WE CANNOT MEASURE HOW YOU HEAL

Christ Church (Parish) Church Westmorland Street Fredericton Good Friday, April 3, 2015

Canon Jim Irvine – Guest Homilist

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Common Praise 292 – WE CANNOT MEASURE HOW YOU HEAL

We cannot measure how you heal or answer every sufferer’s prayer, yet we believe your grace responds where faith and doubt unite to care. Your hands, though bloodied on the cross, survive to hold and heal and warn, to carry all through death and life and cradle children yet unborn. The pain that will not go away, the guilt that clings from things long past, the fear of what the future holds, are present as if meant to last. But present too is love which tends the hurt we never hope to find, the private agonies inside, the memories that haunt the mind. So some have come who need your help and some have come to make amends, as hands which shaped and saved the world are present in the touch of friends. Lord, let your Spirit meet us here to mend the body, mind, and soul, to disentangle peace from pain and make your broken people whole.

John L. Bell

Tune: YE BANKS AND BRAES

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INTRODUCTION

From the sixth hour and lasting until the ninth hour, darkness enveloped the land. Mark records the event and Matthew and Luke echo his account. What shadows there were, were cast by the full moon of Nissan hanging in an eerily grey sky over Golgotha. Crosses and Centurions were traced along a grey landscape and the movement of the curious and the faithful, the accusers and the doubters passed undetectable among the silhouettes painted against a steel sky.

And while crucifixions were being carried out on this dreadful Height, the Temple Mount – across a Valley and behind the City Wall – was busy with preparations for the Passover.

The scene is a contrast of realities that challenge our world view in the Twenty-first Century – grisly executions and grisly sacrifices – providing the locus of interpretation that has attempted to grasp some understanding of the Day… and of God.

We are familiar with the Gospel accounts and the story is not unknown to us. We have been here before, many of us. And should this be our first time to find ourselves lurking in the shadows, we are nonetheless acquainted with the story. There are differences, of course, and in our minds we attempt to blend the details in order that some sense might be gained.

My suspicion is that while Golgotha is plunged into darkness, the heaviness of the dark that weighs in upon us is more metaphorical than actual. Those preparing on the Temple Mount, slaughtering the lambs in preparation for the Feast may very well have been unaware of the threatening curtain that closed in on Golgotha.

The presence of Good and Evil collide in a dramatic way on this particular Day when Pilate was the Roman Governor. The contrast was vivid: on the Temple Mount the traditional rites were observed and the detailed rehearsal of Deliverance of Moses out of captivity in Egypt was faithfully executed. Religious piety was served and righteousness sought. In sharp contrast to the liturgical vestments of the priests in the Temple, the uniforms of the Roman Occupational Force punctuated the vile hilltop where piety was absent and righteousness unknown.

In the midst of this the question is – then, as now – where was God?

The Evangelists’ account of Jesus’ Last Words serve to help us interpret the relationship between Deliverance and Redemption. Some might rush to call this Salvation, but we need to be cautious. While we may need to unpack words like Deliverance and Redemption, we are sufficiently numbed by the word, Salvation, so as not to feel an interpretation needs to be found.

When I was a boy, I had a favourite toy that I prized dearly. I had been given a Kaleidoscope as a gift. It was a popular toy over half a century ago. It was made of two cardboard tubes, one fitting inside the other, with an eye piece allowing the toy to be looked through. The other end of the cylinder was opaque and allowed light to enter the chamber. Held by both hands, one tube could be rotated while the other tube remained stationery. Inside the cylinder shards of coloured glass fell by gravity, prisms catching the coloured images and presented patterns that would continually change. No pattern was ever repeated – every pattern was new and unique. It was a wonderful toy and it gave me hours of fascinating delight.

The image of the Kaleidoscope helps me return today with the Words of Jesus our focus, just as coloured glass shards fall against prisms and familiar words are heard afresh. The light is the referential light of a Passover Moon but it is sufficient to see things again, and as for the first time.

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The prism I am using today is a Hymn in Common Praise – We Cannot Measure How You Heal. It was penned by John L. Bell. It is a hymn my daughter, Deborah, brought to my attention shortly after the new hymn book was authorized by our National Church. It spoke to her over a decade ago – may it help give us voice today.

