An Easter blog - rolling the stone away

Here’s my Easter sermon for 2024. 

Very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?”

I wonder what you did yesterday. It was a lovely sunny day. I was in Harrogate yesterday morning and the place was full of people shopping, having coffee and relaxing. The world is marking Easter weekend. But yesterday wasn’t Easter. It was a day for those women and frightened men that must have seemed endless. The law required them to rest on the sabbath. They must have spent the day crying, wondering how it had all gone so wrong. They must have gone over many times in their heads those things that had happened in the days just before. They needed rest. They may not have been able to sleep. They waited.

Also on the sabbath, Matthew 27:62-66 tells us that, the chief priests and Pharisees went to see Pontius Pilate. They asked Pilate for a Roman military guard to be placed at Jesus’ tomb. They remembered Jesus saying that He would rise again in three days, and they suspected Jesus’ followers of planning to steal His body from the tomb. They wanted to do everything they could to prevent that. Pontius Pilate appointed Roman guards to keep watch over the tomb, and a great-sized stone was placed to seal the tomb’s entrance.

The women who had loved Christ most had wanted to come to the tomb immediately to anoint Jesus’ body with spices and perfumes. They were delayed by the Sabbath day requirements, so they spent the time instead gathering the things they needed and wanted for the next day.

Those of us who face a death in our own families will likely feel, no doubt, those same feelings that Jesus Christ’s family and His disciples did on that day - feelings of shock, emptiness, and the loss of reality for a while. 

That first Easter morning, when the women made their way to the tomb, they had just one question on their minds: “Who will roll away the stone for us?” For it was a very large stone.

It would have taken about twenty men to roll the stone away, given what we know about tombs at that time. So these three women knew they didn’t stand a chance. 

They wanted to anoint their beloved Saviour’s dead body. It would be their last act of love toward the one who showed them such love. But how? As they headed to the tomb that morning, that was foremost on their minds. 

They were not thinking about whether the guards would let them approach the tomb. They weren’t worried about being arrested, as followers of Jesus. They weren’t wondering why Peter and the others were not joining them. They weren’t concerned with how they would react to seeing Jesus’ dead body, their friend, crucified and laying dead in a tomb. No. All they were really thinking about was, who would roll away the stone for them? For it was a very large stone.

Easter means many things to us as Christians. It is too big a miracle to mean just one thing. Easter clearly means that Christ is risen. It means that Jesus has defeated death. Easter means that eternal life is real, that death does not end our life with God. That all who live and believe will never die.

But that stone being rolled away from the tomb – a detail recorded in all four gospels – tells us something else about Easter that I think is quite significant. The stone being rolled away tells us that Easter is also about the ways in which God removes obstacles in our life, those obstacles that try to keep us from God, and try to stop us from living the life that God has called us to live.

Today, I invite you to think about the large stones in your life. Those obstacles that are keeping you from living the full abundant life with Christ, here and now. Think about those challenges that are trying to keep you in your tombs, so to speak. Those battles that paralyseus with fear, that trap us, that try to stop us from living, really living, our new lives in Christ. And, then, think about what Easter teaches us about how God plans to remove those stones.

Yesterday afternoon as yesterday was my day off this week we went up to Durham. We both love Durham and especially the magnificent cathedral, in my opinion the greatest Christian building in the country. We were at the Easter Vigil service at teatime. This is a service we don’t do but it’s fascinating.

We are told after death Jesus descended into hell and he harrowed it. In the service yesterday we heard how Jesus met Adam after death - I’d never heard this before – bear with me – he meets Adam and overturns the bad stuff Adam did with opposites. 

‘For you, I your God became your son; for you, I the Master took on your form; that of slave; for you, I who am above the heavens came on earth and under the earth; for you, man, I became as a man without help, free among the dead; for you, who left a garden, I was handed over to Jews from a garden and crucified in a garden.

‘Look at the spittle on my face, which I received because of you, in order to restore you to that first divine inbreathing at creation. See the blows on my cheeks, which I accepted in order to refashion your distorted form to my own image.

