Fifth Sunday in Lent

In The Cross-Shattered Christ Stanley Hauerwas begins his reflections on the “sixth word” of Jesus by assuring us that our Lord’s “It is finished” is not a “death gurgle,” but a triumphant “cry of victory.” As I read the beginning of the chapter, I realize that statement was not entirely new to me; ever since I realized that the biblical Greek for these words is to be translated as “It is completed!” I’ve intuited that these words were no “death gurgle,” but rather completion of Jesus's mission, a mission culminating in Jesus’ cry of final obedience to the end. But then Hauerwas reminds us that Jesus’s dying does not bring his agony to an end. Even though our Lord will be resurrected, Hauerwas insists with Rowan Williams that we must fully realize that “Jesus will be in agony until the end of the world.” This must be said, Hauerwas insists, because we “live in the time between the times—[inasmuch as] the kingdom is begun in Christ but will not be consummated or perfected until the end of the world.” We live, says Hauerwas, “in the tension-filled time between the times.” “Jesus will be in agony until the end of the world.” Such a statement ponders me a good bit. How is it possible that even after “It is finished” the agony of Jesus continues? Do I add more to the agony of Jesus? Does Jesus somehow agonize in me?

During worship yesterday Pastor Gene spoke to us about “shouldering our crosses daily” (Luke 9.24). Here Jesus says he’s not the only one to be crucified; as disciples we are be “cross-ified” like or with him. To explain the disciples cross-bearing, Pastor made it a point to say that burying one’s ego and letting it drop seed-like into the ground seed is the way we shoulder crosses and follow Jesus. While pastor was talking, I found myself fingering through Scriptures to find where Paul says in Colossians, “I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I complete what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions.” While I realize that Paul was suffering physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually for the Church and that my suffering is qualitatively and quantitatively different and far less that Paul’s, nonetheless letting go of my ego is a form of suffering for me, as ironically and egotistically as that sounds. I see Jesus emptying himself, not putting himself forward, and when He says, “It is finished,” I realize it’s high time I also start to empty myself. That high time doesn’t come as often as I’d like. Frequently, I’m horrified as how much ego drives me. So often I find myself protecting my ego, strengthening it with arguments, winning its approval by others, satisfying its needs, and hanging on to it with dear life. I have one hell of time, pardon the expression, throwing it away so that it fall into the ground, there to wait over the winter until God reactivates my ego-corpse for his purposes. As trite as it sounds (when compared to Paul’s suffering!), the burying of that ego-corpse is a constant struggle for me. Suffering may not be quite the word for what I experience, but in its own way I find that getting rid of ego is very difficult. As least painful in retrospect. One example from yesterday. In Patrick’s absence, I’d been asked to teach the Bible class; and since our Wednesday evening classes with Mary Lou are discussing The Holy Mystery, a Methodist document on sacramental renewal, I thought it would be easy enough to do a little follow-through. So I prepared a few handouts that might help us discuss the meaning of Holy Communion. However, when a new arrival introduced herself in class and announced that she had left the Lutheran Church because it served wine at the Eucharist, I immediately felt my theological ego rise up defensively. I was hardly going to throw that bit of myself into the ground and let it die. As a consequence, I found myself—with a person I didn’t really know—engaging in a good bit of ego-strutting, Scripture quoting. After a while, the Holy Spirit (it wasn’t me) began her work on the group and towards the end of the class, it seemed to me that perhaps (but I’m not sure) the Holy Spirit and the rest of the class did manage to deflate a bit of my ego. Thirty minutes later as I listened to Gene’s sermon, I wondered: Was Jesus struggling and suffering with me, suffering with me as I tried to argue in "know-it-all" style by refusing to throw away some seeds that were not ready for germination. Afterwards on the way home, I genuinely needed to unload a bushel of seeds and get them into the dirt where they belong, waiting for the winter snow to cover them, waiting for some distant spring to arrive when the seeds might sprout. As I thought about what happened in Bible class, I came to the conclusion that, yes, Jesus was struggling with me, and that this was a small, but important to me, part of my completing his agony. As Jesus gave himself to all of us once again in Holy Communion, I did a good bit of remembering “It is finished” and the agony He still endures on behalf on the Church and the world. Tension-filled times between the times.

And then I ask myself: what might it look like when the Kingdom finally arrives and we need not live between the times? In some small part, perhaps something like this: None of us will be prone to press his or her own opinions or philosophies, one's own taste in music, art, literature, spirituality, on one's sisters or brothers. Instead of training, disciplining, and judging others, we will prefer gently to let them be and become more fully themselves in an environment of warmth, respect, and fraternal love.