The shards of coloured glass are provided by Dietrich Bonhoeffer – the Lutheran Pastor executed in Flossenbürg Concentration Camp a month before I was born. Bonhoeffer penned these words: “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil. God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak, is to speak. Not to act, is to act.”

The pacifist co-conspirator in the assassination attempt of Adolph Hitler did not remain silent and his actions led him to the gallows seventy years ago. As he approached his execution, he penned these words, “What might surprise or perhaps even worry you would be my theological thoughts and where they are leading, and here is where I really miss you very much … What keeps gnawing at me is the question, What is Christianity, or who is Christ actually for us today? The age when we could tell people that with words – whether with theological words or pious words – is past, as is the age of inwardness and conscience, and that means the age of religion altogether.”

Where do we find God? Who is Christ actually? Words are spoken – at least they are recorded – and the pattern of the broken silence is heard by some who have come in need of Jesus’ help, while some have come to make amends.

The Epistle of the Hebrews read on the Feast of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple as he achieved 40 days following the Levitical directive will provide us with a foundation for our time together today:

Hebrews 2: “Since, therefore, the children share flesh and blood, he himself likewise shared the same things, so that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death. For it is clear that he did not come to help angels, but the descendants of Abraham. Therefore he had to become like his brothers and sisters in every respect, so that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make a sacrifice of atonement for the sins of the people. Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested. ”

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1. FORGIVE

From the beginning, the good news of the Gospel focuses on Forgiveness. The first of the Last Words focuses on Forgiveness and throughout his ministry Jesus makes it clear that the theme of Forgiveness reflects the expectation of God.

Few of us would be unfamiliar with the oft quoted words of John’s Gospel, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” We recite Jesus’ words to Nicodemus often. But while we are familiar with the sixteenth verse of John’s Gospel, seldom do we include the seventeenth verse, “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” Condemnation is not the objective of God; there is no Hope in Condemnation.

The Sacrament of Penance presents Forgiveness in a healing light. Penance is included in the Ministry to the Sick in the 1962 Book of Common Prayer. Absolution is a component of Penance and secures a restorative healing that challenges our sceptical understanding of misplaced Confession.

Forgiveness is something all yearn for and yet remains a commodity we are reluctant to give freely to others. Our experience with Forgiveness is like a fiction, too good to be true. Oh, something Jesus may well express in the oppressive gloom of Golgotha, but then, we rush to say – or at least think – it was easier for him. After all, considering who his is, we couldn’t expect less.

But our measurement of the scene fails to weigh Bonhoeffer’s question. The writer of the Letter to the Hebrews helps our understanding… “Since, therefore, the children share flesh and blood, he himself likewise shared the same things, so that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death.”

Jesus’ humanity found him drawing close to our experience so that, as the writer clearly says, he might destroy the one who has the power of death. The battle is waged on Golgotha and the first salvo is Forgiveness.

The first arrow placed in a priest’s quiver is Forgiveness.

Forty-three years ago I knelt before Harold Nutter on the chancel step of our Cathedral. On a Saturday morning – the Feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist – I felt the weight of his hands and the hands of priests standing at the chancel step joining him – as the words of Ordination were recited: “Receive the Holy Ghost for the office and work of a Priest in the Church of God, now committed unto thee by the imposition of our hands. Whose sins thou dost forgive, they are forgiven; and whose sins those dost retain, they are retained.” Before even the dispensing of the Word of God and even of the holy Sacraments, Forgiveness is primary.

Not because the Anglican Ordinal makes it so. The words spoken by the Bishop have been echoed down throughout the generations of Christian witness, having first been spoken by Jesus in an Upper Room in the Holy City when he met with his disciples following his Resurrection.

Jesus was no stranger to Forgiveness. He taught his followers about it and when he engaged others he made Forgiveness a reality for them.

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He included it as part of the Family Prayer we know by heart and from our youth… “Forgive us our sins,” we say, “as we forgive those that sin against us.” Forgiveness has a reciprocity that benefits not only the beneficiary but benefits us as well.

But in our world view our calculus is left wanting.

In Matthew’s record, Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.”