'See the scourging of my back, which I accepted in order to disperse the load of your sins which was laid upon your back. See my hands nailed to the tree for a good purpose, for you, who stretched out your hand to the tree for an evil one.

`I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side, for you, who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side healed the pain of your side; my sleep will release you from your sleep in Hades; my sword has checked the sword which was turned against you.

‘But arise, let us go hence. The enemy brought you out of the land of paradise; I will reinstate you, no longer in paradise, but on the throne of heaven.” 

The stone is rolled away. We can burst out of our tombs. The grace of God forgives us and gives us a new beginning. Jesus has been at work so today we can find new life. Once we understand what’s going on.

What about Peter and the other men who were following Jesus, his first disciples Peter, by the way, is a nickname given to him by Jesus, and it literally means rock or stone. Peter is supposed to be the stone, the rock on which Christ will build his church. But that first Easter morning, the leader of the disciples is locked away with the other disciples, cowering in fear. You might say, in Peter’s case, that the stone Peter needs rolled away, is himself. Sometimes that’s true for us, isn’t it? We get in our own way. We create our own tombs. And the stone covering the tomb is our very own self. 

Who will roll away that stone? Well, after Jesus was raised from the dead, he did as he promised. He showed himself to the disciples. Jesus entered the upper room, he rolled away their stone, he freed them of their fear, and he helped them to proclaim the good news to the world. That is part of the Easter miracle for us, too.

Our risen Lord enters our lives, and even our tombs, and rolls away the stones that are keeping us from being all that God wants us to be. He frees us from fear and helps us proclaim his message to the world.

The women, of course, didn’t need Jesus to come to the upper room. They had the courage to go to the tomb themselves. Even though they didn’t know what they would do when they got there. And that, too, teaches us something, doesn’t it? That sometimes we need to leave our tombs; we need to step out in faith; and we need to trust that God will be there for us, and help us in our need. The women knew they couldn’t roll that stone away, but it did not stop them from going to the tomb. If Easter means anything, it certainly means that God will be with us, always, and especially when we need God to be.

Let’s see how this account in Mark of that first Easter morning ends. Maybe not how we expect. When the women arrived at the tomb, the stone was already rolled away from the tomb. They needn’t have worried about that at all. But then they were told to go and tell Peter and the other disciples that Jesus is going ahead of them to Galilee; there they would see him, just as he promised. So, what did the women do? They fled from the tomb, and said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid. And that is how Mark’s Easter story ends.

Even after we step out in faith, we can still find ourselves stumbling. There are lots of stones in our paths, it turns out, and it is easy to stumble. The women said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid. So, what were the women afraid of? Perhaps of being laughed at. How could Jesus go to Galilee if he was dead? Perhaps of what they had just witnessed. A rolled-away stone, a missing Messiah, and a mysterious message from a young man dressed in a white robe. They would make anyone afraid, wouldn’t it? Or perhaps they were afraid of what the disciples would say. Would they think the women were crazy, or seeing things? Would they even believe them? 

But maybe fear and awe is the first response to Easter. Not many preachers will choose Mark 16 as the Gospel from the choices today. Scholars agree that in its oldest form, Mark’s gospel ends with the empty tomb and the women running away. It’s a strange ending, with no resurrection appearance and just a promise that the disciples will see Jesus in Galilee. And weirdly, the manuscript actually ends in the middle of a sentence, unfinished. As one scholar put it, “When is an ending not an end? When a dead man rises from the tomb, and when a Gospel ends in the middle of the sentence” Mark knew what he was doing. There is no ending because we the readers are invited into the story. Jesus is going ahead of us to Galilee.

The story doesn’t have an ending because we are now in the Easter story. And the first reaction to it has to be amazement because it is huge! 

Easter is when our story begins a new chapter. No sin is too big for God to forgive. No tragedy too horrific to heal. No stone too heavy for God to move. The first part of Easter is God at work. Constantly. It’s radical and unexpected and beyond comprehension but it’s real and it’s here and it’s for us whatever we face. The stone is rolled away, the tomb empty. Jesus is ahead of us. There’s a message for a church trying to stay the same. We must keep watching what Jesus is up to. What’s he saying? Where’s he calling us to be? The Circuit is beginning to look at the future over the next few months and we will be invited to ask where we will be in the next five years. The last time I asked that sort of question in a service, someone said out loud “shut!” I hope that isn’t what you think now. God is working mightily. He’s said to us go, Jesus is ahead of you. Be confident. Have faith. Be my church. Tell the story. 

