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Of all the elements of the Christian story recounted in this holiest of weeks – that began with Palm Sunday’s commemoration of Jesus’ triumphal entry
into Jerusalem and will end with Easter’s celebration of his resurrection – the event that we remember this day, this Good Friday, is undeniably the
universal aspect of all of life.
Death. Beyond taxes, the certain destiny for all. As it has been said, no one gets out of life alive. Or as my dear friend, Janis Hoffman, a sage saint
if there ever was one, who in her eighties gives aging a good name, is wont to say, “Once you’re born, you’re done for!” The wisdom of her observation
lies in the word, “once.” For at birth, from the moment of first breath, one instantly becomes vulnerable to all that befalls humankind under heaven.
Joys, yes, but also sorrows – the last and greatest of which is death.
Death, particularly the death of Jesus, is the subject of Good Friday. As I approached this day, I pondered what would, what should I say?
As always, there was an intense internal conversation going on within – at times between – my head and my heart. So, when I asked myself what do I
make of Good Friday, the response was something like this…
In light of the church’s traditional teaching, I thought to invite us to ponder the mystery – that is, not fully within the grasp of human
comprehension – of Jesus’ atoning death. That his substitutionary sacrifice for the sake of sin, “the sin of the world,” our sin was
efficacious for us. That he, in dying for us, as the old Baptist preacher used to say, “Paid a debt he did not owe because we owed a debt we
could not pay.” That his death restored the possibility of intimate relationship with God, a relationship that we, humankind, forsook through our
inherent disobedience to God’s will, a disobedience so timeless as to be symbolized in that ancient, mythic story of the Garden of Eden.
But as soon as the thought occurred, I heard myself reply with a lukewarm, “Perhaps.” For the rational side of me finds it difficult to understand,
even in the most inchoate sense, how the death of a man two millennia ago benefits us, beyond potentially deepening our awareness of the self-sacrificial
nobility of the human spirit as incarnate in the lives of courageous souls throughout history.
Then, as soon as I said that, there came an immediate counterpoint, counter-thought that the inherent incomprehensibility of the death of Jesus
is precisely what makes it – and our perception and reception of its benefits – a matter of faith. The redemptive, salvific aspect of Jesus’
death is not something we can prove logically or demonstrate scientifically, but only believe, perceive through the eyes of faith.
However, barely did I have a moment to meditate on this notion when my native rationalism reminded me that it’s always all about perception.
Ours. This led me to wonder how much of what we’re talking about this day is a matter of our reception of divine revelation and how much is
merely, but no less profoundly, a product of our awareness of our very human need. In other words, is Jesus really God in flesh and did he really
die for us or is it our fear of death that has given birth to our innate religious impulse? If more the latter, as death is that great
unavoidable, irresolvable maker of meaninglessness, bringing to naught, literally to dust all that precedes it, then religion is that very
necessary human device to find meaning in the mystifying mist of the nonsense of death.
This thought brought me to despair…where I heard a hopeful voice, calling out, “But Paul, you’ve missed the entire point! Jesus’ crucifixion was but
a prelude to his resurrection” – (Yes, I know, I’m getting ahead of the story!) – “through which we have the promise of immortality!” And
for a moment, I was comforted.
But, alas, only for a moment, for not only my rationalism, but also my skepticism sprang to life, stirring my mind to challenge my heart. For as
much as I’d like to believe this, it doesn’t necessarily follow that what happened to Jesus will happen to us. When I read the New Testament, Jesus,
although very much like us, clearly was a very special person. But even if the same thing could happen to us, immortality, generally conceived
as living forever, isn’t really all that pleasant a prospect. Imagine never dying, enduring this world just as it is. No thank you!
Yet, once I arrived at this point, then I beheld a vision of the meaning of this day and what makes this Friday good for us…
Immortality is desirable because it embraces an idea of a life and a world other than this. Another life in another world where love wins and
justice prevails. Yet here is a paradox: a vision is an unfulfilled reality. A vision beholds what now is not yet. Yet, in the very
imagining of it, it already has come.
It is in this that I can make sense of this day. In this, I can make meaning out of death – the death of Jesus and ours yet to come…
Death, the inevitable end to all of our lives, can give meaning to each moment of every day. Death and our awareness of it call us to consecrate,
make sacred every encounter, every experience. Death and its inevitability compel us to take every opportunity now to shed the light of the love
and justice of Jesus on the dark corners, dispelling the shadows of life in this world. To the extent that we are successful, that is, faithful,
then the meaning of Jesus – what he came to do, what he said, what he did, and why he died – will be eternal, and even more, when our
deaths come, we will have had a life worth living.