I suspect some have already begun to calculate and make a mental note. It is difficult enough to keep account of seven separate occasions of Absolution; but Jesus goes beyond the letter of the Law and extends the number to seventy-seven times. It’s a large number, and it may take extraordinary concentration, but many of us would make every effort to keep score.

But Jesus’ grace responds where faith and doubt unite to care. His hands – bloodied on the Cross – are hands that survive to hold and heal and warn.

Our means of measurement falls short.

We can measure so much more today, and with alarming precision, and in so many aspects of our lives. Time was when measurement was a simple thing – we could measure the height and width and length so long as we had a graded rule to guide us. We can measure time with confidence and while we do not know the number of our days, we can reasonably schedule our lives at least in the short term.

Now we can by a prick of a finger, determine our glucose levels and with a cuff our blood pressure limits no longer remain unknown to us. While the technology is beyond our domestic routine, blood tests regularly measure and reveal more about us than we might perhaps wish. And stepping on imposing scales in a clinic will reveal the pull of gravity we might prefer to be kept secret.

But beyond our metrics is the capacity of Jesus’ healing. He measures a depth that he can plumb and knows the heaviness of our hearts. His measurement takes account of a conscience weighed with worry and fear and meets guilt with Absolution.

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2. WITH ME

The shards of coloured glass in my Kaleidoscope held me spell-bound in my youth. I was fascinated that the same pieces could provide so many unpredictable combinations. I added nothing. I took nothing away. Curiosity did not prompt me to take the toy apart. It remained in tact. The only thing I did was to rotate the interlocking cylinders, allowing the prisms inside to present new and exciting patterns.

Our yearly visitation to the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ last hours are much the same. The words never change and yet each year we hear something fresh. It is as though our prisms refract the illumination on familiar phrases, allowing them to be heard again – for the first time.

The Gospels remain the same. The Words of Jesus remain unchanged. You and I are the interpretive variant from one year to the next. You and I are different for the year that has transpired since we last gathered in these shadows.

The Letter to the Hebrews recognized that – “Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.” Bell, in our Theme hymn recognizes that some have come who need his help, while other have come to make amends. Whatever our motivation, we bring fresh ears to the Day and strain to hear good news, encouraging news in the midst of what tests us.

There were no good thieves on Golgotha. This was a refuge for wicked men and we would have avoided lurking among the shadows in their presence. I suspect that we would have felt better in the company of those who were on the Temple Mount, busying themselves with the preparations requisite for the Feast. Better, many would say, to commemorate past Redemption and embrace a historical reality that tradition sustained for centuries. Looking at the confusion reigning on Golgotha was unattractive. Confusion cloaked the Redemption being wrought on an anvil of Forgiveness.

We are alarmed that Jesus took his place amongst the refuse of society and that his last Words were spoken among them – men who were being sorely tested to their very end. “You will be with me,” Jesus assured one. Who is this man? He wears no cliché on his arm. Stained glass halos are nowhere to be seen. A crown of ridicule surrounds his head, no emblem of power, legitimacy, victory or triumph – thorns pierced his brow. His reign was amongst those who looked for him least and needed him most.

The encouraging words of Jesus expressed to a thief whose name we do not know were heard earlier in the ministry of the Nazarene following his Baptism by John. He invited men to join him – and women too – and in company with them a pattern of restorative compassion and mercy became more and more clear. Certainly it became most clear to those who knew their need of his healing touch… sufferers whose prayers did not go unheard.

Jesus called James and John, Simon and Andrew, and others as well. He graciously invited them to accompany him… to leave all behind and set their face with him, on a path where God’s will would be reflected in the things they said and the things they did. Bonhoeffer recognized this – “Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”

What James and John did, they did in company with Jesus. What Simon and Andrew said, they said in company with Jesus. Why should we think the calling of a felon on Golgotha any different? Why should we think his calling of you and of me today any differently as well?

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Our Vocation is not limited to the pattern of established Holy Orders.

Beginning with the vows of our Baptism, we set one foot in front of another along a Journey of Faith that has led us to the Nave of this Parish Church this afternoon. We may be less conscious of his presence, and many of us may need to be reminded of it, but we have not come this way alone. Nor have we come this far alone.

Our Journey – the daily excursions we take by the grace of God – leads us beyond the moment of our Baptism on a path that cannot easily be measured.

