Luke 23:1-49
Jesus finally makes it into
Jesus has a full itinerary for the holy city. As he enters
He enters the temple, overturns the tables, and cleanses the “den of robbers.” He teaches in the temple for a few days and all the while, the priests, and the scribes, and the leaders search for ways to kill him. They are supposed to be the religious authorities, and this man is trying to change everything, and completely criticizing their practices and authority. But so far, they can’t do anything, because the people are completely “spellbound.”
The joyful religious expectation of the crowd doesn’t last long and they begin to turn against him. It’s slow at first, but their excitement dwindles. Perhaps it’s when they realize how much Jesus will demand of them. Perhaps it’s when he mentions that their beloved city, of memories and relics, will be destroyed. His critics publicly attack him, looking for any slip up. They confront and try to trick him, on a procedural note, on the question of taxes, so that they might get him into trouble with the government, but Jesus doesn’t fall for it and isn’t about to suggest civil disobedience. “Whose face is on the coin,” he asks. Give that coin to the man who’s on it: “to Caesar what is Caesar’s, to God what is God’s.” He denounces the scribes for their corruption. But then his teachings take a turn, he tells of the coming destruction of
In the midst of all of this action and preaching, his disciple Judas, under the influence of evil and greed, makes a deal. They still don’t have proper charges, and never will, but with the disciple’s betrayal, Jesus popularity is beginning to erode. They probably do not like this talk of destruction and wrath. Jesus isn’t shaping up to be the kind of savior we really and truly want—one to take us, shelter us, and make it all better, to give us power, and a kingdom again. This disapproval becomes just after Jesus’ arrest, did they loose faith when he didn’t escape and save himself? What kind of savior can save us, if he can’t save himself? What strange hypocrisy. Some might have realized where this was all heading, and where Jesus would take them—and it didn’t look one little bit like salvation, it looked like death. The cross has always been a stumbling block. We worship a crucified savior, a risen Lord to be sure, but a Messiah who faced death as a criminal before the glory of the resurrection.
And because his popular approval has eroded, the authorities, both religious and civil, have more confidence in going after him. And suddenly, our triumphant savior, is arrested, we standby, watching him be betrayed, beaten, humiliated. Like any criminal. And we wonder if he was ever really the Messiah. The full scope of emotion in such a short time leaves us reeling.
We know there is blessed victory in the end, but before we get to the celebration, we must endure the suffering first. Before we get to the crown, we must suffer the cross.
The religious authorities take Jesus to the local civil authority, to Pilate. And like any good District Attorney, Pilate doesn’t want to try a criminal that he can’t convict and mercifully doesn’t want to put the wrong man to death. They mount the lies against him, even saying that Jesus told them not to pay taxes, which is clearly not what he actually said. Pilate only cares about the accusation that Jesus is claiming to be a king. So Pilate asks, did you call yourself a king? And Jesus says, “You say so.” Jesus could really use a lawyer at this point, but he goes on defending himself in this enigmatic way instead of stating clearly “No, I didn’t technically say those words.” And Pilate finds that Herod actually has jurisdiction here and sends Jesus on his way.
And Herod, Herod, that fox, who has been waiting to fulfill his own father’s longing of meeting this man, the famous threat. But like Pilate, his questioning gets no where and he sends Jesus back. With no solid charges, Pilate wants to flog Jesus and release him.
But the crowd cries out and beg him to release a murderer instead—to trade Barabbas who is a true threat to society, but somehow not as scary as Jesus. In their minds, it would be better to have a murderer on the streets than Jesus. They choose a murderer because of their fear and misunderstandings. They choose to do the exact opposite of what is good for them
And so Jesus carries his cross and dies beside two other criminals. Even in those final moments, his innocence is recognized by one of the criminals and by a Roman Centurion. But it doesn’t make a difference.
And so Jesus suffered and died. He was brave, he was merciful and full of grace. But he died. Leaving his disciples and his family to wonder what on earth had just happened—to wonder what they had done with the last few years of their lives, and was it worth it, the miracles, the people they had healed and met and dined with, so important at the time, so meaningful, so life changing. But here they are at the foot of the cross, and they just had to wonder why he couldn’t just save himself, why he couldn’t have just said the right words and gotten himself out of it all . . .
I hope for them, in the back of their minds they remembered Jesus’ words, about how all of this was going to happen, but it had to feel like disaster to them . . . they also went from celebrities, to outcasts, hiding out, hoping not to be recognized, even though that had been so visible just days before.
As we head into this week, may we remember the hopeful celebration of Easter that awaits us. May we remember that God can transform anything: even a death by capital punishment, into an act of salvation.
Let us pray:
With holy anger, Christ,
Disrupt the power that feeds
Upon the cruel sacrifice
Of others’ rights and needs.
As you turned over tables
And sent coins
Spinning and jangling
Across the temple floor,
Disrupt the unholy commerce
In our hearts:
Selling faith
For security
And trade justice
For peace.
By your holy anger
Drive out every transaction
That profanes
The house of prayer
By that same anger start
What evil can’t defeat:
A stubborn passion in the heart
To see god’s will complete.
Baptize us with fire
Hotter than Herod’s wrath
Until we no longer mute
The fury in our hearts
At the slaughter
Of the innocents.
Baptize us with fire!
But do not let our rage
Grow bitter as the din
Of fierce mean minds that fail to gauge
When anger turns to sin.
Instead, let anger be
The first note
In love’s ascending scale,
The starting tone
Of heaven’s dove:
“O
if only you knew
the things that make for peace . . .”
Instead, let anger be compassion’s kindling fire
That lights in us the energy to live as you desire.[1]
[1] Troeger, Thomas H. Above the Moon Earth Rises: Hymn Texts, Anthems, and Poems for a New Creation
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