Holy Week Sermons 2008
Collection of Holy Week Sermons & Meditations
Maundy Thursday (Year A) St. Mark’s,
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
In terms of the setting of historical precedent, of the establishment and transmission of the most essential elements of the Christian tradition, Maundy Thursday occupies a unique place in the calendar of the Great Church Year. The name of the holy day, “Maundy Thursday,” points to its significance: the “mandatum novum,” the new commandment, given to us by Jesus, that we love one another as he loves us.
This is not the “love command” of the Jewish tradition, set down in the book of Leviticus, to love our neighbors as ourselves. The mandatum novum sets a new standard, grounded in the self-offering of Jesus in his saving and atoning death on the cross.
Maundy Thursday is also the day on which we celebrate the institution of the sacrament of the Eucharist – our “principal act of worship” according to the Prayer Book – the ritual that forms us as a holy community and that is, in itself, the condition of possibility for the self-giving love to which we are called.
Very weighty matters, these. And yet, I’m pretty sure that most of us here tonight are thinking about feet.
Because Maundy Thursday is also the occasion of ritual foot-washing, when shoes (and socks) are cast aside so that we may re-enact our Lord’s remarkable gesture of humility and hospitality, in which he sets the standard of behavior for the Christian community, a community that exists only because of his self-giving love.
Where did Jesus come up with this idea? As we can see from the gospel writer’s description of Peter’s reaction, this foot-washing business generated as much anxiety among The Twelve as it does among many of us. I can tell you that the only way I was able to recruit an acolyte team for this service was by assuring them that the closest they’d come to a basin of warm, fragrant water was schlepping it in and out of the sacristy.
Foot-washing is an ancient practice that signals welcome and hospitality, and Jesus is all-welcoming. Among the first words we hear him speak to his newly called disciples, when they ask where he is staying, are “Come and see.” His first miracle, as recorded in John’s gospel, was to turn water into wine – not for use in a religious ritual, but for the enjoyment of the guests at a wedding party. And the religious ritual that we celebrate with bread and wine – in remembrance of him – is, among other things, a foretaste of the heavenly banquet and the joyous, limitless abundance of God’s kingdom. All these things are both signs and tangible reminders of the all-embracing welcome of the godhead.
But returning to the subject of Feet…
In Genesis 18:4, Abraham has water brought so that his three mysterious visitors – whom we know to be messengers from God – may have their feet washed as Sarah prepares a splendid feast for their refreshment. Although it isn’t clear who’s doing the foot-washing here, in the Testament of Abraham, an extra-biblical Jewish narrative from the first century C.E., Abraham and Isaac wash the feet of Michael, an angelic visitor.
In 1 Samuel 25:41, Abigail bows before the servants of King David, who have come to escort her into his presence to become his wife. Humbling herself before the representatives of the King, Abigail declares, “Your servant (indicating herself) is a slave to wash the feet of the servants of my lord” (meaning David).
Jesus, the descendant of that same King David, has his feet washed with the tears and dried with the hair of a woman identified as a sinner in the seventh chapter of Luke’s gospel [7:44].
And now, at his last meal with his friends, to be partaken in the very shadow of the cross, Jesus, heir to the throne of David and Son of the living God, ties a towel around his waist and kneels before each of his followers, washing their feet to welcome them into far more than a dinner party on a fine spring evening.
After the “No you won’t; Yes I will” exchange with Peter, Jesus makes a further observation about cleanliness that refers to more than the disciples’ feet: “‘You are clean, though not all of you.’ For he knew who was to betray him.” This is an interesting literary move on the part of the gospel writer.
Joseph Campbell, the internationally renowned professor of comparative religion and the great codifier and interpreter of primitive myths, has documented an ancient belief that the spirit enters and leaves the body by way of the feet, not the head, and that the “whorl” pattern on the bottom of the feet represents the path of the wind of life as it arrives and departs. And if the feet are the place where the spirit enters and leaves the body, they are a place that is vulnerable to enemies and evildoers. Best to keep them tidy.
So – feet, cleanliness, purity, love, charity. Our Maundy Thursday foot-washing both symbolizes and exemplifies the mandatum novum: Love one another, just as I have loved you. Clear enough – except for one thing.
Love cannot be willed. With the best intentions in the world, we cannot love simply because we are commanded to, even by Jesus. Certainly, we rely on the grace of God to form us for the Christian life. But we can also receive a little assistance from a rather dusty observation about Greek grammar.
The Greek verb for “love,” as it appears in the new commandment, is in the subjunctive, not the imperative mood. The subjunctive emphasizes conditionality, possibility. So part of our ability to fulfill the new commandment will be derived from our becoming the kind of people who are capable of such love. And for this, we turn to the grace and nourishment that is provided to us in the sacrament of the Eucharist.