Jesus’ measure goes beyond the length of days we have been in company with him. His scales weigh the fear of our abandonment and isolation. His restorative justice allows for new beginnings, each in turn, and each in our own way as we keep pace.

No reward is implied here. The initiative is Jesus’ initiative and always is. He reaches out to us with an arm we cannot readily measure. Suffice it to say that his arm is long enough… and that his capacity and intent – demonstrated throughout his ministry from when he stepped out of the Jordan River – his capacity and intent extends a hand that holds and heals and warns and carries all through death and life.

I became most acutely aware of his gracious assurance when I had my heart attack, now almost thirteen years ago. In the early hours of each day I would lie on my bed in the CCU of the Dr. Everett Chalmers Hospital and watch the pulsing blips on the monitors anchoring me to a sleepless night. Measurements were everywhere. The nurses at the Station paid close attention to the measurements and recorded them to inform the doctors when they made their rounds. What wasn’t recorded, what wasn’t easily measured was the presence of Jesus who kept me company in the ambient darkness… highly technical but not entirely unlike the heights of Golgotha. It was there that Epiphany came early as I discovered the fresh hearing of a familiar Psalm – “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff—they comfort me.”

Darkest Valley or darkest Hill Top – you are with me.

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3. BEHOLD YOUR MOTHER

My fascination with my Kaleidoscope would spark my imagination and the mirrored pieces on multiple axis presented patterns that drew me into a world of wonder. Images suggesting sun bursts could give way to deep forest glades with lush ferns and, in a turn give way to south sea coral reefs with colourful fish filling azure ocean depths. The toy never had to leave my hand and one image was simply a slight turn of the cylinders away, without my casting my gaze elsewhere.

The shards of coloured glass were never augmented; neither were they diminished. My insight was fuelled by my imagination and the wonder of sun bursts, forest glades and tropical paradises teaming in exotic fish – all enormous distances from me as I played, were at once as close to me as the scope of my imagination.

The Letter to the Hebrews provides such an opportunity in the referred light of a Passover Moon on the darkened Heights outside the Walled City of Jerusalem…

Therefore Jesus had to become like his brothers and sisters in every respect, so that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make a sacrifice of atonement for the sins of the people.

John’s Gospel account records the words of Jesus with Mary in mind: “Behold your son.”

As a student I was assigned to St Mark’s Church in North End Halifax during my theological studies at King’s College. I would attend the Sunday Parish Eucharist and assist the Rector. I was not the acolyte, neither was I filling the role of a Layreader. Chiefly, my attendance provided me with the discipline of presence and allowed me to observe.

During my final year, the church had installed a Rood Beam that ran above the chancel step. Positioned on the massive Beam were carved oaken images depicting the scene when Jesus addressed both Mary, his Mother and the Beloved Disciple – we understand him to be John. “Behold your Mother,” Jesus said. And then he went on to add, “Behold your son.”

It is a dreadful scene but even here, if we allow, healing begins and efforts to hold and heal and warn continue.

It was not the first occasion Jesus dealt with the heavy heart of a grieving Mother. The shards of glass fall quickly with a slight turn of the cylinder and the pieces bring to mind a fresh image, and we are transported to a town called Nain.

Luke records the event, where Jesus went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went along with him. As he approached the town gate, a dead person was being carried out -- the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. And a large crowd from the town was with her. We are told that Jesus’ heart went out to her and he said to her, “Don’t cry.” Then he went up and touched the coffin, and those carrying it stood still. He said, “Young man, I say to you, get up!” The dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him back to his mother.

Those who witnessed the event were all filled with awe. “A great prophet has appeared among us,” they said. “God has come to help his people.” Joy and elation overcame their grief and despair.

But the Widow of Nazareth would not know the elation of the Widow of Nain on this dark Day. And while her son was instrumental in healing the broken heart of a Mother whose son

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once was dead but now is alive, it seemed clear that in this instance, as dark clouds gathered overhead, God would not be coming today to help his people.

By itself, the story of the Widow of Nain seems out of place amongst the stories that were penned by Luke. On the surface it seems to address the grief of a distraught mother and nothing more.

But the cylinder, with another slight turn provides us with a back story that deepens our understanding and provides us with an insight of God’s intent.