And here’s a postscript… How did the disciples, men and women go from cowering in fear in a locked room or running away from an empty tomb, to boldly sharing the story of Jesus with all the world? Who rolled away the stone for them? What else could it be? It was Jesus himself who rolled away all the stones that were stopping them from doing his work. And after he did, they fearlessly proclaimed the good news of the resurrection of our Lord. No stone could trap them anymore. That, too, is the miracle of Easter. For them and for us.

Walter Bruggemann has this prayer in one of his books:

Christ is risen!

We give thanks for the gift of Easter
that runs beyond our expectations,
beyond our categories of reason,
even more, beyond the sinking sense of our own lives.

We know about the powers of death,
powers that persist among us,
powers that drive us from you, and
from our neighbour, and
from our best selves.

We know about the powers of fear and greed and anxiety,
and brutality and certitude.
powers before which we are helpless.

And then you – you at dawn, unquenched,
you in the darkness,
you on Saturday,
you who breaks the world to joy.

Yours is the kingdom…not the kingdom of death,
Yours is the power…not the power of death,
Yours is the glory…not the glory of death.
Yours…You…and we give thanks
for the newness beyond our achieving.

Amen.

So, on this Easter Sunday do not be afraid. Trust in God. Believe in God’s Son. Rejoice in God’s love for you. And do not worry about who will roll away the stone for you, whatever that stone may be. For Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia!

My fifteenth Lent blog - learning more about Saturday

We spent some of Saturday in Durham. It’s always good to visit the cathedral. Two sacred spaces in my ministry have saved me  - Hailsham Methodist Church after a rough time in 2018 and 2019 allowing me to be in the back row feeling rough and disillusioned with church - and Durham Cathedral in January 2007 when I contemplated leaving circuit ministry as I found myself embroiled in a situation down the road that spiralled out of control. I remember exactly where I sat one Friday morning that January and God told me in the peace and the story of that place to hang in there. 

I discovered Holy Saturday worship a few years ago. It’s very powerful. I’ve done it in Hastings in the church in the Old Town - it ended with bubbly there! I’ve done it on Holy Island beginning on the beach as the paschal candle is lit from a fire and I’ve done it in Canterbury and in Ripon cathedrals. Usually it begins in the dark, various mighty acts of God are retold from scripture then we hear of resurrection. It used to be a shock to sing Christ the Lord is risen today about 9pm on Saturday until it occurred to me he rose in the night. He isn’t in the tomb on Easter Sunday morning!

Holy Saturday NOT Easter Saturday is about us waiting and being silent or rather drained (12 services done, three to go tomorrow) and God working in Jesus. After death he descended into hell and harrowed it. Holy Saturday is not just the day that we wait quietly and mournfully with Christ in the tomb. We also recognise that on this day Christ also descended to the place of the dead and rescued all faithful souls, bringing them into the full glory of His Father’s kingdom. 

Durham Cathedral does the Easter vigil differently to others I’ve been to. This was earlier and we just had the mighty acts of God in the Old Testament read. They meet to do the Easter bit at five in the morning! But we ended part one with this amazing ancient homily maybe from the eighth century, its author unknown but a phenomenal piece of writing. Jesus descends into hell and meets Adam and undoes all the wrong Adam has done, I love the tree bit! Then he says “come on, let’s get out of here!” Fabulous. Read it slowly. I hope like me it makes absolute sense of what Easter is. Not fluffy bunnies but a complete overhaul of everything including those with no hope. Eternal life is about second chances. Even in hell! 

“Something strange is happening — there is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness. The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep. The earth trembled and is still because God has fallen asleep in the flesh and He has raised up all who have slept ever since the world began. God has died in the flesh and hell trembles with fear.

He has gone to search for our first parent, as for a lost sheep. Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death (Luke 1:79), He has gone to free from sorrow the captives Adam and Eve, He who is both God and the son of Eve.

