Holy Week, Saturday

How did they get through Saturday, those disciples of Jesus, after that horrific Friday afternoon when He died a criminal’s death, marked by the agony of physical suffering, and no spoken condemnation from that cross. Instead, on the cross, he spoke forgiveness for the ones who nailed him up there, “Father forgive them. They have no idea what they’re doing.”

And neither, truly, did the followers of Jesus. Sabbath started Friday evening, so they, like all good Jews, stopped work, prayed, no doubt stayed together as much as possible. 

Peter remembered his betrayal, three times denying knowledge of and friendship with Jesus…….

John contemplated taking care of Mary, the beloved mother of Jesus, such a responsibility given to him by Jesus in the final moments of His life……

The nine remaining men, strong fishermen, a tax collector, working men all of them, thought of dashed hopes…….

They relived the past three years, his stirring, triumphant words, his astonishing, inexplicable miracles, raising the dead, feeding 5000 men, their wives, their children, trying to figure out what went wrong……..

They prayed for, what? A sign? Another leader? A greater, bigger, grander miracle? 

Here is the Western Wall, the holiest site in the Jewish faith, last remaining part of the Temple in Jerusalem at that

time. No doubt, the Jewish leaders felt triumphant attending services that Sabbath.....back in charge, another minor trouble maker tossed aside by history. Before long, Jesus of Nazareth would fade to history, his followers scattered, his teachings erased.

The women and men who had followed Jesus, walked with him around Palestine, seen—and participated in—three amazing years of hope……now sat stunned, waiting, confidence crushed on that previous Friday afternoon, courage stymied. They had the Sabbath, the day set aside by God to rest, to refresh. Heartbroken and afraid, the followers of Christ huddled and waited.

Till, finally, in marched Sunday morning.

Holy Week--Friday

A trial for the ages……and to placate the Jews. Pilate’s wife warned him, “Do not do what they want you to do.” What did this ‘local’ matter really have to do with Rome anyway. Except, of course, all matters had to do with Rome if it kept those under Roman rule from becoming unruly.

The Jewish high priest, Caiaphas, had passed Jesus along to Pilate. After all, the crowd screamed for Jesus’ blood, and after Jesus answered an important theological question (“Are you the Son of God?”) by denying them a denial but, rather, by quoting scripture at them, Caiaphas, and the other priests, scribes, and all Jews with any interest in the status quo screamed for Jesus’ death. The mighty Roman Empire alone, though, could exercise state-sanctioned capital punishment. So, off to Pilate they went.

And Pilate’s wife shared her dream. “Have nothing to do with that Righteous Man.” And why? Did she know something Pilate didn’t? Had the servants been talking?

No. Rather, “.....for last night I suffered greatly in a dream because of Him.” (All italics mine).

Pilate had such trust in his wife that, while he didn’t believe the angry mob in front of him would allow him to just release Jesus, he came up with what he believed an out for himself. He gave the crowd a choice. Before Passover, Pilate traditionally released a prisoner.  “I’ll release this man Jesus……or that no good thieving, scoundrel Barabbas.” One of the Gospels called Barabbas “notorious.”

And the crowd cried, “Release Barabbas!”

“And what of Jesus?” You can almost hear Pilate’s voice quiver. There was, after all, his wife with whom to contend. But, no hesitation or softening of sound from the mob watching. “Crucify Him! Crucify Him!”

Pilate washed his hands. “I am innocent of this man’s blood!” Oh, is it that easy to pass the buck? “I COULD stop this wrong…..but, on your head be it.”

And the throng howled, “His blood will be on our heads,” and, then, if already we do not wonder at their frenzy, if we are not shocked at how lightly they toss aside the life of a Man from whom they had taken teachings and miracles and bread and healing and love and life, hear the horde bawl, “on our heads……and the heads of our children.”

I do not know, of course, we cannot know. But this Christ who so loved children (“Do NOT stop little children from coming to me!” He had commanded His disciples) must have felt His heart, already so broken and battered from a night of betrayal and rejection from people He had loved so fiercely at the cry for the curse falling onto innocents—people so consumed with hatred of a blameless man, the Son of God, that they easily and gladly passed blame to their children, must have felt the break in His heart grow even bigger.

