The Crucified Messiah (Passion Sunday)

John 19:16–22 NRSV

Then he handed him over to them to be crucified. So they took Jesus; and carrying the cross by himself, he went out to what is called The Place of the Skull, which in Hebrew is called Golgotha. There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus between them. Pilate also had an inscription written and put on the cross. It read, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” Many of the Jews read this inscription, because the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city; and it was written in Hebrew, in Latin, and in Greek. Then the chief priests of the Jews said to Pilate, “Do not write, ‘The King of the Jews,’ but, ‘This man said, I am King of the Jews.’ ” Pilate answered, “What I have written I have written.”

Palm & Passion Sunday

As I’ve said before recently, I’ve gotten very excited about working in my yard and garden.

The sword ferns in our yard go through this beautiful cycle right now most of them are enormous with a couple years of growth, dead and dying, extending up from the base and comes time to cut the long stems.

I go out and grab my clippers and cut close to the base bulb hoping to clear out as much room around that space is possible

And what becomes of these fronds ?

I started laying them down on the ground in some of my beds around the house that have been depleted of soil over the last decade or so. Last week I decided to sprinkle some compost on the side of it to set up a new base layer in the bed. Some things are dying, some things are preparing to be resurrected.

I’ve been thinking about, in the midst of Palm Sunday, which straddles the beginning of holy week and leads us to Good Friday and Easter. I’ve been thinking about how the people laid palm fronds down on the ground as Jesus came into the city and how actually those were dead and dying things, laid down to be crushed by the one who would be dead.

And then there’s this beautiful thing that happens with the sword ferns and not just maybe a couple of weeks will start to see these tiny frond poking out, new life emerging.

These are glimmers of resurrection hope for me. Out of what has been dying, new buds and life emerge.

And while we’re not yet to Easter today, I wonder at how we are living in that tension point between the cut, dead dying fern, laid on the ground, and the glorious hope the new life will still emerge. 

The church is founded upon the witness of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. We are the bearers of Christ’s image and it is upon Christ’s faithfulness to God that we stand.

This time of year, many churches will tell the story of Jesus’ crucifixion. We’re actually jumping a little ahead in the order, because we’re looking at the cross story today, while we’ll anticipate it later in the week with Maundy Thursday, then embrace the darkness of that day on Good Friday, wait in hope on Holy Saturday, and then, finally, that glorious day of Easter and the Resurrection of Christ.

But today, we’re going to turn and face the cross, as Jesus is strung up and murdered.

It’s actually pretty common for various streams of the church, ourselves included, to gloss over portions of this story. We don’t like talking about blood and death. We don’t like to admit that we believe in a God who dies. We want Victorious Jesus, let’s not forget the pomp and anticipation of the Triumphal Entry on this liturgical day, Palm Sunday.

And what we talk about and what we focus on in this story tells us a lot about what we believe about the cross and it’s place in our world, our lives, our salvation.

So, let’s talk about the Cross.

As we grow in Christian discipleship, we need to look at the cross and form an understanding of what and why that whole event exists and what it might mean for our lives.

On the cross, Jesus dies a brutal death. God dies.

I remember hearing about how the crucifixion worked, on a physical level, in a Sunday school class, growing up. The way that this particular method of torture prolonged the agony for the victim. About how they would nail the victim to the cross while it was lying down, then raise it up and settle it in a hole, like a fence post, the shudder into the earth reverberating up the woodwork, shaking and settling. About how they would break the legs in order to encourage suffocation and to speed up the process. I think of sweat, blood, tears, and spit. Sour wine, just a taste.

I also remember who is crucifed with Jesus. A couple of common criminals, thieves. Nobody particularly special. The coming king, alongside the others who the empire has spat out.

Remember, the empire feeds on death.

The four gospels tell the story of the crucifixion in their own ways. John’s telling is relatively brief. But what he highlights is important.

The skull — Golgotha. A place of death. A place visible, a hilltop. Where the crowds could see as the bodies were emptied of life and breathed their agonizing last breath.

The sign — The King of the Jews. A mockery, but also an honor. Truth and spin, together. Christ the King, Christ the outcast. A wooden sign, a crown of thorns, a mockery for a king. But that’s who you say he is.

For Christians, the key point here is to note that all the titles of the world, all the honor of disciples, all the shouts of Hosanna, all the miracles and teachings, all of it leads to…the cross. To death.

The crucified savior, dying on the cross. A movement, losing it’s hope. Death, the catalyst of the empire, devouring the crucified messiah, the God who dies.

Crucified

What does it mean for us to say we follow a crucified savior? Aren’t saviors, messiahs, leaders, kings, aren’t they supposed to be strong, unwavering, solid?

Who follows a leader who dies?

In a few weeks, we’ll look at the passage from Philippians 2 called the Christ Hymn. In it, Paul describes this posture of self-emptying, kenosis, that Jesus takes on. He empties himself for us, on the cross. For you and for me, he took upon himself this shame.

But who follows a leader who dies? Remember, empire feeds on death, so this might prop up the empire, but a leader who dies…the movement fails…the crowds go home…all is lost.

I’m sure many of us look to our world for a leader who would be as willing to sacrifice for their people as Jesus was. I’m sure we look to our presidents, our governors, our kings, our parliaments, I know we look to these people for leadership. For inspiration. For purpose and guidance.