The Lord approached them bearing the cross, the weapon that had won Him the victory. At the sight of Him, Adam, the first man He had created, struck his breast in terror and cried out to everyone: ‘My Lord be with you all.’ Christ answered him: ‘And with your spirit.’ He took him by the hand and raised him up, saying: ‘Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light.’ (Ephesians 5:14)

‘I am your God, who for your sake have become your son. Out of love for you and for your descendants I now by my own authority command all who are held in bondage to come forth, all who are in darkness to be enlightened, all who are sleeping to arise. I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. Rise up, work of my hands, you who were created in my image. Rise, let us leave this place, for you are in me and I am in you; together we form only one person and we cannot be separated.

For your sake I, your God, became your son; I, the Lord, took the form of a slave; I, whose home is above the heavens, descended to the earth and beneath the earth (Philippians 2:6-7). For your sake, for the sake of man, I became like a man without help, free among the dead. For the sake of you, who left a garden, I was betrayed to the Jews in a garden and I was crucified in a garden.

See on my face the spittle I received in order to restore to you the life I once breathed into you. See there the marks of the blows I received in order to refashion your warped nature in my image. On my back see the marks of the scourging I endured to remove the burden of sin that weighs upon your back. See my hands, nailed firmly to a tree, for you who once wickedly stretched out your hand to a tree.

I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side for you who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side has healed the pain in yours. My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in hell. The sword that pierced me has sheathed the sword that was turned against you.

Rise, let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise. I will not restore you to that paradise, but I will enthrone you in heaven. I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life, but see, I who am life itself am now one with you. I appointed cherubim to guard you as slaves are guarded, but now I make them worship you as God.

The throne formed by cherubim awaits you, its bearers swift and eager. The bridal chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready, the eternal dwelling places are prepared, the treasure houses of all good things lie open. The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for you from all eternity.’

Wow! 

It felt like coming home being in Durham Cathedral today. Methodists don’t do Holy Saturday. I’d just like to recommend even though it’s knackering to do all of Holy Week properly is liberating and God speaks through all its parts as the story of our salvation wrought comes alive. 

So to bed - we lose an hour and I am out the door at 7.30 :) 

My fourteenth Lent blog - Good Friday 2024

I’ve marked Good Friday this year in three very different acts of worship. The first was my service at Allhallowgate where we read the passion in St Matthew’s Gospel. I made the point that if we don’t do the cross in church we do nothing at all and that it proves in Jesus God is Immanuel - with us, always.

In “Night” Elie Weisel, tells of a boy hanged in a concentration camp during the Second World War. The boy took a long time to die while other prisoners were forced to watch. Looking at this agonising, unbearable scene, one prisoner said to another in despair, ‘where is God’? 

His neighbour replied, ‘he is right there, hanging on those gallows’ 

Jesus suffers with us and for us and while we can’t make Friday feel better we know death isn’t the last word.

A Roman Catholic brother writes this: “On a winter evening a few years ago, we brothers were visited by a Montessori Middle School class who had been studying different faith traditions.  Before Compline we met in the chapel to give the students the opportunity to ask questions.  One young man raised his hands and asked, “Why are all the depictions of Jesus in this church images of him on the cross, dying?  I do not see a ‘living’ Jesus anywhere.”  I froze in fear for a moment, not expecting that question and I scrambled for an answer.  I said that the depiction of Jesus on the cross is an image that assures us of God Emmanuel, which means “God with us,” even in the midst of suffering, bearing all that we cannot handle.  The answer seemed to satisfy his curiosity, but it did make me wonder also since I had not noticed what he had observed before.  

The  next morning as we brothers were praying Morning Prayer, the sun began to rise and illumine the stained glass.  At that moment I had an epiphany!  The risen Jesus was everywhere in the glass: in St. John’s chapel, in the lancet windows of the Lady Chapel, and most especially in the great Rose window.  How could I have missed the resurrected and ascended Jesus in our Church windows all this time?  I was then reminded of the line from the Psalms: “Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning.”