Some of the Caves from
Sign above

Pilate, then, having whipped Jesus earlier, handed Him over. In such caverns as shown here, the Roman soldiers—egged on, helped?, by the frenzied Jews—stripped Jesus, put on him a royal purple robe to mock that title “King of the Jews.”  Taking a plant like a vine of thorns, they constructed an artificial crown and rammed it on his head, blood now coursing into his eyes, so much

Caves from Sign Above

so that they thought beating Him about the head would make some kind of point, all reason well gone by this time.

And, finally, Jesus carried the cross bar of His crucifixion down that Via Delarosa—“The Way of Suffering”—the traditional path He walked out Jerusalem to Golgotha, “The Place of the Skull.” The picture of that spot here was taken in the 1960’s. In that picture, a skull can still emerge from the hillside as you look, though certainly blurred after 2000 years of elemental wear. Imagine the reality of that skull face looking out on the road in the First Century. In the 21^st Century, the face on the hill has faded away, or I could find no outline of it. But that place still stands there, a reminder of that Friday afternoon, of that one particular, significant execution.

Calvary, 1960's
"Place of the Skull"

The beautiful paintings show Jesus high up on a hill, His cross above those of the two men crucified with Him. Probably, though, the men were nailed to crosses on the road, visible to all who walked within sight of that Skull Hill and those three dying men. “Let this be a warning…..Mighty Rome could do this to you as well……..” No beauty in that scene.

Watching along the road, Mary, Jesus’ mother. How did she bear it?

The soldiers whose job it was to carry out this execution mixed with sightseers. Public executions happened in all kinds of cultures word wide until recently, it seems.

Other followers of Jesus watched their dreams fade as His blood drained down that cross, down a hill, down the road. We know John, that youngest of the disciples, watched with Mary, Jesus’ mother.

Even then, Jesus saw to the needs of those around Him. His beloved mother now would live with that young disciple, John. If, as Protestants believe (and I am a Protestant) Mary and Joseph had other children after Jesus, He did not trust the care of his beloved mother to them.

Jesus also looked to His side, to a thief being crucified at the same time as Him, one who recognized the difference of Jesus and other men…..”Today, you and me, in Paradise.”

What a wealth in that sentence.

And then, from that despicable, appalling, shameful, vile cross, the Son of God cried, “It is finished!” Even now, we do not understand completely all the work completed on that cross.

And from a Roman soldier, “Surely this was the Son of God.” Such was the impact of His death.

I wonder, as Jesus’ spirit left His poor, broken, scarred body, I wonder if angels in Heaven heaved sighs. “Finally!” What did Heaven look like that day when Jesus and the thief from the other cross met again—Jesus’ promise kept. “Today, you and me, Paradise.”

I wonder how God the Father held back the archangel Michael, that mighty warrior, from coming to wreak havoc and revenge on those mere humans who had so wickedly handled the body of the Son of God……..

A First Century Tomb
with  Ossuaries

Because they wanted to bury the body, not for altruistic reasons, but to be sure it was buried and so that no one could say anything crazy like, oh, Jesus had risen from the dead, the Jewish leaders made absolutely sure Jesus was dead on that cross.  Then, a wealthy follower, Joseph of Arimathea, provided a nice grave—much nicer than anyone in Jesus’ earthly family could have given.  They prepared the body as best they could in the time they had—Sabbath began at sundown—put Him in that cave, rolled a huge stone in front of it, a stone like a big disk pushed along a small gulley in front just for that purpose, persuaded  Rome to position guards, and went away satisfied their work was

done, complete.

If they only knew.

The disciples and followers of Christ went away….to hide, to pray, to cry, to grieve. He had told them, but who could understand what He truly meant by “resurrection”? By “be not afraid?” All their dreams and hopes for overthrowing Rome, all their aspirations for helping Jesus rule over their hated enemies. They went away, some together, some alone, as their world fell apart……

If they only knew.

 

Calvary Today

Palm Sunday--Holy Week Begins

Yesterday was Palm Sunday. Ah, I knew this time would draw me back to last June, those too-few days in that enchanted, mysterious, captivating country of Israel.

2000 years ago, the Gospels tell us, as they walked towards Jerusalem, Jesus sent a couple of his disciples ahead of Him to borrow a donkey. Some scholars believe the donkey to be a beast of peace, as opposed to my beloved horses, often depicted as animals of war.

