Showing posts with label Passiontide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Passiontide. Show all posts

Sunday, 7 April 2019

The Passover was near


First preached as a sermon at Choral Evensong for Passion Sunday (Fifth Sunday of Lent) at Croydon Minster. Luke 22.1-13.

‘Now the festival of Unleavened bread, which is called the Passover, was near.’
(Luke 22.1)

With that phrase there is a change of gear in the narrative of St Luke’s gospel, which mirrors the stage of this season of Lent that we have now reached.

We have now entered Passiontide, which moves us, as it were, from the focus of self-denial and the facing down of temptation, which is seen through the lens of Jesus’ forty days and forty nights in the wilderness, and, through the change of gear, into the impending betrayal, passion and death of Jesus Christ.

In the Slavic language there is a phrase, ‘the devil helps’. Well, the devil helps this change of gear. The adversary – Satan literally means ‘adversary’ - the Enemy of our Human Nature, as St Ignatius of Loyola calls the devil, came to Jesus in the wilderness (4.1-13), and now - for only the second time in Luke’s gospel he is named – this time as entering into Judas, surnamed Iscariot, who he reminds us, ‘was numbered among the Twelve’.

The previous change of gear happened at Caesarea Philippi when Jesus directly spoke of what awaited him as he came to Jerusalem, ‘The Son of Man must undergo great suffering and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised up’ (Luke 9.22).

What unfolds as the Passover draws near is precisely what Jesus anticipated and declared at Caesarea Philippi, and to which, in both St Mark’s and St Matthew’s accounts, Peter took such great exception such that he is told, ‘get thee behind me Satan’, you adversary (Mark 8.33; Matthew 16.23). When you refuse the way of the cross you are an adversary, acting contrary to the ways in which the Son of Man must reveal God’s glory.

The journey from Caesarea Philippi was a journey to Jerusalem, and along the way Jesus healed, taught and prayed and spoke repeatedly of what was to come in the Holy City, the city that kills the prophets and over which he would weep.

Now, in Jerusalem, Christ’s disciples are to be drawn more into his inner life through their participation in the Passover of Christ’s body and blood.

Yet one of them could not bear to participate in the Divine Life. Judas.

There has been a certain attempt at the rehabilitation of Judas in recent years. It is of course the case that without his betrayal the route to the saving death of Jesus would not have opened up in the way it did; in that sense Judas’ betrayal of Jesus is indispensable to our salvation.

There has been considerable analysis given to Judas’ psychological condition, and a portrayal of Judas a victim not perpetrator. It’s an old question, really. In the fifth century St Cyril of Alexandria identified two motives for Judas’ betrayal of Jesus. The first of these is ‘envy…which always leads to the guilt of murder (Homily 140), the second, which is much less weighty, is greed suggested because Judas is the keeper of the common purse and is suggested to have siphoned off the funds of the band of disciples.

In the spirit of the French-American theologian and anthropologist, René Girard, we might reflect that Judas’s motivation is around adulation and disappointment. Judas was deeply attracted to something in Jesus which he did not himself possess, and rather than wait to receive Jesus’ life in the Passover meal he sought to take away Jesus’ life through betrayal.

Christ drew others into his life; Judas drew others into his plans for death.

Even in the face of betrayal Christ resolutely faces the cross, and knows that for the meaning of the cross to be sustained throughout the ages the Eucharist, the Christian Passover, will be the vehicle for bearing and bringing the reality of Christ’s saving death to his people by drawing us into his life.

The Passover meal that Christ celebrated with his disciples is the very meal that Paul describes having handed on to him, and what is handed on in turn to us:

For I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.’ For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. (1 Corinthians 11.23-26)

So the day of Passover drew near, and as we read, the day came, ‘the day of unleavened bread, on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed. John the Baptist declared Jesus to be the ‘Lamb of God that takes away the sin of the world’. Everything is converging such that St Paul can say: ‘Christ our Passover, our paschal lamb, has been sacrificed for us: so let us celebrate the feast’ (1 Corinthians 5.7b).

But first we are drawn to the passion, the suffering that precedes resurrection: ‘So Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, “Go and prepare the Passover meal for us that we may eat it”’ (Luke 22.8). That is the commission to the Church this Easter and what begins to unfold, most intensively, next week: Holy Week.

May we now prepare for this Passiontide, for our Passover, and draw afresh from the life of Jesus Christ.


Monday, 19 March 2018

Passion Sunday: Show me things I've never seen before


First preached as sermon at Guildford Cathedral on the Fifth Sunday of Lent, Passion Sunday, 2018.
Gospel reading: John 12.20-33

‘Sir, we wish to see Jesus’ (John 12.21).

'What do you see?'
Many people are familiar with a trip to the optician. Famously on the wall there are letters of ever decreasing sizes to test your sight. But we know that sight does not always equate to vision and seeing things on a deep level.

Seeing, recognising and believing are constant themes throughout St John’s gospel.

The climax of the Prologue to St John’s Gospel, speaks of the Word being made flesh, Jesus Christ, who dwelt among us ‘and we have seen his glory’. John continues ‘No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father who has made him known’. (John 1.14, 18).

