Good Friday 2019 + 4.19.19
M. Campbell-Langdell
All Santos, Oxnard
It all started, and ended, come to think of it, in a garden.
There I was, praying with Jesus, one of his beloved disciples, and then he goes
to the garden. It was dark and confusing. There were so many leaders- some I
recognized from the temple but also some guards and police. And Judas was
there. We hadn’t seen him since he ran off, afraid, after the supper we shared.
Ah, that was a peaceful, poignant night! But I was afraid.
Jesus didn’t seem to be. He walked right up to the soldiers,
and gave himself. Saying I AM he. The I AM among us had saved us once more,
shielded the sheep. But we had left everything to follow him. So I didn’t know
where to go. I tagged along behind Peter and the other disciple who knew the
high priest- they seemed to know what was going on. I saw Jesus was being led
in to be questioned. I prayed that he might be spared. I had heard the
grumbling among the people, and the worried looks on the faces of the religious
leaders. They would have so much to lose if he lived into the fullness of who
he was. Because I had seen it for myself. He was God’s son, a part of God!
Nothing on earth could challenge his power. He was dangerous. We had seen it
for a while now, but we didn’t see danger, we saw love. Love and healing. For
those whose lives had been restored by him.
I stayed there, in the shadows, and I felt sick as I heard
the woman recognize Peter. He said “I AM NOT” when she asked if he followed
Jesus. So sick because just as Jesus claimed his God nature for us, in our fear
we were turning against him. Against who we were as his disciples. Against all
we had learned about love.
I was crying by this point, and I wandered all night trying
to make sense of it all. At some point, I found the crowd again. And that Roman
governor Pilate, was talking to the crowd. As if they had any reason at this
point! The leadership had made them afraid. Because they were afraid of losing
their power. So they said what they had heard others say. He must die. I was
filled with dread because there was no saving him now.
To be honest, I thought about running. I had a home once, maybe they would take me in. If the aunt who took me in after my mother’s death wasn’t still lost in her drink. But Jesus was still with us, at least for a bit. And I felt the pull of him on my heart. Some part of me wouldn’t, couldn’t let go. I needed to follow him.
So I walked behind with the crowd as he carried his own heavy cross. The wood would have burned and chafed in the heat, and given splinters. He was already beaten up. My heart was breaking as they stripped him of his clothes. I could not help but be reminded of the scriptures. Of how they foretold just these events. But I was too overwhelmed with grief to focus on that in the moment.
I saw that for a moment Jesus was alone on the cross, and his mother and Mary Magdalene and Mary and his aunt were there. And I just had to inch a bit closer to see what he would say. He was always so wise, so strong. I just wanted to be there for him. And somehow, I have no idea how, he spotted me. He called out to me.
And he gestured to his own mother. He said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” And talking to me, he said “Here is your mother.” And somehow I knew that, even though my world was ending, and my heart was breaking, even at the end, Jesus was showing me love. And I ran to my new mother and embraced her.
And I reach out to you, across the millennia, because I did not embrace only one woman, one parent. But we as Christians formed a community as strong as or stronger than blood. Over the years we met in houses, houses that became more ornate and diverse and spread out all over the world. From that embrace and others like it, we became true family to each other. At times we fought, and at times we had dysfunction just as other families have. But we strive to love each other more perfectly as time goes on. Because these are my parents; these are my siblings. And with that love, we can bear any grief, even the loss of the one we love most.
To be honest, I thought about running. I had a home once, maybe they would take me in. If the aunt who took me in after my mother’s death wasn’t still lost in her drink. But Jesus was still with us, at least for a bit. And I felt the pull of him on my heart. Some part of me wouldn’t, couldn’t let go. I needed to follow him.
So I walked behind with the crowd as he carried his own heavy cross. The wood would have burned and chafed in the heat, and given splinters. He was already beaten up. My heart was breaking as they stripped him of his clothes. I could not help but be reminded of the scriptures. Of how they foretold just these events. But I was too overwhelmed with grief to focus on that in the moment.
I saw that for a moment Jesus was alone on the cross, and his mother and Mary Magdalene and Mary and his aunt were there. And I just had to inch a bit closer to see what he would say. He was always so wise, so strong. I just wanted to be there for him. And somehow, I have no idea how, he spotted me. He called out to me.
And he gestured to his own mother. He said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” And talking to me, he said “Here is your mother.” And somehow I knew that, even though my world was ending, and my heart was breaking, even at the end, Jesus was showing me love. And I ran to my new mother and embraced her.
And I reach out to you, across the millennia, because I did not embrace only one woman, one parent. But we as Christians formed a community as strong as or stronger than blood. Over the years we met in houses, houses that became more ornate and diverse and spread out all over the world. From that embrace and others like it, we became true family to each other. At times we fought, and at times we had dysfunction just as other families have. But we strive to love each other more perfectly as time goes on. Because these are my parents; these are my siblings. And with that love, we can bear any grief, even the loss of the one we love most.
Amen.
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