What can I write about Good Friday and the suffering and death of Jesus that hasn't already been written by countless Church Fathers and theologians or preached in a million homilies and sermons in churches across the globe throughout history? Nothing, I presume, and that is fine. I am just one of billions of people on this planet trying to make sense of the historical events of this day and I would be foolish to think that I possess a depth of insight that can offer anything.
All of Lent has been building up to these moments and here I sit in front of the computer uncertain of what to write. It is the morning of Good Friday and I am not sure when I will have the opportunity to do this later. With the Walk for Justice, a three hour car ride to my in-laws and what will no doubt be a busy evening with playing kids and conversation, the only thing I am certain of today is that this is the one and only time I will be available to write.
And so I am empty.
And maybe emptiness is one of the myriad meanings of this day. We often hear of Jesus "emptying himself" on the cross, and that is true enough, but the emptiness of which I am thinking is the emptiness of hopelessness and abandonment and fear. That is something that speaks to me each Good Friday . . . the emptiness I feel as a human being for what we not only did to Jesus some two thousand years ago but the emptiness which comes from not learning our lesson. How many people today must feel the same hopelessness and abandonment expressed by Jesus in his final moments of life as we know it as he cried out, "My God! My God! Why have you abandoned me!" How many people today feel this through their mourning, their poverty, their imprisonment, their victimization at the hands of another, their spiraling further and further into the depths of addiction, their unplanned pregnancy, their impending deportation, their job loss, their physical limitations, their psychological state, their political oppression, their firsthand experience of the destruction of war and violence or any untold other afflictions that haunt the human family day in and day out.
I believe in my heart that these days of the Triduum speak to that kind of emptiness. To ignore that there is suffering is to be naive. To sugar-coat the suffering of others by glibly saying that "It is God's will" or "It will be OK," as well-intentioned as it may be, fails to recognize the genuine pain that is so real in our lives. To say that Jesus, due to his divinity, was able to overcome the pain of the cross in some super-human way because he knew what it was all about seems not only to be a borderline heresy, but it ignores the reality of the Incarnation. God became human and knows the pain we feel. I don't see the cross as some glorification of suffering or the final proof that Jesus suffered more than we will ever know. I see the cross as Jesus' complete and total identification of our suffering and the affirmation that God is with us in our humanity no matter what. Jesus did not suffer to attract our attention and adoration. He did not suffer to prove to us once and for all that he is the Messiah. He did not suffer so that we would be repulsed to the point where we felt we would have no choice but to receive his message see his death as salvific. Jesus' suffering is the ultimate act of meeting us where we are. It is an affirmation that our suffering is real, that he shares in it, that the forces of darkness in this world often seem to prevail against even the most innocent and holy among us.
What makes this day even remotely tolerable, of course, is the fact that we have the benefit of knowing how the story ends. What ultimately allows us to swallow this bitter pill is the knowledge of what happens on Easter morning. But Jesus' closest friends did not have the luxury of that knowledge. His mother did not have that source of comfort. It is a point of theological debate as to what extent Jesus himself even knew of the outcome. And even in our own suffering, as we live amidst the cloud of doubt and uncertainty that is the human condition, even for those of us with the deepest conviction of faith we may find only a little peace at the moment of our greatest anguish.
Knowing the end of the story, however, is not a cop out. It is essential. That is at the very heart of the gospel message.
But today we are empty and that cannot be denied. I pray that Easter will forever come and that we will not lose hope in the face of that emptiness.
All of Lent has been building up to these moments and here I sit in front of the computer uncertain of what to write. It is the morning of Good Friday and I am not sure when I will have the opportunity to do this later. With the Walk for Justice, a three hour car ride to my in-laws and what will no doubt be a busy evening with playing kids and conversation, the only thing I am certain of today is that this is the one and only time I will be available to write.
And so I am empty.
And maybe emptiness is one of the myriad meanings of this day. We often hear of Jesus "emptying himself" on the cross, and that is true enough, but the emptiness of which I am thinking is the emptiness of hopelessness and abandonment and fear. That is something that speaks to me each Good Friday . . . the emptiness I feel as a human being for what we not only did to Jesus some two thousand years ago but the emptiness which comes from not learning our lesson. How many people today must feel the same hopelessness and abandonment expressed by Jesus in his final moments of life as we know it as he cried out, "My God! My God! Why have you abandoned me!" How many people today feel this through their mourning, their poverty, their imprisonment, their victimization at the hands of another, their spiraling further and further into the depths of addiction, their unplanned pregnancy, their impending deportation, their job loss, their physical limitations, their psychological state, their political oppression, their firsthand experience of the destruction of war and violence or any untold other afflictions that haunt the human family day in and day out.
I believe in my heart that these days of the Triduum speak to that kind of emptiness. To ignore that there is suffering is to be naive. To sugar-coat the suffering of others by glibly saying that "It is God's will" or "It will be OK," as well-intentioned as it may be, fails to recognize the genuine pain that is so real in our lives. To say that Jesus, due to his divinity, was able to overcome the pain of the cross in some super-human way because he knew what it was all about seems not only to be a borderline heresy, but it ignores the reality of the Incarnation. God became human and knows the pain we feel. I don't see the cross as some glorification of suffering or the final proof that Jesus suffered more than we will ever know. I see the cross as Jesus' complete and total identification of our suffering and the affirmation that God is with us in our humanity no matter what. Jesus did not suffer to attract our attention and adoration. He did not suffer to prove to us once and for all that he is the Messiah. He did not suffer so that we would be repulsed to the point where we felt we would have no choice but to receive his message see his death as salvific. Jesus' suffering is the ultimate act of meeting us where we are. It is an affirmation that our suffering is real, that he shares in it, that the forces of darkness in this world often seem to prevail against even the most innocent and holy among us.
What makes this day even remotely tolerable, of course, is the fact that we have the benefit of knowing how the story ends. What ultimately allows us to swallow this bitter pill is the knowledge of what happens on Easter morning. But Jesus' closest friends did not have the luxury of that knowledge. His mother did not have that source of comfort. It is a point of theological debate as to what extent Jesus himself even knew of the outcome. And even in our own suffering, as we live amidst the cloud of doubt and uncertainty that is the human condition, even for those of us with the deepest conviction of faith we may find only a little peace at the moment of our greatest anguish.
Knowing the end of the story, however, is not a cop out. It is essential. That is at the very heart of the gospel message.
But today we are empty and that cannot be denied. I pray that Easter will forever come and that we will not lose hope in the face of that emptiness.
Have really enjoyed reading your blog.
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