Homilies by Rev. Andrew Collis unless indicated otherwise.
‘Bearing the cross’
We who, dare we say it, are bearers of Christ’s name, are called to be bearers of crosses. Not bearers of weapons, slogans, threats or manipulative treats. Bearers of crosses. To bear a cross means to resist the brute force of oppressors – the intimidation and seduction of oppressors. Brute force is seductive. It can be tempting to think that some violence – the violence that we approve, the violence of the “good guys” – is okay, is good. But we are called to bear a cross – to do that personally … and to help each other. God be with you …
We might begin to reflect on this today, the second Sunday in Lent, by noting that the power we see at work in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus is not a power that oppresses or belittles. It is precisely not that. As Jesus says, “The Promised One has come not to be served, but to serve …” (Mark 10:45).
The power, the Spirit, of Jesus confounds the expectations of those who impose crosses, those who wield brute force. We see him refusing to give allegiance to the violent empire/kingdom of his day – subverting it, again and again, in the name of a kingdom to come – a kindom of forgiven sinners, healed lepers, befriended strangers.
We see him overturning the tables of the moneychangers in the Temple – those for whom worship has become a means to self-
In today’s reading it is Peter who embodies Satan by implying that the Messiah ought to follow the logic of brute force. The Messiah ought to demonstrate the most unequivocal power: he ought not be vulnerable.
Peter, like us, would prefer (at least some of the time) an invulnerable Messiah, a fierce revolutionary. Who wants to be a follower of a Christ who is willing to be executed? Who wants to be drawn into such a life/death? What does that mean for Peter? Who can watch and pray with such a Christ?
Indeed, in the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus is shattered, afraid. But in prayer he discovers another kind of courage and assurance; to go on loving, and to trust the One he calls Abba, despite the darkness of the situation. “Salvation is not making it all better”, writes one of my favourite theologians of late, “it is the grace of finding a way to live that keeps faith with the importance of goodness and love even in the face of everything that can happen to you” (Mark Johnston).
Now, this is no light topic. It means, for faith, that here is the image of the invisible God! This is God’s way in the world. God abandons [loses] and God is abandoned [lost]! As one commentator puts it, “God is most revealed when [God] seems to us the most hidden” (Stanley Hauerwas). This abandonment, this love, is the mission we are invited to make our own. This is the fullness of salvation: a loving “in the face of everything that can happen to you”. And we can choose either to reject it, to admire it from a distance, or to appropriate it for ourselves.
The latter will sound daunting, “Abrahamic”, impossible even. But isn’t it true that the imitation of Christ makes its own kind of sense in the lives of the saints? Francis of Assisi (a soldier turned pacifist friend to the poor), Martin Luther (a scholarly monk turned critic of a church grown wealthy at the expense of the poor), Martin Luther King, Jr. (passionate advocate of the poorest Americans), Oscar Romero (timid priest turned outspoken critic of military oppression of the poor), Mother Teresa (a mother to children on one of the poorest streets in the world), Mary Mackillop (a mother to poor children in rural Australia) … The impossible – it just might be possible …
Some will say that such a way of life is without joy, that all this talk of cross-
A sculpture by Singaporean artist Ng Eng Teng called “The Victim” shows a naked figure with a crown of thorns made from barbed wire. The figure holds its head high. It looks as though it is about to speak … a word of forgiveness, solidarity, something strong, human, a whisper …
The question is posed, then. Is this what you believe? Is this the “God” you believe in? Is this your concern, your passion, your life? The law of the jungle … or the power of the Spirit? The mighty emperor, or the Lamb that was slain, the risen Lord with pierced hands, feet, and side? Who do you trust? Ultimately, what is real?
There is joy in feeling oneself saved alongside others (joining with vulnerable others who, like you, know what it’s like to be excluded/ridiculed/persecuted/without hope). There’s deeper joy in sharing salvation with others rather than seeking to be saved at the expense of others – or, seeking to enjoy life naively or selfishly – seeking to avoid pain at all costs. Joy for me and mine only.
No, it’s not true to say that bearing a cross entails lack of joy. Jesus delights in being with people, different people, “non-
It’s this joy – odd, beautiful – that the example and presence of Christ makes possible for us.
There is good news. I pray that we, each in our own way, are inspired to say: “I am changed. I am better able to resist brute force. I am ready to live with others, in Christ and with all those Christ loves – even, impossibly, or so it seems, to lose my life – and I am open to receiving my life from others – from God – as gift …”
Let’s complete the homily together. You’re invited to place a mauve blossom before the cross. Which life/self is lost? Which life/self is received as gift? Amen.