We then gathered in the market ground with other churches. We were challenged to take up our cross and follow. Then we shared in the VERY high church liturgy of Good Friday in the cathedral. VERY high indeed! The service included veneration of the cross. In the queue to kneel by it I found myself finding peace. I have given out so much this week it’s hard to hear the message of redemption and solidarity of the divine for me not just for the people I’ve shared with since last Sunday. As we contemplated the cross we heard the reproaches sung. These are the words of Jesus to us. Very moving. The words also make us look at our behaviour and our commitment. 

O my people, what have I done to you? How have I offended you?
Holy God, holy and awesome, holy and intimate,
Have mercy on us.

First Reproach
I brooded over the abyss,
with my words I called forth creation:
but you have brooded on destruction,
and manufactured the means of chaos.

O my people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you?
Holy God, holy and awesome, holy and intimate,
Have mercy on us.

Second Reproach
I breathed life into your bodies,
and carried you tenderly in my arms:
but you have armed yourselves for war,
breathing out threats of violence.

O my people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you?
Holy God, holy and awesome, holy and intimate,
Have mercy on us.

Third Reproach
I made the desert bloom before you,
I fed you with an open hand:
but you have grasped the children’s food,
and laid waste to fertile lands.

O my people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you?
Holy God, holy and awesome, holy and intimate,
Have mercy on us.

Fourth Reproach
I abandoned my power like a garment,
choosing to dwell within your unprotected flesh:
but you have robed yourselves in privilege,
and chose to despise the abandoned.

O my people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you?
Holy God, holy and awesome, holy and intimate,
Have mercy on us.

Fifth Reproach
I would have gathered you to me as a lover                                                                                                                                                and shown you the ways of peace;
but you desired security,
and you would not surrender yourself.

O my people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you?
Holy God, holy and awesome, holy and intimate,
Have mercy on us.

Sixth Reproach
I have torn the veil of my glory,
transfiguring the earth:
but you have disfigured my beauty,
and turned away your face.

O my people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you?
Holy God, holy and awesome, holy and intimate,
Have mercy on us.

Seventh Reproach
I have laboured to deliver you,
and delighted to give you life:
but you have delighted in bloodshed,
and laboured to bereave the world.

O my people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you?
Holy God, holy and awesome, holy and intimate,
Have mercy on us.

Eighth Reproach
I have followed you with the power of my spirit,
to seek truth and heal the oppressed:
but you have been following a lie,
and returned to your own comfort.

O my people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you?
Holy God, holy and awesome, holy and intimate,
Have mercy on us.

Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, kyrie eleison.

Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.

As well as knowing God has the last word we also need to know he shows us mercy when we decide to crucify over and over again today. 

I love this picture below. It’s from my Holy Island collection. Maybe Good Friday is about us having time to stop, kneel, remember. The rest of the city had a Friday in the spring sunshine. We need a day to remind ourselves of the awesome fact God in Jesus suffers and like us one day is placed in a tomb. And now we wait. As Deborah-Lynn at our ecumenical service said “spoiler alert, there is a part two to the story.” 

The Dean greeted me after the cathedral service. I’d forgotten not only in this service do we process to do a bit of veneration, we then process to take communion and then we process again to go down into the crypt of St Wilfrid where a cross can be seen with candles on each side of it. “A Methodist kneeling at the cross!” he chuckled. To which I replied “I can do high church sometimes!”

Good Friday? Yes, it has been. Because after leading or sharing in ten services this week with three more to come on Sunday, I’ve heard the story for myself. Surprisingly most powerfully in a bit of veneration and reproaches! God speaks in a mysterious way :) 

My thirteenth Lent blog - The upper room table

If this were the last night of your life, what would you do?

On his last night, Jesus gathered at table with his friends.

Jesus loved tables. He spent a lot of time sitting at tables. He liked to feast. 

At a table, Jesus ate and drank with sinners,
so that you and I would know we are always welcome at God’s feast. 
At a table a woman became a teacher to the apostles
when she anointed Jesus with oil.
At a table Jesus presented a startling image of God
as slave and servant of all, when he washed his disciples’ feet.
At a table our Lord gave us, in bread and wine,
the means of tasting his sweetness forever.