Other descriptions of Christ in the New Testament have him riding a white stallion, indeed, leading the soldiers of righteousness to a final battle. But, before that victory, the humble donkey carried the Lamb to the city where His sacrifice would happen.

The disciples said to the donkey's owner, who, of course, had questions about people just taking their donkey away, "The Lord needs it." Apparently, that's all it took.

Jesus rode to the city via the Mount of Olives. You can see the Mount of Olives

from about anywhere in Jerusalem, or anywhere I was, and certainly from the Old City. And the people put palm fronds in front of him, calling out praises, crying over him, making the religious establishment lose their minds. It seems from the back of this humble donkey, Christ wept over Jerusalem, heartbroken for the fate He knew to come, distraught at their lack of belief. After Jesus entered Jerusalem (a model of ancient Jerusalem shown here), he dismounted the donkey, entered the temple, and threw out all the merchants there using a Holy place as a place for stealing. He had no patience for misuse of His Father's house.

This is the holiest week in Christendom. No doubt, pilgrims walk those cobbled streets this week in Jerusalem reliving those last earthly days of Christ, hearing men (and some women) with descriptive gifts far better than mine bringing to life the places and the time from 2000 years ago, crossing the years, making history present, as that ancient land so easily does.

After His

triumphal entry into Jerusalem, after His tossing merchants and money out of the Temple like so many miscreant shopkeepers, the religious leaders of His day wanted to kill Jesus even more than before....and not long afterwards, one of his closest friends betrayed Him over disappointment of expectations and the lure of silver, and those envious, ungodly religious leaders got their wish.

Or so they thought.

I wish I was there in that land that draws me back....but, even now, I close my eyes and see the desert, feel the heat, dry, dusty, ageless, reach my hands to caress the rough, ancient stones, walk the narrow streets--the very streets Jesus walked. I quietly sit.....shut out the world.....close my eyes.....remember......and I am there.

Remembering Israel-Holy Thursday

After Jesus' triumphant entry into Jerusalem on what we now call Palm Sunday and His clearing of the Temple, scholars believe Jesus returned to Bethany, thought  to be about a mile and a half distance, on what is now the West Bank. Walking didn’t require a fit-bit in those days; to get from here to  there, frequently you just walked, and Jesus and the disciples likely hoofed it along quickly. We know Jesus taught that week, maybe back in Bethany, maybe both or other places.  A walk of a mile-and-a-half would not merit a gold star in a chart on the fridge. It would just be a Tuesday—or, in that Holy Week, perhaps a Thursday.

For sure, Jesus returned with his disciples to “the Upper Room” for the Passover meal—a Seder Meal—with these disciples, most of whom He knew would eventually die for

Stained Glass of Last Supper
 (on top)
Jerusalem

their devotion to Him. He wanted to prepare them, to not have them be shocked by His death, to, again, assure them He would never truly leave them, convince them of His love, of God’s providence, that, no matter what circumstances might appear to be on the cusp of drowning them, overwhelming them, in that “dark night of the soul,” they actually, truthfully, really would not be alone, even if they could not see and touch Him as at that last Seder meal. John, the youngest of the chosen 12, would ask the traditional questions of Passover, beginning with, “Why is this night different from all others?

After they asked these questions, Jesus, that Hebrew boy who grew into the Hebrew man, answered

those same traditional questions being asked and answered all over Israel, particularly Jerusalem, at that same time. They ate the Passover meal, the tradition begun hundreds of years before Christ celebrated with his disciples, begun on that very first night the angel of death passed over houses marked with lamb's blood when the Israelites prepared to leave Egypt, the traditional meal that continues today. For Christians this foretells of the sacrificial Lamb whose blood would redeem, that Lamb even on that evening 2000 years ago concentrating on the Passover meal with His friends, not distracted by the dread to come or, it appears, the redemption worked by His sacrifice the next night. Jesus lived for each day on the day. During that meal Jesus sent Judas off to commit his treasonous act. “Hurry and get it over with.” How His heart must have broken to have this man, his follower—his friend—betray him so cruelly.

