and religious leaders. “How can they do that to us?” we cry out in our pain.

Jesus knew who He was and what he had to do. He was on God’s mission of reconciliation and to be an example of love for us all. Which is why, in the gospel of John, Jesus’ last words were, “It is finished.” Jesus knew that Judas played an important role in God’s mission, and that his own mission would not be complete until Judas had fulfilled his own. In the vernacular, Jesus turned to Judas at the Last Supper and said, “You do you.” And then, giving him a piece of the bread, Jesus said, “do quickly what you are to do.” Immediately, Judas left the table.

Sacrificial love can be interpreted in many different ways. Some say that it means to pick up our crosses and carry them, silent as lambs being led to the slaughter. Or, in service to others, like Simon of Cyrene, we can pick up other people’s crosses, and carry their burdens. Sacrificial love means that we endure betrayals and denials, despite the deep hurt that they cause. It means we wash the feet of our friends and foes alike, forgiving others, just like Jesus.

Sacrifice, rooted in the Latin words of sacer and facere, means to make something holy, which is why we remember Jesus every time we celebrate the Eucharist. As often as we eat this bread and drink this cup, we remember Jesus. We remember His broken body and His blood poured out in sacrificial love; and we will keep remembering Him every time we keep the feast. Then, as disciples of Jesus, we can offer our love to others, with simple words and simple acts.

One of my very favorite stories of sacrificial love is about Adam in a piece called “A Soul Shines” by Martha Beck. “I can hear Adam downstairs bellowing at his older sister for taking a can of Coca-Cola away from him. I don’t give Coke to my kids, but I keep a stash of it for a friend of mine. Adam just located my latest hiding place. He had guzzled one can and was on to his second when Katie caught him. After one Coke, we can expect Adam to get totally wired on sugar and caffeine, and spend several soulful hours strumming away on his guitar, singing love songs about his girlfriend, Lonnie.”

“Adam is not some oracular phenomenon. He’s just a kid with boyish enthusiasm for tormenting his sisters, and a voice like one of Billy Goats Gruff. I generally keep quiet about the fact that every now and then, something different shines through Adam’s Down Syndrome child facade. It glints like a light, and can take your breath away.”

“When Adam was three years old, I began to lose hope that he would ever communicate verbally. His inability to speak was terribly frustrating for him, and it just plain broke my heart. I worked with him for hours, doing the exercises the speech therapists had taught me, having no success whatsoever. Sometimes Adam made random sounds that could be force fit into words, but I had to face it: the kid couldn’t talk. Not at all.”

“One day, after hours of unsuccessful therapy, I hit a low point. I took my children to the grocery store, and offered them bribes to keep quiet. I was too tired and discouraged to enforce discipline in any other way. I told them they could pick out a treat from the candy stand. Katie chose a roll of Life Savers, and Lizzie a chocolate bar. Adam, who seemed to understand everything I said, even if he couldn’t talk, went over to a basket of red rosebuds and pulled one out.”

“”’That’s what you want?’ I asked incredulously. He nodded. ‘No honey, this isn’t candy,’ I said, putting it back and turning him toward the row of sweets.’Don’t you want candy?’ Adam shook his small head, walked back to the bucket, picked out the rose, and put it on the counter. I was baffled, but I paid for it. Adam took it gravely, and then as the girls unwrapped their candy, he held the flower with both hands all the way home. When we got there, I was immediately engrossed in putting away the groceries and forgot all about his strange request.”

“The next morning I awoke to find sunlight streaming through my bedroom window. John had already left for the day, and I could hear quiet babbling coming from Lizzie’s room. As I yawned and stretched, I heard Adam’s small feet paddling down the hallway to my bedroom. He appeared at the door with the rose, which he had put in a small crystal bud vase. I looked at him in surprise. I didn’t realize that he knew what vases were for, let alone how to get one down from the cupboard, fill it with water, and then put a flower in it.”

“Adam walked over to my bed and handed the rose to me. As he held it out, he said, in a clear, calm voice, ‘Here.’ (Pause) Then he turned around, his little blue pajamas dragging a bit on the floor, and padded out of the room.” (end quote)

Parent and child, God and Jesus, you and me: sacrificial love. It’s our mission, hard and simple as it is to do.

 

Steven Earl Gordon, RIP

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newtown, Connecticut

April 9, 2022

The Rev. Nancy E., Gossling

If there are worse times in our earthly lives, I can't imagine them being much worse than what you, the family members of Earl Gordon, have endured this week. Shock is like an arctic chill blowing unexpectedly on a warm summer day. It’s like a volcano erupting, and sending hot lava down upon your village. It’s like dust descending from a nuclear bomb, reminding us how fragile our human lives really are. Such is the season of Lent when we remember that we are dust and to dust we shall return.

After his son died, Belden C. Lane wrote, “There are times when the soul needs a canyon. A wide empty space unoffended by rage, un-insulted by tears. What are canyons, anyway, but absences, losses, vast places for pouring out our grief.”  (Christian Century, 3/9/22 , p20)

Having suffered the recent loss of your beloved husband, Laurie, and your loving father, Greg and Zach, and to all the extended family members and friends wherever you are, you may feel at times that this tragic death is almost too much to bear. Earl was too young. It was too soon. He was too good of a human being to suddenly disappear from our lives. 

In a Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis describes such a loss to be like a person who has lost a leg. Crutches and prosthetics may help us initially, and surely they will in the days to come, but the absence of a body part will always remain. And Earl was a member of the body of Christ, and a beloved member of his family. So how do you mend a broken heart? Or replace a piece of our Body that seems to be gone forever?