So, dear people of God, lose the shoes; shuck the socks. Come forward, be washed, be purified, be nourished, and be welcomed in the name of Christ.
Amen.
Resources consulted
Perkins, Pheme. “The Gospel According to John” in Brown, R.E., Fitzmyer, J.A. and Murphy, R.E., eds. The New Jerome Biblical Commentary,
Sanford, John A. Mystical Christianity.
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Good Friday Meditations
Good Friday (A) St. Mark’s,
Meditation 2: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in
“In
Heaven, the Kingdom of Heaven, the new Jerusalem, the city of the living God, the house of the Father, the dwelling place of God; Heaven, from which Jesus descended and to which he would return… These phrases flash like fine gold threads from the pages of the New Testament narratives.
But Jesus was a faithful Jew, and the first audience for his earthly teachings and for the Good News of his life, saving death and glorious resurrection were also Jews, and their ideas about heaven, about paradise would have been formed by their knowledge of the Jewish scriptures. What ideas, what images, what consoling visions came into the mind of the “good thief” and into the minds of the others who heard Jesus’ words from the cross, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in
The word “paradise” comes from the Greek paradeisos, which means “garden.” Certainly the beauty and delight of the garden of Eden, one of the earliest of Biblical images, will be elements of the paradise that Jesus promises from the cross. So perhaps those who heard Jesus’ words on that first Good Friday thought of a garden. Where might their imagining of
Perhaps they suddenly recalled these words from the book of Job: “I know that my Redeemer lives, and that he will stand upon the earth at last. And after my body has decayed, yet in my body will I see God! I will see him for myself. Yes, I will see him with my own eyes. I am overwhelmed at the thought.” [
Beauty, joy, the presence of God, bodily resurrection. And peace? Surely another characteristic of this promised Paradise will be peace – the great shalom of the kingdom of God, as set forth in this passage from the book of the prophet Isaiah: “The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them. And the cow and the bear shall feed; their young ones shall lie down together: and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice’s den. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.” [11:6-9]
Our Christian expectation of the “beatific vision” – a joyous vision of endless light in which we behold God face to face – owes something to this description of the final and complete realization of God’s reign, found in the 60th chapter of Isaiah: “The sun shall no more be thy light by day; neither for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee: but the Lord shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thy God thy glory. The sun shall no more go down: neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended.” [60:19-20]
The voice of the prophet Isaiah travels through the centuries and across cultures to tell us that God keeps God’s promises; that God is faithful to his people, to us, his imperfect people. The prophet reassures us that God is with us, and that God is for us. “He will swallow up death in victory: and the Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces: and the rebuke of his people shall he take away from off all the earth: for the Lord hath spoken it.” [25:8]
The criminal on his cross, the people huddled on Golgotha, and all of us gathered here today: we hear Jesus’ words, “Today you will be with me in
In
Good Friday (A) St. Mark’s,
Meditation 4: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
An ancient writer has described crucifixion as the cruelest punishment. Our plain Protestant crosses, emptied of their divine burden, help us to avert our eyes from the agonizing truth; from the hours of pain, and of shame; from the blood, from the mounting panic of death by suffocation.
It is in the midst of this torture that Jesus cries out in the deepening darkness, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
If you have not yet experienced a moment in which you are haunted by the same question, trust me: one will come. Are we to comfort ourselves with the thought that even Jesus, God’s beloved Son, could endure only so much before giving in to despair? “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
This question, of course, is the first line of Psalm 22, the lament of one who feels that he has been abandoned by God; a composition eerily prescient of Jesus’ suffering on the cross.
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
and are so far from my cry
and from the words of my distress?
…
… I am a worm and no man,
scorned by all and despised by the people.
All who see me laugh me to scorn;
they curl their lips and wag their heads, saying,
“He trusted in the Lord; let him deliver him,
let him rescue him, if he delights in him.”
…
I am poured out like water; all my bones are out of joint;
My heart within my breast is melting wax.
…
Packs of dogs close me in,
and gangs of evildoers circle around me;
they pierce my hands and feet…
They stare and gloat over me;
they divide my garments among them;
they cast lots for my clothing.
When Jesus cried out, “Eli, Eli, lema sabacthani?” perhaps he was not giving in to despair, but was instead reciting this Psalm, praying an ancient prayer with chilling, prophetic parallels to the events of his last hours.