Before Judas met those conspirators against Jesus had time to return and find Jesus to turn Him over to those who wanted to kill Him, Jesus took his disciples to the Garden of Gethsemane so He could pray. He left them, went a bit further, begged to find another way—any other way—than the path He knew to come, and returned to find the disciples asleep. Well, it was late, they had just eaten a big meal. He wanted them to pray as He was praying.

Garden of Gethsemane

But, if the disciples had managed to pray together as Christ prayed farther away from them that night, would Peter have acknowledged himself a follower of Jesus a few hours later rather than betraying Him three times before that crowing rooster sounded the soon arrival of morning? Would a prayer at that time have mattered, and did Jesus, wanting to spare them more fear and shame to come, encourage them again and again, “Pray…. pray……pray.”  But, He would not force them. God will not force communication with His children.

Then Judas appeared,

performed with the kiss of friendship the deed for which he would not later seek forgiveness. Judas could not have known the series of events his one act of perfidy would beget. But, Jesus knew…..and if Judas lived to mourn that act, he didn’t live long, not able to bear the repercussions, not capable to deal with the guilt. Even so, Jesus never gave any other idea but that He could, at any time during that Thursday night have stopped any of these steps towards that monstrous death to which He steadily headed. As Peter grabbed a sword and cut off the ear of one of servants of the High Priest to try to protect Jesus, Jesus gently scolded him, returned the ear, likely before the servant realized exactly what had happened (did it really get cut off and put back on?), and assured them all that He could call legions of angels--if he wanted. 

What must all those men have thought upon seeing this? As the story moved among them ("Did you see that? What? Really? He did what?") what must that crowd of cruel, hardened soldiers thought. 

And, what did those legions of angels think from Heaven? The song says, "Angels from Heaven up  yonder watch with amazement and wonder to see the Son of the Highest treated so."

Indeed.

A great irony is that the purpose for which Jesus allowed Judas to betray him, so that Jesus could make Himself that sacrifice on the cross, that ransom Jesus paid after Judas’ betrayal, covered and absolved even the monstrous duplicity of a follower of the Son of God by a loved friend. Judas did not find final destruction from the guilt and grief because of his unfathomable betrayal ; his ultimate downfall was, as for so many humans throughout history, that he could not, he would, not accept forgiveness from the act of Sacrifice Jesus performed that Friday afternoon. Judas refused pardon freely offered to us all.

That cross, truly, is enough.

Periodically, when I heap upon myself condemnation for the sins of commission, omission, permission, all kinds of –mission, I have to stop and say, “You’re not the one…..you’re not the one the cross doesn’t cover.” Judas could not believe because he would not believe Jesus’ words from those three years he had lived and worked with Him. Even the other disciples, after Jesus’ death, cowered, hid, fearful of the coming days, weeks, months, of the unknown future. Judas, feeling responsible by that time for the loss of everything, all he had hoped for, all he had thought he hoped for, killed himself after throwing the silver, the price of his duplicity and disloyalty, back in the faces of the men who had paid him and who, by now, could have cared less. They had what they wanted, believing themselves free of this rural rabble rouser, this Nazarene preacher who threatened their authority.

The mock trial (millions of others’ words explain the bogus actions of that trial well past what I could explain), Peter’s betrayal—Peter, who during that Seder meal had sworn his loyalty could not—WOULD not be in any way questioned—Peter could hardly warm his hands fast enough to swear and deny Christ with his own words and actions. As his final denial ended, Jesus, in the middle of a trial for his life, being accused of false actions and intent, turned and looked at Peter. Brown eyes met brown eyes, and Peter’s shame stopped his words as he turned and ran in disgrace from the courtyard where so many watched to see just what would happen with this preacher, prophet, perhaps faker, on trial here.

Statue of Peter's Betrayal

Thursday night, the trial of Christ continued. The Jews felt pressure to hurry, because the Sabbath, a day on which they could not do any work—like burying someone—would soon be upon them. A Roman Caesar, his wife, Jewish religious leaders, and a mob pondered Jesus’ fate as He stood quietly, so few words, having made His peace with what was to come.

Ready for His purpose and His part in history, Jesus patiently waited for the humans around Him to play their roles. A Roman Caesar, his wife, Jewish religious leaders, and a mob….and Thursday crawled into Friday.