In the First Book of Kings we find the story of the Widow of Zarephath. In the account, the Prophet Elijah was instructed to go to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and to live there. So he set out and went to Zarephath and accepted a widow’s hospitality. In time, the woman’s son became ill while Elijah was under her roof and he died.

She then said to Elijah, “What have you against me, O man of God? You have come to me to bring my sin to remembrance, and to cause the death of my son!” But he said to her, “Give me your son.” He cried out to the LORD, “O LORD my God, have you brought calamity even upon the widow with whom I am staying, by killing her son?” Then he cried out to the LORD, “O LORD my God, let this child’s life come into him again.”

The LORD listened to the voice of Elijah; the life of the child came into him again, and he revived. Elijah gave him to his mother; then Elijah said, “See, your son is alive.”

So the woman said to Elijah, “Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the LORD in your mouth is truth.”

The witnesses of Nain saw the promise of God and proclaimed, “God has come to help his people.” Elijah had returned in this Nazarene and the words of the Widow of Zarephath were recalled, “Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the LORD in your mouth is truth.”

But this Widow of Nazareth, Mary, stands amongst the shadows and remains silent. John, the Disciple whom Jesus loved stands beside her. And Jesus cannot lift the weight that bears down on them. The healing of the moment is unquestionably beyond our measure.

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4. WHY?

Mark and Matthew share an aspect of Jesus’ crucifixion that we do not find in the account of either Luke or John. Jesus shared our humanity – our flesh and blood, as the Letter to the Hebrews says – so that he might first destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and second he might free those who all their lives were in slavery by the fear of death.

It is an extraordinary claim – that the one who has the power of death would be destroyed and those who are held in slavery by the fear of death may be freed! And the battle lines are drawn in the Heights of Golgotha. And it is a battle to the death.

Above the battle cry is heard, “Why have you forsaken me?”

Godforsakenness lurks amongst the crosses that punctuate this unholy mount.

But Godforsakenness had visited this Height in the Land known as Moriah before.

In the Book of Genesis it is recorded that Abraham was tested by God. He was told to take his son, his only son Isaac and go to the land of Moriah. There he was to offer Isaac as a burnt offering on one of the mountains God would show him.

In obedience to God’s summons, Abraham did accompany Isaac on a Journey that would have been trod with a ponderously heavy heart. On arriving at the dreadful site the old man and his son went on to the summit together, alone. The brazier with the fire and the wood for the fire were in hand and the youth, the Promise to an old man in his advanced years, asked, “The fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” Abraham said, “God himself will provide the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.” So the two of them walked on together.

The day’s events did not turn out as dire as might have been expected. We know the story and can imagine the relief of the old man when he heard the angel of the Lord calling out to him from heaven, and said, "Abraham, Abraham!" And he replied, "Here I am." He said, "Do not lay your hand on the boy or do anything to him; for now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me." And Abraham looked up and saw a ram, caught in a thicket by its horns. Abraham went and took the ram and offered it up as a burnt offering instead of his son.

Abraham called that place “The Lord will provide”; as it is said to this day, “On the mount of the Lord it shall be provided.”

Shards are seen to tumble through the eye piece and Golgotha becomes the Place of the Skull. A slight turn of the wrist and now it is Moriah… and now, in the shadows of a darkened Friday in the Month of Nissan a name given by Abraham comes to mind: On the mount of the Lord it shall be provided.

The night before Jesus went with his disciples to the Garden of Gethsemane. Matthew reports that he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.”

Alone in the dark the temptation to escape would have been more than you or I might have resisted. Jesus struggled no less. The anticipation of what was soon to transpire deeply grieved him. But the wheels had been set in motion. And they turned toward the morning. At Supper, the Cup of Blessing had been blessed and passed and consumed. The sacramental imagery of a

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New Covenant cut and poured into a Chalice – the Promise of a Covenant made, of the restoration of wholeness in the broken lives pressing in on every side. The advance was inexorably leading up a worn path to a Height where God would provide.

Bell captures the sense of the impending dread: but present too is love which tends the hurt we never hope to find.

Such love is evasive, if not an illusion we never hope to find. For Jesus, in prayer in a Garden Glen such love steels the resolve of obedience that places one foot in front of another advancing along a Path as the ascent is made.