The Psalter is the place where all our human utterances are sent heavenward – fear, anger, hatred, the desire for vengeance – there is no emotion too earthbound, too human, to be brought into the life of God. The Psalter was the hymnal of the
The Hebrew title of the Psalter is Tehillim – “Praises.” All our cries to God, however they may feel to us, whatever may be in our hearts, all our words are precious to God, are heard by God, and are received by God as praise.
Psalm 22 does not end on the plaintive note with which it began.
I will declare your Name to my brethren;
in the midst of the congregation I will praise you.
Praise the Lord, you that fear him;
stand in awe of him, O offspring of
all you of Jacob’s line, give glory.
The psalmist declares – and all who pray this psalm declare with him –
My soul shall live for him;
my descendants shall serve him;
they shall be known as the Lord’s forever.
“My soul shall live for him.” The life of the one who prays this prayer does not end. His soul lives for God, and his descendants will be known forever as the children of God. Not forsaken at the last, but prayerful, his cries are heard, the Lord is his strength, and his life does not end on a hill outside the city.
Good Friday (A) St. Mark’s,
Meditation 6: “It is finished.”
“It is finished.” It is over. Ended. The Hosannas of Palm Sunday, of Jesus’ triumphant entry into
ÔåôÝëåóôáé means “It is finished.” But it also means, “It is completed; achieved; fulfilled. ÔåôÝëåóôáé is not a final gasp of despair, it is a shout of victory. All that the Father has sent the Son to do – to ransom, to heal, restore and forgive – all has been accomplished.
The sacred heart of our savior has been broken, and there, in its hidden depths, is joy – joy that He has fulfilled the will of the Father.* The cross points the way to the deep joy of true worship; the cross shows us how to live and not die.
Sometimes we are granted brief glimpses of the joy of the cross. In my home parish, on Good Friday, we participate in an ancient ritual known as the veneration of the cross. At a certain point in the liturgy for Good Friday, a cross is placed on the steps leading to the high altar. The cross is about four feet long; it is made of dark wood, and an antique ivory corpus is stretched upon its length. The tense lines of the body, the tragic grimace of the mouth, the half-closed eyes – art imitates life at its worst moment.
Members of the congregation make their way down the center aisle, and kneel before this cross in a profound posture of obeisance known as a double genuflection. Many kiss the ivory feet of the sculpted body. It is a time of intense personal devotion, of heart-rending sorrow, but also of gratitude, and of a kind of holy joy.
Several years ago, I was the acolyte who assisted those who came forward to venerate the cross as they knelt before it. I was able to look closely into their faces, which showed so clearly what they were feeling, what they were bringing to the feet of the broken body of the One whom we call God the Son.
I will never forget the faces of those dear people, so open to the experience, so willing to be made vulnerable before the one who gave himself, entirely, for us. The hope of redemption, of resurrection, was so keenly present to them; hope shone on their faces, through their tears, as the sun at dawn burns through the mists of night. My own face was wet with tears, and I was overcome with love for the living God, and for all who came to worship at his altar; my fellow creatures, flawed vessels, lovingly redeemed at an unimaginable cost.
The experience of true conversion, of opening oneself to the light of Christ is, as we experience in the sacrament of Holy Baptism, a dying and rising. The old self dies, and the new self lives, gloriously and eternally, through a mysterious participation in the very life of God. This transformation is a profound miracle, and yet it happens again, and again and again.
We have all experienced some version of this miracle, and when we come together in worship, our collective story is lived anew, confirmed and sanctified. What happened on that first Good Friday is brought, by divine liturgy, into our present reality – and our worship rituals lift us, ineffably, to the eternal “now” of God. Our desire for earthly things is muted, and we long for mystical union with the One who “stretched out his arms of love on the hard wood of the cross, so that all might come within the reach of his saving embrace.”
“It is finished.” It is accomplished. The divine plan is effected – for us and for our salvation. Jesus has done all that the Father has asked of him. But the work of the human soul continues.
Our own experience, our own sufferings, are also subject to the transformation of the cross. The cross is symbol, ritual, event and process. In the Great Catechism, Gregory of Nyssa, the fourth-century bishop and theologian instructs us,
It is the property of the Godhead to pervade all things,
and to extend itself through the length and breadth of the
substance of existence in every part…and that which is
this existent, properly and primarily is the Divine
Being…and which is the very thing we learn from the
figure of the cross; it is divided into four parts, so that
there are projections, four in number, from the central
point where the whole converges upon itself;
because He Who at the hour of His pre-arranged death
was stretched upon it is He Who binds together all things
into Himself, and by Himself brings to one harmonious
agreement the diverse natures of actual existences. +
Christ has been lifted up, and has drawn the world to himself. “It is finished.” Now we must take up our crosses, and play our parts in fulfilling the will of the Father.