During this initial time of mourning, we will all cope with feelings of sadness, guilt, anger, yearning, confusion, and fear. In her book A Time to Grieve, the author writes that “the death of a loved one is, for most of us, the most profound emotional experience we will ever have to endure.” (Intro) There is no set schedule for grief. No right or wrong way to do it. It is our individual journeys that we take into that vast and deep canyon, sometimes accompanied by others, and more often, usually at 3 o’clock in the morning, when we walk alone. Our cries of grief will echo in that canyon.

“Canyons, in the end, have their way,” wrote Belden Lane. “They require our acceptance of emptiness. To encounter a canyon, we have to resist the temptation to fill what needs to be left open. Only love can fill the deepest void of the human heart. And all God needs is a hole that’s left open” to let the light shine in and to mend our broken hearts. 

This past week, when traveling in my car, I would listen to the radio station called The Message. I needed some blessed assurance, some renewal of my faith, and the song entitled Scars in Heaven helped me to cope. Casting Crowns sang, “There's a wound in my heart where something is missing. And they tell me that it's gonna heal with time.” So now is the acceptable time, I tell my Lord.

Distracted by my thoughts, I am guilty of driving too fast, perhaps even recklessly, and so I ask you, who drives carefully at 55 mph these days except Earl? Unfortunately, being careful doesn’t always protect us from accidents and heartbreaks. And so, after the dust has settled, and the merciful numbness of our shock wears off, we can begin our process of healing, recognizing the fullness of our emotions, and the deep love that we have for Earl. 

We may be afraid of that deep canyon that looms before us. Our words may catch in our throats, our voices will crack and our chins will quiver, and we will seek relief in a variety of ways. Our minds will get stuck in endless loops, repeating those groundhog day questions, like the arm of a record player stuck on the groove of an old vinyl LP. Angry, we may cover our deep sorrow, by shaking our fists at God and snapping at others. With eyes overflowing with tears, we will wonder if our pain will ever subside. And some of us will ask God to fill the void and heal the devastation that we feel in our hearts.

Earl was a man full of grace and truth, a kind man full of compassion and mercy, a little man with a big heart, and a good man we were privileged to know and to love. In this sacred space, in this community of faith, and in this sanctuary, which is a safe haven for all people, Earl served as an usher for others in their times of sorrow. He was a willing servant to this church community and to this town; and he made a difference in people’s lives throughout our world. Reserved in his words, his twinkling eyes and his generous smile clearly communicated love. 

Earl was a beloved child of God, who shared his life and his love in his own gifted and unique ways for over 66 years. He was a great cook, an accomplished businessman, and a generous host.  Earl had an adventurous spirit: riding his bicycle in China, taking railways and airplanes to explore different cities, driving around islands in a Jeep with Laurie, and hiking or skiing on the trails in the Adirondacks. Earl was Craig’s back up man for our snowmobile adventures, preparing us for our rides, and digging us out of the deep snow when we got stuck. 

We all have special memories of Earl and I hope you will continue to share them with others over the days to come. I remember the deep love that Earl had for his family, and the gratitude he had for his friends and his work. He was my dinner partner at our last supper together, with his good ear on my left side. We sipped red wine together as we ate the feast of food that lay before us. Before the meals that he and Laurie prepared for our community of 12, Earl would say grace. His prayers were always thoughtful, faithful, and heartfelt. Still waters run deep even in these empty canyons of our lives.

Times like these raise questions about heaven and earth; and we may wonder if there is a Resurrection from the dead, and a life in the world to come. If there is any truth to our faith, we may wonder occasionally, what’s up with Earl now? Is he at peace? Does he know our pain? Is he free from his own? And does he feel our endless love? 

When a little girl woke up in the middle of the night during a violent thunderstorm, her father tried to comfort her by assuring her that God was always there. In response, with tears running down her face, the little girl cried out, “Yes, but I want God with skin on Her.” 

In our journeys from birth to death, we need each other to help us, to care and protect us, the way Earl did for so many people, most especially his family. We need people with skin on them to offer us words of comfort, food for the soul, and strength for our journeys. As you enter into your own canyons of emptiness, talk to God. Talk to Earl. And talk to those whom you love and trust.

In our salvation story, God promises that God will never forsake nor abandon us, nor will God ever leave us comfortless. After his own death, Jesus promised that he would send God’s Holy Spirit to be with us, wiping away our tears, offering us hope, and giving us a peace that passes all understanding. Despite our incomprehensible grief, Jesus reminds us “not to let our hearts be troubled but to trust in God. Believe in God, believe also in me,” he said.  (Jn 14.10)

In God’s house there are many dwelling places, and there is room in the inn for us all. There is a feast of food and well-aged wines ready and waiting on the table. When we arrive there someday, perhaps Earl will usher us into God’s kingdom, pull out a chair for us like the gentleman that he was, and then he will say grace. Then, and only then, will our hearts be fully healed and God’s mission of reconciliation will be complete.

At his own last supper, Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, you will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born, she forgets the anguish. Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy. And on that day,” Jesus told his disciples, “you will no longer ask me anything.’ (Jn 16:20-23) 

So, today is our time for both grief and for the celebration of a life well-lived and a man well-loved.

I hope you can hear us now, dear Earl, and feel the overwhelming love that we all have for you. Rest in peace, dear friend. We thank God for the light of Christ that shines in our darkness, and for the love of God that is poured into our broken hearts. We thank God for you, Earl, and that the only scars in heaven are on the hands that hold you now.