|
Lenten
Noonday Preaching Series
Calvary Episcopal Church
Memphis, Tennessee
Good Friday, Part 5
April 21, 2000
It
Is Finished.
The
Rev. Dr. Barbara Brown Taylor
Butman Professor of Religion and Philosophy
Piedmont College
Demorest, Georgia
It
is finished. He is dead. You may test it any way you like: hold a feather
under his nose, press your finger against the big vein in his neck, stick
a spear into his heart. He is dead. The struggle is over, and the last
words he said were, "It is finished."
That is one of those pungent, final-sounding sentences we have heard so
often that we actually think we know what it means, but the third person,
impersonal pronoun remains problematic. Why use a word like that unless
you want to leave a little mystery around what "it" really is?
It is finished, but what is 'it,' exactly?
Well, the dying, for one thing. There was no lethal injection in Jesus'
day. There was no attempt to make execution less painful at all, since
that would have ruined its use as a deterrent. Under the Romans, crucifixion
was reserved for the lower classes, especially slaves accused of robbery
or rebellion. The whole point was to make it hurt as much as possible,
and everyone agreed that death by crucifixion was the worst. Seneca, a
Roman statesman who witnessed some first century executions, wrote that
he saw crucifixions of many different types. Some were crucified upside
down, he said, while others were impaled through their private parts.
Some were nailed to their crosses while others were tied. Josephus, a
first century historian, called it "the most wretched of deaths."
Jesus probably died right side up, since all four gospel writers agree
that there was a sign above his head. That being the case, he probably
also died of suffocation, as his arms gave out and his lungs collapsed
under the weight of his sinking body. Blood loss is another possibility.
Heartbreak is a third. Whatever finally killed him, it came as a friend
and not as an enemy. Death is not painful. It is the dying that hurts.
Another thing that was finished was the project he had begun, way back
when he first saw what kind of explosion it would take to break through
the thick rock around the human heart. Teaching would not do it. Neither
would prayer or the laying on of hands. If he was going to get through,
he had to use something stronger than all of those, and he had to stake
his own life on its success. Otherwise why should anyone believe him?
Self-annihilating love was the dynamite he chose. "No one has greater
love than this," he said on the last night of his life, "to
lay down one's life for one's friends" (John 15.13). Having explained
this to his friends, he then left the room to go do it. Less than twenty-four
hours later, it was finished.
Whether or not he intended it, he finished something else while he was
at it. He finished off the religious system that he opposed--not the Judaism
of the people but the Judaism of the temple--the careful division between
clean and unclean; the posturing clergy who pretended to know which was
which; the whole idea that a lamb, or a goat, or a calf was an acceptable
substitute for a surrendered human heart. The prophets had challenged
it all long before Jesus did, but he received no better hearing than they.
At the same hour that he died, the parade of Passover animals into the
Temple began. For the rest of the afternoon, their owners slaughtered
them while priests caught the blood and poured it on the altar. Outside
in the courtyard, the corpses were skinned and cleaned according to the
law of Moses while Levites sang psalms of praises to God.
So there were two bloody places in Jerusalem that day--Golgotha and the
Temple--both attended by powerful religious people who believed they were
doing God's will. Please hear me. This is not about Jews. This is about
powerful people in any religious tradition who believe they are doing
God's will. Wherever you encounter them, in whatever time or place, it
is best to keep your back to the wall. Power and religion are a lethal
mix.
When it was all over on Golgotha, some realized for the first time who
the scapegoat had been, and the system that put him to death was doomed.
Because he would not respond to their tactics, their tactics were exposed.
Because he would not honor their values, their values were revealed. The
system did not exist to protect God. The system existed to protect the
system. Jesus was the last lamb of God who would die for the people.
So that was finished too. At least one of the reasons Jesus was killed
was to prevent a Jewish revolt, but thirty something years later the revolt
happened anyway. The Romans turned on the Jews. Jerusalem was destroyed,
and Temple Judaism was over forever.
There was one more thing that was finished that day, and that was the
separation between Jesus and God. In John's gospel the distance was mostly
physical and it was only temporary, but when Jesus gave up his spirit,
he was not thirsty anymore. He dove back into the stream of living water
from which he had sprung and swam all the way home.
Those whom he left behind saw nothing but his corpse. He was not a teacher
anymore. He had become a teaching instead--a window into the depths of
God that some could see through and some could not. Those who held out
hope for a strong God, a fierce God, a God who would brook no injustice--they
looked upon a scene where God was not, while those whose feet Jesus had
washed, whose faces he had touched, whose open mouths he had fed as if
they were little birds--they looked upon a scene in which God had died
for love of them.
He had put his own body between them and those who meant to do them harm.
He had demolished the rock around their hearts. He had shown them a dangerous
new way to live.
It was dark by the time they got him down and found a place to lay him.
It was the Sabbath, his turn to rest. His part was over. His work was
done.
Copyright
©2000 Barbara Brown Taylor.
An
earlier version of this sermon appeared in Home By Another Way (Cowley
1999).
(Return
to Top)
|
|