I think Jesus liked tables because they are places of intimacy. 
Everyone is close together—
it’s a place to let your guard down. 
Jesus probably did more teaching quietly around a table 
than he did shouting from boats or mountaintops to vast multitudes.

And I don’t think Jesus just walked into a room
and started telling people about God.
I think he sat down with them, and learned their names,
and listened to their stories.
And after a while, they would open up to him,
sharing their broken dreams and broken hearts,
their longings and their demons.
And it was there, responding to their particular stories,
that he would bring God to them, casting out their demons,
unbinding them with forgiveness, 
empowering them to stand up and walk through that open door into God’s story, 
proclaiming them—even the most prodigal sinner—the beloved children of God.

Remember on this night Jesus and his disciples met to celebrate Passover. A remembrance of liberation and a communal expectation of hope. It would have gone on for ages as you will know if you’ve ever been to a Jewish Seder. The cups are filled over and over! 

Tables also got Jesus into deep trouble.
In the Temple of Jerusalem, he overturned the tables, the tables of the smug and comfortable religionists.

He overturned the tables where some are in and some are out, 
where some are welcome and some are not.

“This isn’t what God wants!” he said 
and he made a new table,
a table where all divisions and discriminations are put aside,

where enemies are embraced,
where outcasts and fools are honored as our wisest teachers, 
where the abundant life of God’s future is as close
as the food you see before you tonight.

The world was not ready to sit at such a table –
the world didn’t even want to know there was such a table.
So it stretched its maker upon another piece of wood,
hoping to bury the dream before it could infect the general population.

But the table survived, and we come to it tonight.

In a culture increasingly blighted by fear of the other and politics of distrust and exclusion, we would do well to spend time at Jesus’ table. 

Despite medieval paintings with haloed disciples, on the night of the Last Supper the gathered community was not perfect. Think about who was present: Peter, who would commit an act of violence in the garden and deny knowing Jesus; the majority of the disciples, who would abandon Jesus in their fear; and yes, Judas, who had already entered into a pact to betray the Son of God. 

I was reading earlier about the Judas Cup ceremony, a unique ceremony to Durham Cathedral which dates back to the 14th Century.

The ceremony was first mentioned in the 16th Century 'Rites of Durham', an anonymous text describing how the cathedral and monastery functioned before the Reformation. 

The Dean takes a sip of wine from the mazer cup before addressing the individual members of Chapter saying to them, 'one of you will betray me'. Each member replies with 'surely not I', as they, too, take a sip of wine from the cup, mirroring scenes from the Last Supper. 

Research done notes how the cup used in the 14th Century featured the face of Judas in the bottom of the bowl, so when monks drank from it they could see their own faces reflected in that of the traitor.

On that Maundy Thursday, Jesus did not deem his very human and fallible followers unworthy to sit at his table. He talked with them, shared a meal with them, washed their feet, and offered them his body and blood. Jesus did not exclude them—he gave them communion, as he does each one of us today. 

And then, Jesus calls to be the church and to do likewise: “Love one another as I have loved you”

How will we respond?

My twelfth Lent blog - Words from the Cross

The Wednesday of Holy Week has had two services in it for me plus a meeting with my colleague and a pastoral visit. 

This afternoon Rev Karen and I were at Boroughbridge Manor, always a joy, where we did the whole of Holy Week in half a hour with three readings and four hymns and some prayers. Then tonight I did a reverse Tenebrae at Boroughbridge Methodist. Usually you extinguish candles as you reflect on our abandonment of Jesus, but tonight I wrote a service where we lit a candle after each last word of Jesus from the cross which are about sticking with us despite ourselves. And they are about triumph out of suffering. Seven candles were lit and then an eighth reflecting on our task to be light as the world is dark enough.

I shared the writing of two theologians tonight who I find helpful reflecting on the purpose of a Holy Week pilgrimage in 2024. Nadia Bolz Weber warns us about skipping the cross. 

“ I would contend that through the cross we know that God isn’t standing smugly at a distance but that God's abundant grace is hiding in, with, and under all the brokenness  in the world around us. God is present with us in all of it.