No long is the question, “Where is the Lamb for the offering?” The Lamb ascends but the only bleating that is heard is heard in the distance, on another Mount, within the City – preparing for the Passover.

Our world view is flummoxed by the Gospel account. We are content to enjoy the stories of the Nazarene that remind us of his encounters with people throughout Palestine and along the Sea of Galilee. We never tire of retelling episodes that find Jesus teaching the curious and feeding the hungry and curing the sick. We recount the stories happily and risk thinking our retelling is sufficient for what he purposed in life for us.

No struggle was evident in Galilee or Nazareth or Jericho or Jerusalem – until now. Confrontation with the religious order should not be mistaken as anything more than we might overhear in a yeshiva where the nuances of the nature of God may well be argued and debated. But from his Circumcision on his Eighth Day and his Presentation in the Temple on his Fortieth Day to his last breath on the Cross Jesus – Yeshua – was a Jew, the Promise of Israel.

The focus of our Faith, the locus of our world view is found in the darkness surrounding the Height where God did provide.

In that provision is despair, weighed and measured. In that provision is anguish and isolation. None are strangers to us, and certainly not to Jesus. Indeed he frees those of us who all our lives are enslaved by the fear of death. And he become the Ram, caught in a thicket.

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5. I THIRST

In our beginnings we find our endings, and this is expressed so well with the Lectionary selection of the Letter to the Hebrews on the Feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple. The Gospel appointed for the occasion bears witness to the veracity that Joseph and Mary brought their son up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord. They were faithful to the law of Moses, “Every firstborn male shall be designated as holy to the Lord”, and they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, “a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons.” Born under the Law, the one whose feet would carry him to Golgotha was himself redeemed.

The significance of their faithfulness to the pattern laid down by Moses found an interpretation of the events of this Dark Day that sustains us.

Jesus had to become like his brothers and sisters in every respect, so that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make a sacrifice of atonement for the sins of the people. Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.

The relentless pain that would not go away demonstrates how close to our circumstance Jesus drew, finding expression by John’s witness: Jesus said, “I thirst.”

Not a particular pain and one that most of us would hardly notice. You and I take for granted so much as our days unfold. The abundance that is within our reach quickly meets any appetite. Delayed gratification is unknown in our experience. Any taste is met… any thirst is quenched.

I need to turn back the pages of time to the days of my youth in order to even begin to understand what Jesus meant when he was moved to express, “I thirst.”

As a young boy my thirst seldom went unaddressed. A glass by the sink was readily accessible. When my legs were short, I might have to slide a kitchen chair to the counter and I might need to strain to reach the tap. But water was within my grasp. The sole exception was when I climbed into my youth bed, my night time prayers said, and, once under the blanket I made my need known to one of my parents, my Mum or my Dad. Perhaps more a pattern, a ritual preparing me for sleep than discovering a thirst that needed relief, I would telegraph my thirst: “I need a glass of water.” I was thirsty. I let my parents know.

On the last day of the Feast of Tabernacles – commemorating the Israelites wandering in the desert – John records that Jesus stood in the Temple by amphora brimming with water and cried out, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink.”

Amongst the throngs of pilgrims observing the Festival, many would hear his words and understand them to rehearse the story familiar to the assembly, of Moses and the disgruntled community parched for lack of water. John does not even suggest that anyone who heard Jesus had any thirst. He does not record that any responded to his invitation and approached him to quench their thirst. For his invitation, and for the abundant supply of water at hand, the story is without any response on the part of the men celebrating the occasion.

The interpretive side comment penned by the Evangelist – that Jesus was referring to the Spirit of God that would well up like an artesian well from deep within – prefigured the Promise

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of the father that would come later. Jesus made no mention of this and John’s observation is an interpretation that helps us understand what Jesus is about.

Sufficient to say: we need to know our own thirst; and we need then, to drink.

But there was a day when thirst made great demands.

Moses and the Israelites arrived at the Desert of Zin, and they stayed at Kadesh. For lack of water for the community, the people gathered in opposition to Moses and Aaron. They quarrelled with Moses and said, “If only we had died when our brothers fell dead before the LORD! Why did you bring the LORD’s community into this wilderness, that we and our livestock should die here? Why did you bring us up out of Egypt to this terrible place? It has no grain or figs, grapevines or pomegranates. And there is no water to drink!”