John also deals in signs, visual pointers to the profound truth of Jesus Christ’s mission and purpose. Famously he records seven signs – a perfect number – and says there were many more: water changed into wine (John 2.1-11) showing the coming hour of transformation in Jesus Christ; the healings of the royal official's son in Capernaum (John 4:46-54) and the paralysed man at Bethesda (John 5:1-15); the multiplication of loaves and fishes to feed the five thousand (John 6:5-14); Jesus walking on water (John 6:16-24); and the raising of Lazarus (John 11:1-45). All signs to be seen to point to Jesus’ divine power. They ask us, ‘now do you see?’

The remaining sign is of the man born blind whose sight is restored such that he can see who Jesus really is (John 9:1-7). The story culminates in Jesus speaking to the man whose sight has been restored saying,

‘Do you believe in the Son of Man? He answered, ‘And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.’ Jesus said to him, ‘You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.’ He said, ‘Lord, I believe.’ And he worshipped him. (cf John 9.35b-41)

Seeing in John’s Gospel is far more than a visual reception of data and a function of the retina; this seeing is seeing with the eye of the heart. What I coin deep-sightedness.

It is this sort of seeing that Mary Magdalene has when at first she fails to recognise Jesus through her tears on the Day of Resurrection but on hearing Christ speaks her name she sees, as says ‘Rabbouni, teacher’ (John 20.1-18). And Mary Magdalene the first missionary, the Apostle to the Apostles, proclaimed, ‘I have seen the Lord’ (John 20.18).

The apostle Thomas sees with his eyes but not with his heart, and he seeks visual evidence of Jesus’ resurrection: but then a moment of recognition comes and he says ‘My Lord and my God’ (John 20.24-29).

***

So, those Greeks appear saying to Philip, ‘Sir we would see Jesus’. Well, what have they come to see? What do we see in Jesus? What does their question demand of us if we place ourselves in the shoes of Philip the disciple when someone else says to you, ‘I want to see Jesus? There is a missional edge to their request.

Quite what the Greeks made of their seeing Jesus, history does not relate. It is in St Mark’s gospel that the centurion gazes at the Son of Man, Jesus Christ, on the cross and declares, ‘Truly this is God’s son’. Many did see and believed; many saw Jesus and saw nothing beyond.

‘Sir, we wish to see Jesus’. This notion of seeing is important. The Greeks arrive to see Jesus, and their own mother tongue, Greek, has a variety of words that mean ‘to see’.

Their request to see could be from scorpion from which we get the word ‘scope’, as in telescope and microscope. Were they scoping Jesus? Getting the measure of him? Assessing what it would mean to follow him?

‘Sir, we wish to see Jesus’. It could be, that far from be intrigued and seeing Jesus to get the measure of him, that there was a different edge. Their request ‘to see’ could be another Greek word sképtesthai from which we get the word ‘sceptic’. It was true then, as it is now, that there are sceptics about who Jesus Christ is. They may want to be entertained or to dismiss, as in Herod’s request to see Jesus (Luke 9.9). Sometimes, though, even scepticism can lead people on the journey of encounter with him; that’s true even today of people who come to see Jesus sceptically and find their lives turned around by him. When Jesus encounters two of John the Baptist’s slightly sceptical disciples he says, ‘Come and see’ (John 1.39)

‘Sir, we wish to see Jesus’. The word John’s gospel actually uses is idein which means ‘to see’, in the sense of ‘to visit’ or ‘to meet with’. But it can also mean, in the context of John’s gospel, ‘to believe in’. ‘Sir’, they could be saying to Philip, ‘we wish to believe in Jesus’.

In meeting them Jesus he doesn’t say, “well, here I am have a good look”. Rather he unveils what is hinted at in the Prologue to John – and we have seen his glory –as Jesus declares that now his hour has come. And what will be seen is his glorification, the glorification of the cross, when he is lifted up from the earth.

Window in Guildford Cathedral - South Aisle
In the wilderness the Israelites who were being infested by poisonous serpents could be cured by looking at a pole erected by Moses (it features in the window on the south side of the Cathedral nave). Therein lay their healing and restoration. The cross is the new sign to be gazed upon for salvation. That is the image Jesus is drawing upon as he speaks of the Son of Man lifted up. (cf also John 3.14-21)

This takes us to Good Friday and the Proclamation of the Cross and we hear the haunting verse of Lamentations, ‘Is it nothing to you all you who pass by. Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow’ (Lamentations 1.12a). We hear that as we gaze upon the stark wood of the cross. Not just a bit of carpentry but the sign of our hope and salvation.

It is this deep-sightedness that enables St John Chrysostom to say of Jesus on the cross: ‘I see him crucified; I call him King’.

***

Today is Passion Sunday. It is the day in the Church’s year, before the intensity and drama of Holy Week, on which we begin to contemplate more intensely what we see in the glorification of Jesus Christ and ‘behold the wood of the cross, whereon was hung the Saviour of the world’, as the Good Friday liturgy puts it.

As the time of his Passion draws near may we consider how we see Jesus Christ, and behold God in all people, moments and things. Passion Sunday is a spiritual optician’s check-up (from another Greek word optikos "of or having to do with sight and seeing’).

My prayer is that believer and enquirer alike may cry out to the Lord: ‘I wish to see Jesus: show me things I’ve never seen before’. Amen.

© Andrew Bishop, 2018