And while the suffering and death of Jesus Christ on the cross is not about you.  It is certainly FOR you.

In fact, God is so for you that there is no place God will not go to be with you.  Nothing separates you from the love of God in Jesus….not insults, not betrayal, not suffering, and as we will see at Easter – not even death itself.  

So don’t go from glory to glory and skip the cross, because it is there that you will find a self-emptying God who pursues you and saves you with relentless, terrifying love and who ultimately will enter the grave and the very stench of death in order to say even here, even here I will not be without you.”

We reflected tonight on this passage:

“And as they led him away, they seized one Simon of Cyrene, who was coming in from the country, and laid on him the cross, to carry it behind Jesus. And there followed him a great multitude of the people, and of women who bewailed and lamented him. But Jesus turning to them said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. Two others also, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with him. And when they came to the place which is called The Skull, there they crucified him, and the criminals, one on the right and one on the left. And Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

How do we live the theology of the cross? 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote this:

“If you’ve ever really forgiven somebody, forgiven some real wrong, all forgiveness is suffering. If you say I forgave and I didn’t suffer, it wasn’t’ really that serious a wrong. But if you have ever really, truly been wronged, and you have forgiven it, then you have suffered. Because all forgiveness is a form of suffering. If someone has wronged you deeply, there is an indelible sense of debt, an injustice, a feeling you can’t just shrug off. And once you sense this deep injustice, this debt, there are only two things you can do. One is you can make the perpetrator pay—you can find ways to make the perpetrator suffer and pay down the debt, or Two you can forgive.”

Is that the point of Good Friday? In a world that doesn’t forgive, criticises, is never wrong, lashes out, doesn’t care and lords it over those it thinks it can intimidate is forgiveness and grace and hope the way we should live? Just asking! 

O Come and Mourn with me Awhile, a poem by Frederick William Faber in 1849:

“O come and mourn with me awhile; O come ye to the Saviours side;
O come, together let us mourn;
Jesus, our Love, is crucified.

Have we no tears to shed for him,
while soldiers scoff and foes deride?
Ah! look how patiently he hangs;
Jesus, our Love, is crucified.

How fast his hands and feet are nailed;
his blessed tongue with thirst is tied,
his failing eyes are blind with blood:
Jesus, our Love, is crucified.

His mother cannot reach his face;
she stands in helplessness beside;
her heart is martyred with her Son's:
Jesus, our Love, is Crucified.

Seven times seven he spoke, seven words of love;
and all three hours his silence cried
for mercy on the souls of men;
Jesus, our Love, is crucified.

O break, O break, hard heart of mine!
Thy weak self-love and guilty pride
his Pilate and his Judas were:
Jesus, our Love, is crucified.

A broken heart, a fount of tears,
ask, and they will not be denied;
a broken heart love's cradle is:
Jesus, our Love, is crucified.

O love of God! O sin of man!
In this dread act your strength is tried;
and victory remains with love;
for he, our Love, is crucified.”

My eleventh Lent blog - Jesus wept

God weeps
at love withheld,
at strength misused,
at children's innocence abused,
and till we change the way we love,
God weeps.

God bleeds
at anger's fist,
at trust betrayed,
at women battered and afraid,
and till we change the way we win,
God bleeds.

God cries
at hungry mouths,
at running sores,
at creatures dying without cause,
and till we change the way we care,
God cries.

God waits
for stones to melt,
for peace to seed,
for hearts to hold each other's need,
and till we understand the Christ,
God waits.

In this Holy Week we remember we worship a God that is not unfamiliar with darkness: 

A God who comes close to those who mourn. 

A God who comes close to those who stand outside of tombs. 

Remember Mary Magdalene. 

Luke’s Gospel tells us that Jesus had freed Mary Magdalene from demons and evil spirits. Which is why– while it was still dark, when Mary Magdalene stood weeping outside his tomb, looked in, saw angels and was asked, Woman, why are you weeping,

I wonder if maybe she was crying because to Jesus she wasn’t “that crazy lady” like she was to everyone else. To him, she was just Mary and when Jesus said her name, “Mary” . . . it felt like a complete sentence.  And now she wondered who would ever see her as whole, who would ever call her by her real name.