The LORD said to Moses, “Take the staff, and you and your brother Aaron gather the assembly together. Speak to that rock before their eyes and it will pour out its water. You will bring water out of the rock for the community so they and their livestock can drink.” So Moses took the staff from the LORD’s presence, just as he commanded him. He and Aaron gathered the assembly together in front of the rock and Moses said to them, “Listen, you rebels, must we bring you water out of this rock?”

Then Moses raised his arm and struck the rock twice with his staff. Water gushed out, and the community and their livestock drank. These were the waters of Meribah, where the Israelites quarrelled with the LORD and where he was proved holy among them.

The waters of Meribah prefigure the amphora in the Temple. As thirst and their dependence on God was demonstrated in Moses’ account, the memory of God’s deliverance had been transformed into a commemoration that no longer knew the pain of thirst… it had gone away.

The New Moshe – Jesus – recalls the occasion and no thirst is evident. Quarrelling has given way to liturgical form and only shadows of a memory play out in the Temple.

From the Cross, thirst is found again and in its expression Jesus stands with those in the Wilderness of Zin who knew their thirst and their need.

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6. FINISHED

The passage of time subtly washed over Golgotha. Shadows did not trace the advancement of the sun across the heavens. Shadows cast by the referred light of a Passover Moon hardly moved at all. As time is measured – either by the flowing grains of sand in an hour glass, or the angular lengths that trace the course on a sun dial – the metrics of the measurement of time were ethereal in the darkness that cloaked the Heights of Golgotha. Time passed inexorably and imperceptibly. Minutes seemed hours and hours seemed an eternity.

Beginnings as well as endings were all but erased. All that seemed to be was the moment at hand and in that Moment the hand that penned the Letter to the Hebrews observed that it is clear that Jesus did not come to help angels, but the descendants of Abraham.

Placed alongside the passage from Luke recording the Presentation of the infant in the Temple, we begin to see that the Moment of Time spans a lifetime. In that Moment endings are perceived in beginnings and beginnings are perceived in endings.

The Journey had begun in the Temple in the arms of his Mother as Joseph presented two pigeons to the priest in obedience to the Law. They encountered an elderly man in the Temple whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and devout, and looked forward to the Promise of Israel. We are told that the Holy Spirit rested on him.

It had been revealed to Simon by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah.

Simeon took the child in his arms and praised God, saying, “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed – and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

There was also a prophetess, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. A widow, she never left the Temple but worshiped there with fasting and prayer night and day. She, too, began to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.

When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favour of God was upon him.

Their annual pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the Feast of the Passover meant that Jesus was no stranger to the Temple Mount. We’re reminded of an incident when he was twelve years of age. Jesus stayed on in Jerusalem following the Feast and his parents, thinking that he was with relatives and friends, did not miss him for a full day. Turning back in search of the boy, they found him three days later in the Temple courts. He was sitting among the teachers and he was asking them questions.

Bright, the teachers appreciated Jesus’ understanding and the questions he asked as well as the answers he gave. He was at home, as he explained to his distraught parents. While he didn’t understand their worry – what adolescent would – he did have a sense of what he was about, and

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felt wholly comfortable with that. “I must be about my Father’s business,” certainly they could understand that! Mary’s reprimand elicited only curiosity on the part of the boy who continued to grow in wisdom and stature and in favour with God and men.

The course had been set and his beginning gradually developed into what would become his ending. His ending was seen clearly by Simeon and the Prophetess Anna as well. They could see further than could be measured by passersby who saw only a couple from Nazareth carrying their first-born son to the Temple and perhaps they noticed a coin that Joseph clutched in his hand – a coin that would purchase two pigeons.

And what did they see?

Jesus sent disciples back to John the Baptist in Herod’s jail with this answer… “Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

John the Baptist knew the metrics of Redemption. Baptizing for the remission of brokenness enabled him to see the effects of a salve applied to a life oppressed beyond measure. John was acquainted with the restorative nature of forgiveness. There is a Balm in Gilead and the witness of his disciples assured him of that. And this Balm was making the wounded whole. In Gilead sin-sick souls were being healed.

