A
little boy, about three years old, stood shivering at the side of a
pool. His toes looked nearly the color of his dark blue swimming
trunks. A teacher was in the water, not to far away.
“Jump,” she said, “It’s okay, Jump!” The little boy considered
his toes, bluer each passing moment. He looked at the water as
some lapped up and over on to his feet. He jumped—but not into the
pool, no, further away from it.
The swimming instructor was persistent. “It’s okay, it really is,
jump!” But the boy would not be out-persisted. He shook his head,
no. “Jump” she said again, “I’ll catch you.” Purple panic now
crossed the little ones’ blue lip lines. “No,” he shivered, “No!”
But the swimming instructor was not to be outdone. She saw the
boy’s father, standing behind him. “It’s okay,” she said, “I’ll catch
you, just like your daddy does.”
That promise, the boy could hear. By it, he jumped, and found
himself caught. He squealed with surprise and delight, and
begged to do it again. It was all so easy when you knew that
there was one who would catch you. A whole different ball
game!
The texts for today usher us into Holy Week; the pivotal point of the
story of Jesus, so important, all four gospels include it in their
individual accounting of Jesus. And what we hear from these first
Holy Week texts is this: There is a king coming, a king who
provides surety of trust even in the valley of the shadow, even in the
coldest water, even when we are sure there is no good reason to jump.
Link to the First Reading
I was
speaking with a friend about a rough time I’d been going through.
“I know just the thing you need,” my friend said. Her son had
taken a picture---a beautiful picture---of one of the statue runners
that line up around River Front Park in Spokane, Washington in
commemoration of Bloomsday, a national run hosted by the city. ”I’m
going to lend you that picture” my friend said, “for as long as you
need it.”
I didn’t quite get why the picture would mean something to me until I
saw it. The runner, in the statue, has a face “set like flint”
full focus on the goal ahead, and that alone, focus that would not
allow anything, any tiny little bug, any more major issues, shoes that
might hurt, a throat that might be dying of thirst from getting in the
way of the task to accomplish that was at hand.
The suffering servant of which Isaiah speaks, and whom we have come to
identify as our Lord, Jesus Christ, “sets his face like flint.”
The servant does not rebel against God, as God “opened his ear” to hear
him. The servant does not turn back, once he sees what a task it is God
has put toward him. He suffers what he must: striking, a pulling
out of the beard, insult, spitting.
The suffering, however great, does not deter the servant from doing
what he has been called to do: “sustain the weary with a word.”
He is convinced that
his adversaries have no ground on which to stand. The Lord God is
the one who has called him, and helped him. He will hold fast,
for called and helped by the Lord in his task, no one can declare him
guilty.
Questions for Discussion
- What does it mean to have a face “set like flint?” When and why have you found yourself needing to set your face as such?
- In what ways does Jesus embody the suffering servant spoken of in this passage?
- How
does Jesus’ embodiment of the suffering servant speak to you?
Does it give you hope? Courage? For what? And Why?
Link to the Second Reading
This reading contains what is thought to be a part of one of the
earliest of Christian hymns: a song celebrating how Jesus Christ,
though being in the form of God, did not count equality with God as a
thing to “be grasped,” and instead humbled himself as a servant, “and
became obedient to death, even death on a cross.” The hymn, or
song, did not stop there but kept on singing, rejoicing that
“Therefore, God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name
which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should
bow.” It then moved into the height of emotion-- “in heaven and under
the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the
glory of God the Father.”
This hymn is basic to the Christian faith. Christ was the “Word
of God, with God,” the gospel of John proclaims, but this Word “became
flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.” (John
1:1-14). Matthew’s gospel puts the word of the incarnation in a
different way. Speaking to Joseph of Mary, the angel of the Lord
calls to mind what had been spoken by the prophet: “Behold, a virgin
shall conceive and bear a son, and his name shall be called “Emmanuel”
(which means, God with us) (Matthew 1:23).
Jesus—the Word—was “in the beginning with God.” (John 1:2) but did not
stay there, content with glory. Rather, for the sake of love, the world
God so loved, he “emptied himself, taking the form of a servant . . .
and humbled himself . . .” (Philippians 2:7). The humility was not
complete in and of itself, as if just by being a human being the Word--
Christ-- served God’s purposes. No, the Word which had been right there
with the Father from the beginning of all time, and through whom all
things had been made (John 1:3) subjected himself to the most humbling
of all human experiences, death, and subjected himself to a death far
more humbling than most, death on “a cross” (Phil 2:8). God’s
love for the world can be shown in no deeper, no dearer, no quietly
demanding way, than this: That he sent the Son to die for human
beings, that human beings might rise to new life and therefore join all
of creation in bowing before Christ’s name, join every tongue to
confess that “Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”
Questions for Discussion
- Why is the word of the incarnation good news for the world? Why is it good news for you?
- Why do we hear this particular passage as we step forth into Holy Week?
- Why might the word of Jesus’ incarnation have easily made its way into an early Christian hymn?
Link to the GospelThe
gospel for this Sunday begins with Judas Iscariot’s betrayal, his
travel to the chief priests to ask what kind of money he might get for
offering over Jesus’ head. The text ends with Pilate sending
soldiers to bolster up Jesus’ tomb, making the “sepulcher secure by
sealing the stone and setting a guard.”
In between it—in between it all—Jesus gives the Lord’s Supper, predicts
Peter’s betrayal, agonizes in the Garden, is seized by the chief
priests and elders, hears Peter betray him, endures spitting and
striking in the face, watches as the crowd shouts for his death over
the death of the wicked Barabbas, is forced to wear a crown of thorns
while enduring the mock “Hail, King of the Jews!”, is crucified between
two common criminals, cries out for his God –“my God, my God, why hast
thou forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46) and dies.
The only way to go at this passage is to read it slow, to take it in,
all of it in, not slighting even the tiniest word. Here is the
moment of salvation. Here is the reason why we can have courage
even in deep waters that threaten to overwhelm us. If Jesus, the
Son of God, died, what does that mean for us?
For our own death? For our own living? For our own way of being? For our approach to the future?
Questions for Discussion
- Ask your group to read the gospel slowly, having one person
perhaps reading one paragraph. Talk about what portions of this
wondrous story speak in particular to you. Which portions of the
story had you not heeded before? Which seem to be brand new?
- Compare Jesus’ passion in Matthew to his passion in Mark
(14-15), Luke (22-23), and John (18-19). What do the latter three
gospels add to the story?
- Why might it be a good idea to stop with Matthew 27:66, not
allowing oneself to read ahead in the gospel until the day of Easter?
This WORDLINK prepared by:
Karen Bates-Olson
Pastor
St. Luke Lutheran Church
Spokane, Washington
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March 20, 2005
Sunday of the Passion
Palm Sunday
Processional Gospel: Matthew 21:1-11
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Psalm 31:9-16
Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 26:14-27:66
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