I think she was crying because having felt divine love in the presence of Jesus she knew couldn't go back to living without it. So she cried saying: 

They’ve taken him away and I do not know where he is– 

they’ve taken love away and I do not know where it is – 

they’ve taken kindness away and I do not know where it is– 

they've taken my own wholeness away and I do not know where it is.

And so while it was still dark she went to his tomb thinking maybe the tomb was the end of the story. 

As we contemplate Jesus crying over Jerusalem, we acknowledge weeping and crying as part of life, the tears of things: tears of frustration, tears of lament, and for so many who have been cruelly bereaved, tears of grief. 

It’s hard to see through tears, but sometimes its the only way to see. Tears may be the turning point, the springs of renewal, and to know you have been wept for is to know that you are loved. ‘Jesus Wept’ is the shortest, sharpest, and most moving sentence in Scripture.

I have a God who weeps and cries for me, weeps with me. And understands me. 

Malcolm Guite offers us this poem:

Jesus comes near and he beholds the city

And looks on us with tears in his eyes,

And wells of mercy, streams of love and pity

Flow from the fountain whence all things arise.

He loved us into life and longs to gather

And meet with his beloved face to face

How often has he called, a careful mother,

And wept for our refusals of his grace,

 

Wept for a world that, weary with its weeping,

Benumbed and stumbling, turns the other way,

Fatigued compassion is already sleeping

Whilst her worst nightmares stalk the light of day.

But we might waken yet, and face those fears,

If we could see ourselves through Jesus’ tears.

Apparently on opening ancient tombs in Palestine, many a tear-bottle has been found, which was supposed to be a repository for the tears of the mourners and was then placed in the tomb beside the one who was laid there. In many cases this may have been but a mere mockery of woe — but our heavenly Father does gather all the tears of His redeemed children. "You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in Your bottle. You have recorded each one in Your book!" Psalm 56:8 

Not one tear is lost. Not one sorrow is unheeded. Not one grief is left unbefriended.

 Paul tells us in Gethsemane,  that Jesus “offered up prayers and supplications with strong crying and tears unto Him who was able to save Him from death — and was heard in that He feared." Jesus gets our sadness.Remember Ken Dodd. 

My late friend Richard and I when I lived near Worthing used to go and see Ken Dodd every year he came to the pavilion on the sea front. It was the same show every year and he kept you there until ten to one in the morning. Remember his song:

Tears have been my only consolation
But tears can't mend a broken heart I must confess
Let's forgive and forget
Turn our tears of regret
Once more to tears of happiness

When Jesus entered the city with tears rolling down His cheeks, He said, “This is supposed to be the holy city, the city set on a hill, the city of peace, Jerusalem.” The world is so far away from the divine will and that’s upsetting. But Jesus gets it. He gets our times of grief and not knowing where to turn when life is so awful we can’t go on.  But do you know what? At the end of this week tears will become laughter. That’s the promise of Easter. Jesus doesn’t dodge the emotions we have when life is tough but he promises transformation. Life is hard today and our task pastorally is to weep with those who weep and wait for Godto do something… but this week I’m glad to have a Jesus who bursts into tears…

Tears of Jesus! while I ponder,
Blessed comfort let me reap:
"That same Jesus" lives yonder,
Who on earth was used to weep.
Though His brow the rainbow wears,
Yet my thorny crown He shares,
Yet that loving heart divine
Throbs responsively to mine;
Not a struggling sigh can rise,
But 'tis echoed in the skies.

Blessed Jesus, in Thy sorrow
Friends and kindred passed You by;
You alone could never borrow
The support of sympathy.
When Your human heart was bursting,
When Your parched lip was thirsting,
When encompassed by the foe,
Mocking at Your bitter woe,
You, who had a heart for all,
Drank alone Your cup of gall.

Now in glory, where You dwell,
All unknown is sorrow's look;
Yet Your people's tears You count,
"Are they not within Your book?"
While my "night of weeping" lasts,
Before the morn its brightness casts,
My blessed portion may it be,
That You weep, Lord, with me;
And one day, with heart and voice,
In Your joy, may I rejoice!