The Messianic hope of Isaiah is realized in Jesus. Simeon saw it and thanked God for it. Anna saw it too, and praised God for it. What they hoped for was realized in a ministry begun and lived out. That life found a path ascending a Height where men were blind and others too lame to walk; where leprosy made men outcasts and deafness reflects condemnation.

Jesus found himself on a Cross where in the company of dead men he too died. He died with them. He died for them. The measure of his healing is that he died not for their sin but for their forgiveness.

“Finished”. Indeed.

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7. INTO YOUR HANDS

Jesus, having become like his brothers and sisters in every respect, became a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make a sacrifice of atonement for the sins of the people. Once, and for all, Jesus made an oblation – a gift – of himself that was full and complete, perfect in its very being and sufficient not for the moment but for all time.

By whatever scale we might set our weights and measures, the calibration of Jesus’ healing on the Cross was enough to answer every sufferer’s prayer. His hands, bloodied on the Cross spanned not the length of the cross beam on which he hung, but reached beyond the limits of space and time. These hands, which shaped and saved the World now find extension through the touch of friends.

The call once heard by James and John, a response once made by Simon and Andrew, continues to be made, and seen, in our hearing and in our company. Some today have come in search of help and some have drawn near, cautiously, to make amends. But all should know that here we have heard silence broken in the face of evil.

No parables have been revisited today, neither have we recollected any of the miracles attributed to Jesus and recorded by the Evangelists. Instruction is found there, and insight too, but other’s Epiphanies remain theirs and not our own; other’s miracles, as wonderful as they may have been, are the moments of Grace in other’s lives.

None bring Redemption. None bring new life, renewed life.

That is found through the operation of Pilate’s hands, and Herod’s hands. That is begun to be worked out through the hands of Judas and Peter whose shame in denying Jesus was obscured in the flickering firelight after the arrest. The hands of the soldiers who lay hold of Jesus in Gethsemane and the hand of Mark who drew a sword – these hands brought Jesus inexorably to a place called the Skull.

The hands that scourged Jesus in his public beating and the hands that draped a mocking robe of monarchy over torn flesh aided and abetted the pilgrimage Jesus had turned his face towards.

A stranger from Cyrene had hands, too and they helped bear a weight. This cross beam was by all accounts weighed down with the burden of broken humanity. Oppression and exploitation, injustice and indifference added to the immeasurable mass of the beam.

And for the passage of time little seems to have changed.

Oppression and exploitation still reign, unchecked with injustice and indifference worms their way into the lives of every generation. Dietrich Bonhoeffer recognized that for all the centuries of Christian witness, nothing much seems to have changed. The fear might be that if anything, we might well be complicit in the hurts and fears that abound.

The Lamb of God presented on this unholy Height of Golgotha is the one whose praises are echoed in the ancient hymn of the Church:

O Lamb of God, that takes away the sin of the world – Have mercy upon us. O Lamb of God, that takes away the sin of the world – Have mercy upon us. O Lamb of God, that takes away the sin of the world – Grant us thy peace.

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It has been said here today – Jesus did not die for our sins. He died for the forgiveness of our sins. Sins still abound. He has not banished sins. Or sinning, for that matter.

But his healing – that which we struggle to measure and accept and proclaim – addresses the consequences of our sins – our brokenness – and provides a salve that heals and restores. His hands, bloodied on the Cross, survive to hold and heal and warn. His hands carry all through death and life. His hands cradle children yet unborn.

This is the base rock of our Faith. It is into this Redemptive act – once and for all Mankind and for all Time – that you and I have been Baptized. This solemn weekend commemorating the Death and Resurrection of Jesus makes him Lord and gives him a Name that is above every name. It is into this Name that you and I have been incorporated and here we find ourselves a New Creation. Here we find ourselves the Redeemed of God.

As Jesus breathed his last, some Gospel witnesses simply having him breathe his last. Luke records that some may have heard, “Into your hands … I commend my spirit.” Possibly it was the wind that had come up and melded the cries of countless men dying.

May our prayer be, either this Day or some future Day that we find ourselves on the threshold of our last breath, that our final breath will echo those words attributed to Jesus, and in their echo, bear witness to the gift of this Lamb of God – granting us Peace.