“My God, why?”

a sermon, based on Matthew 26.14-27.66, preached with the people of Epiphany Episcopal Church, Laurens, SC, on the Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday, April 9, 2017

“Ēli, Ēli, lema sabachthani?”[1]

Of all the words of Jesus, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” ring in undeniable harmony with the human cry of sorrow and shame provoked by the experience of betrayal and abandonment.

Jesus was betrayed by Judas with a kiss.[2]

I wonder. What kind of kiss was it? An apologetic, ambivalent brush against the cheek; Judas, for the sake of his own survival, with the opposition against Jesus growing fiercer by the day, turned him in, but now had second thoughts? Or a bruising, resentful crush of lips on lips; Judas, disappointed, angry that Jesus wasn’t as he had hoped, a mighty militant Messiah who would run the Romans out of Palestine? Or a mercenary, eyes-wide-open peck on the forehead; Judas, for purely material gain, selling Jesus out for thirty pieces of silver?

Whatever. It really doesn’t matter. Judas betrayed Jesus with an act of familiarity, even fealty.

Anything like this ever happen to us? Anything like this ever been done by us? Severing a relationship with a loving gesture; a kiss or a seemingly tender word, for example, the now-proverbial, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

Jesus was abandoned by Peter, the chief disciple.

Peter declared his loyalty to Jesus. “I’ll never desert you!”[3] Then, under the pressure of self-preservation, his confidence overcome by cowardice, he blurted out his betrayal, “I do not know the man!”[4]

Anything like this ever happen to us or been done by us? Standing apart from another, even a former dear friend. Ignoring phone calls and email. Averting the eyes to evade a needy look. Avoiding past meeting places and potentially awkward encounters. Perhaps, in fairness to ourselves, under the pressure of changing circumstance, not knowing what to say or do, nevertheless, acting as if the other didn’t exist.

Jesus was betrayed by Pilate, the Roman governor.

Pilate believed Jesus was innocent. Yet, bowing to mob-rule, he symbolically washed his hands;[5] for the sake of political expediency, abdicating his responsibility to do the admittedly risky, but right thing and free Jesus.

Anything like this ever happen to us or been done by us? Having the authority, the ability to act to benefit another, yet, in response to our preference or prejudice or fear, choosing not; thus, leaving the other to face loss or to lose face.

My point? Jesus’ experience reflects, is our experience. People fail us. We fail people. We know the experience of Judas’ betrayal, Peter’s denial, and Pilate’s dismissal in receiving and giving. It never feels good, never is good when it happens, whether to us or by us.

Yet more…most devastating, Jesus was abandoned by God.

“My God, why have you forsaken me?” This is the prayer of one who believed he was following, fulfilling his life’s calling, yet found himself plunged into a bottomless pit of lonely Godforsaken suffering. “My God” (I do not question your existence, but) “why have you forsaken me?” (I do question your silence!).

Anything like this ever happen to us? Believing, trusting in God, then, at a time of crisis, at a critical, crucial, crucifying moment our calls, our cries for help answered by silence; feeling abandoned and the absolute absence of any sense or solution. We pray it doesn’t happen often, for it’s the sort of thing from which we don’t, can’t recover soon or at all.

Jesus cried, “My God, why?” I wonder. What did Jesus think, feel when the divine response was a deafening silence. Matthew doesn’t speculate, telling us only that “Jesus cried again…and breathed his last.”[6]

Perhaps this is the lesson of the cry of Jesus, the lesson of the cross, the lesson of any crucifixion. To yield to the experience. To surrender in the fight to find sense amid nonsense. Metaphorically, but no less truly, to breathe one’s last. For only then, if there is to be a resurrection, can it come.

 

Illustrations:

Kiss of Judas (1304–06), Giotto (1266-1337), Scrovegni Chapel, Padua, Italy

The Denial of Saint Peter (1610), Caravaggio (1571-1610)

Pilate Washing His Hands (c. 1655-1660), Luca Giordano (1634-1705)

Crucifixion (c. 1618-1620), Peter Paul Rubens (1577-1640)

Footnotes:

[1] Matthew 27.46

[2] Matthew 26.49-50

[3] Matthew 26.33

[4] Matthew 26.72, 74

[5] Matthew 27.24

[6] Matthew 27.50

a betrayal with kisses – a Palm Sunday meditation

Jesus’ disciple, Judas Iscariot, betrayed him for thirty pieces of silver, then led an arrest mob, saying, “The one I kiss is the one you seek” (Matthew 26.48).

It was night. Great was the possibility, probability of mistaken identity. Judas had to give some sign. But why so loving a sign. Why not throw an incriminating stone at Jesus or slap his face, punch his gut, pull his beard, yank his hair, kick his derrière?

Judas kissed Jesus. So, I wonder. What kind of kiss?

An apologetic brush against the cheek? Did Judas, whatever his reasons for betraying Jesus, have second thoughts about the rightness of what he was doing?

Was it a mercenary, bloodless, eyes-wide-open peck on the forehead? Did Judas, giving up everything to follow Jesus, then witnessing the mounting animosity of the authorities and foreseeing a disastrous end for Jesus and himself, try to make the best of a bad situation?

Was it a hopeful, soulful, soft, sincere caress? Did Judas, expecting to stand in the light of Jesus’ glory, but confused by Jesus’ slow (hesitant?) journey to Jerusalem, the political and religious capital, intend to force Jesus to confront the authorities and demonstrate, prove his power?

Was it a bruising, resentful crush of lips on lips? Did Judas, believing in God’s sovereignty, yearning to throw off Rome’s yoke of oppression, see in Jesus’ teaching and miracles the coming of God’s kingdom, but then as Jesus’ message changed, including predictions of his suffering and death, consider him a fraud, a false Messiah deserving punishment for his deception?

Whatever Judas’ motivations, in first century Judaism, the rabbi-disciple relationship was governed by well-defined rules. A disciple was not to greet the teacher first, implying equality. Judas greeted Jesus with a kiss. A signal to those who came to arrest Jesus and Judas’ calculated insult, premediated rejection of Jesus.

In this, Judas calls me, in my Lenten self-examination, to remember moments when I betrayed a relationship…

Saying, in so many words, largely to avoid honest disclosure (or, ambivalent, not sure what I needed to say or how), “It’s not you, it’s me…”

Or reticent to speak my truth for fear of how I’d be viewed, simply, silently walking away…

Or abandoning another in a needful hour. Like Peter, who, as Jesus faced death, denied his friend, declaring, “I do not know him” (Matthew 26.72).

In my remembrances, I dare not stand in judgment of Judas. Rather I must stand with him.

In this confession, I recognize anew that whenever I betray another, first and finally, I betray my self. My psyche, soul. My esse, being.

In this revelation, I behold a light leading me through my inner despair (where even in the shadows I see clearly the parts of me I despise) toward a new place to stand when I can choose to try again to be true to God, others, and my self.

Thank you, Judas, for compelling me to see me clearly. Thank you, Jesus, for calling me to believe in a God of second chances, who accepts me as I am without one plea and bids that I become fully who I already am, which is another way of saying, to get up and to try again.