Who follows a leader who dies?

But we all know that looking to our present leaders for such a sacrifice would be folly. I know we can pick apart our own leaders. They can’t seem to keep themselves from destroying many of our nation’s institutions and foreign relationships. But I want to cast a wider net. Can we think of any leaders who model anything close to the service and self-emptying of Jesus? No, no, no.

We follow no king, but Christ alone.

You may say the standard set by Christ is unachievable. Perhaps. But who is even trying?

We follow a leader who dies.

Not a meaningless death, not just a blip. But death, nonetheless.

This past year, we’ve been building upon the ancient stories of the the Hebrew people. We’ve watched as the story unfolds, wandering in the wilderness, discovering a place to dwell, setting up judges and rulers, eventually kings, who would govern and reign.

We’ve seen the unfolding of this narrative, the way the people have longed for a savior, a king, a messiah. We’ve heard the promises — wait in hope, wait upon the Lord.

And what you would think happens is that Jesus rides into town on a mighty stead, sets Jerusalem alight with rebellion and uprising. We expected a kingly entrance.

You know they waved palms as he enter. Quick note on this, so we’re on the same page: When a king or governor or general or, I don’t know, the emperor, entered a city, they were often received by the people. The welcome wagon. And in this context, it was an honor that the people would prepare their pathway by laying out the palm fronds, covering the dirty road, a veritable green carpet for the honored guest.

But Jesus does not enter like a champion. He enters Jerusalem on a donkey. And yet the people wave the fronds to honor him. This was a protest. Perhaps the people didn’t understand the implications, but this was honor given to Jesus that belonged to only a proper king, an emperor. This was an act of protest and subversion — we worship this Galilean rabbi, not some emperor, not some king. No kings. Christ.

There will be time for Christ to enter our world triumphantly. But this entrance, this journey to the cross, is not triumphant, at least in an earthly sense. This is a procession from below, a rising from the dust, the work of the people, the work of God.

Messiah

And this is who we serve. We follow a God who dies. A God who dies for us. All of us.

How does this work, what are the mechanics of the cross?

I’ve said, how we talk about the cross says a lot about what we believe. So let’s do a quick run through of theologies of the cross. I won’t get them all, I’m sure, but these are some common ideas of what we think the cross is “for”, our theologies of the cross.

For example, many have understood the cross, through the centuries, to be the focal point of the Victory of God. Christus Victor — Christ victorious. This approach looks at the cross as the mechanisim in which God achieves victory over death, where death dies and Christ reigns in life, for all Creation.

Another cruciform theology looks more at this idea that Christ is the perfect lamb, the perfect sacrifice. That by the cross, Jesus fulfills the old sacrificial system of the ancient Jewish religion. The lamb is slain and therefore all such sacrifices are fulfilled. The perfect lamb, the perfect sacrifice.

Yet another common way Christians look at the meaning of the cross is through the lens of something called Penal Substitutionary Atonement. The thinking here is that because we, humanity, are so depraved, broken, wicked, pick your poison, because we are in such need of help, God sends the perfect sacrifice to deal with our sin. One is killed to wipe the blemishes of many. One, for us all.

Of the differing ways we think of the cross, and there are others, by the way, of these ways, I find myself drawn most to the idea that it is through the cross that all creation is liberated.

Christ the Liberator. The one who was promised, now here to set things to rights. The liberator who holds the keys to death itself, the liberator who frees us from the power of death. In this frame, we say that Christ is our Moses, our Elijah, our coming king, who undoes the powers of evil and empire (remember, empire feeds on death) and undoes that power, that death machine. Death dies in Christ’s liberation.

And so the liberated people no longer have to serve the emperor, the death machine, the systems that would bomb and kill and destroy rather than set free and bring hope. The systems that oppress and serve the powerful. These are undone and being dismantled still, by the power of this cross.

Jesus is the one, the redeemer, the liberator, the freedom bringer.

I’ve come to appreciate Pilate a little more this year, as we’ve looked at these texts. In the closing of the cross narrative, Pilate comes back into the scene. “What I have written will stand.” Pilate sees what’s happening here. You say you want a king — here is your king. No, not just “he said so” — y’all are pretty worked up, so I’m gonna rub a little salt on that wound — your king, the King of the Jews.

The sign is a mockery. It reinforces Rome’s power over the Jews — look, here’s your king, who dies right in front of you.

And the sign is a subversive truth. A witness.

You want a king? Well, the King that God indwells is a very different king than you expect. A king who is humbled. A king who walks among the poor, a king who heals the most unclean, a king who welcomes children and widows. A weak king.

And that’s where I’d like to close.

Holy Week and the crucifixion highlight the weakness of God. Christ dies. The king is dead. It is in the weakness of Christ that the empire feeds and rises. But it is also, more so, ultimately true that the king who dies shows the empire that their death system no longer wins. In weakness, God undermines the who charade. The political theater that Rome is attempting, alongside the Jewish priests, to unsettle the Jesus movement…it’s striking a huge blow today.

Empire feeds on death.

We follow a king who dies.

And yet…

Perhaps the story is not over. Perhaps we must keep waiting, just a little longer. Perhaps something is about to change.

Hosanna! Hosanna in the Highest! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!

Friends, God is changing the story for all creation, through the power of this cross. Then, now, and forever. Through the cross, all of groaning creation is set free. Amen.