* Adapted from John Andrew: My Heart is Ready: Feasts and Fasts on Fifth Avenue. Cambridge/Boston:
Cowley Publications, 1995, 116-7.
+ Quoted in Sanford, John A. Mystical Christianity.
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Easter Morning
Easter Sunday (A)
The Rev.
March 23, 2008
St. Mark’s,
Alleluia; Christ is risen! [The Lord is risen indeed; Alleluia!]
“Alleluia” is our Anglicized version of “Hallelujah” – Hebrew for “Praise the Lord” – or, more precisely, “Let us praise the Lord.” Today we come together as a holy community to proclaim the resurrection of Jesus, the Christ – with joy, with songs of praise, and – even though we are Connecticut Episcopalians – with glad shouts:
Alleluia! [Alleluia!]
But that first Easter morning did not begin as an occasion of joy and confident celebration. Matthew’s gospel shows us Mary Magdalene and “the other Mary” on their way to Jesus’ tomb, early in the morning, to complete the preparation of his body according to the Jewish burial customs of the time. They carried scented oils and spices – to mask the smell of death. They would have planned to return to the tomb in a year’s time to gather his bones and place them in a stone box called an ossuary.
Although today’s gospel lesson does not give us any clues into the thoughts or conversations of these women, it is not difficult to imagine the numbness of their grief, their confusion, discouragement – even fear for their own lives. Their dear teacher, a man of compassion and wisdom who – they’d believed – would bring about the
The women had been with him to the end – had witnessed his suffering, death and entombment. So they rose early in the morning to offer their last acts of kindness and devotion to their beloved friend and leader.
But as they arrived at the tomb, an earthquake struck. No mere tremor, a “great earthquake” according to the gospel. Then an angel of the Lord descended from heaven, rolled the massive stone away from the entrance to the tomb, and sat upon the stone –
staking his claim, planting the flag of victory over death. “His appearance,” says the gospel, “was like lightning.”
The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid.” (!) The guards who had been stationed at the tomb “shook and became like dead men.” The women, however, maintained a degree of composure – at least enough to take in the angel’s astonishing message: “Jesus… is not here; for he has been raised, as he said.” The angel instructed the women to tell the disciples that Jesus has been raised from the dead, and that he is going to
The women leave – “quickly” – “with fear and great joy” – but before they can find the disciples, they meet Jesus himself. Although in John’s version of this story, Mary Magdalene doesn’t recognize Jesus until he calls her by name, in Matthew’s gospel both women recognize Jesus, take hold of his feet and worship him. This traditional demonstration of reverent humility tells us that the risen Jesus was no mere wafting spirit; he had some form of a physical, tangible body.
Jesus repeats the angel’s words to the women: “Do not be afraid.” But he doesn’t mean, “Do not be afraid – of me” – clearly, they are not. Jesus’ statement seems to be more general, more all-encompassing advice. “Do not be afraid” – of what is going to happen to you. “Do not be afraid” – for the future. “Do not be afraid” – death is vanquished; you will live as I live.
Alleluia! [Alleluia!]
It is interesting to see the way in which these events – the story of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus – became the foundation of the preaching tradition of the early Church. In today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles, we see Peter delivering the first message of the Gospel of Jesus – the first Easter sermon, in a way – to the household of Cornelius, the Roman centurion.
Gentiles!?! Remember that Peter had had a dream by which he came to understand that the message of God’s salvation, through Jesus, is for all. This “new, improved” Peter begins his sermon, “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation, anyone who fears him [that is, who honors him] and does what is right is acceptable to him.”
Then we hear the “talking points” – the creedal affirmations of the Church in its earliest days: that Jesus is Lord of all; that God anointed Jesus with the Holy Spirit and with power; that Jesus was put to death but that God raised him on the third day. Peter, as an apostle – “one who is sent” – was commanded by Jesus to preach, to testify that Jesus is the messiah of God, and that “everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name.”
Alleluia! [Alleluia!]
Easter is our great Holy Day, the crown of the Church Year. The resurrection of Jesus is the defining event of the Christian faith. By the time of Jesus, many Jews had come to believe in the resurrection of the dead, but it was a general resurrection that would occur at the end of human history, with the arrival of the great and terrible Day of the Lord. But with the resurrection of Jesus, the
Death is real, but it is not ultimate. “Do not be afraid.” The ultimate reality is the righteousness of God, not the injustice of mankind; it is the great shalom, the peace of God, not the warring nations of the earth; it is love, not hate; truth, not falsehood; life, not death.
Alleluia; Christ is risen! [The Lord is risen indeed; Alleluia!]
Amen.
Resource consulted: Daniel J. Harrington, “The Women at the Tomb,”
