Sermon

Each year we come to this service and I am puzzled. I know Easter is coming, but reading the entire Passion seems premature, as if we have skipped five days and have entered Good Friday without any notice. We wave our palms as we process but then we condemn Christ to the crucifixion. We come triumphantly into Jerusalem but then we end outside the gates, upon that horrid place of calvary. All of Lent we have been slowly progressing, taking each week at a time, and now so much dramatic action happens in one service that it seems overwhelming.

I must remind myself that the liturgy is not historical re-enactment. Our liturgy, of course, is based upon actions that happened in history, but we do not re-present those actions like a movie would or history textbook. Rather, the liturgy re-presents in order for us to participate mystically in the particular event that happened at a particular moment in history. Just as we participate in the one sacrifice of Christ every time we celebrate Holy Communion, we participate in the other events in Christ’s life through the Church’s liturgical calendar. We are not above history or beyond history: we are in history.

Because our concern is not precise historical reenactment, certain events are brought together in order to heighten our understanding and participation. At every Mass we hear in the Canon how we combine the Last Supper and the Crucifixion. “ALL glory be to thee, Almighty God, our heavenly Father, for that thou, of thy tender mercy, didst give thine only Son Jesus Christ to suffer death upon the Cross for our redemption; who made there (by his one oblation of himself once offered) a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction, for the sins of the whole world; and did institute, and in his holy Gospel command us to continue, a perpetual memory of that his precious death and sacrifice, until his coming again.” Likewise, today on Palm Sunday, our liturgy connects the Triumphant Entry immediately to the Crucifixion. This is not bad history, as if the Church forgot the historical timeline (these readings have been the same for over 1600 years). Rather, it signifies how the Cross stands at the center of all history, and this signification prepares us for Holy Week and Easter.

Last week we saw how Psalm 43 was interpreted at several different levels — first as David’s own plea to God as he sought to return from exile back to Jerusalem. Second as our own plea towards God when beset with our own sins, wounds, and finite humanity. Third as Christ’s plea to the Father upon the Cross as his own people abandoned him and he sought to bring exiled humanity back to the heavenly Jerusalem. Today we will attempt a similar reading, but of the liturgy itself. So, while we will examine the historical event, let us open our eyes in a new way as we walk with Jesus in this most Holy Week.

As we have seen before, Jerusalem signifies the place where God dwells with his people, for that is the site of the Temple, the place of sacrifice at which man entered into the presence of God. These exact hills where the city stood had been used for sacrifice by Abel, Noah, Abraham, David, and Solomon. When these men offered sacrifices, they did not view their actions as a gloomy or destructive activity, but rather gave an offering in joyful homage to their God. Sacrifice is “an offering of a creature to God in recognition of Him as its Creator, in order that it shall be accepted by Him and transformed by His acceptance” (Mascall, 89). It is the action by which man tries to bring himself to God through an offering. As the Son, the second person of the Trinity, eternally offers himself to His Father in a filial response, so man finds his fulfillment and beatitude in offering himself in a life of joyful and loving filial obedience to his God. But the consciousness of sin or our wounded, finite nature ruptures that ability of obedience and man realizes that he must offer something else in order to be transformed. And so death enters into sacrifice as man offers another creature on his behalf. But even here, the stress is not laid on the death, for the gift of the animal is not destroyed but transformed and returned to man in order that man might eat God’s own blessing, his own life, at God’s table.

The prime example of this, the prototype, the example which became the key narrative for the Jewish people, was the Passover. God had heard the cries of His people as they suffered in slavery. In the act of redemption, God condemned the land to the Angel of Death, and the Hebrews escaped both their captors and the curse of death through the blood of the lamb. God commanded the people to choose a lamb five days before the night of Passover, and so the people went out to their herds, and brought the lamb into their own household in order to prepare the sacrifice. The blood of the lamb was spread on the doorposts of the house and after the people ate the Lamb, they were saved by the life (the blood) of the lamb.

As a result, the Hebrew people escaped the curse of death and moved from slavery into freedom. And that freedom was marked not just by a release from their captors, but by the promise of inhabiting a new land. The freedom was given to them so that they might live a holy life dedicated to their God in a land overflowing with milk and honey.

As we well know, however, that fulness of freedom was not achieved even though they were given a Law to follow and a Tabernacle in which they could continue sacrifices to God. The people failed to follow the Law and devote themselves to it. The Law itself was not the problem: the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews is clear that the people had failed to turn their hearts towards God’s promises. As a result, God handed them over to their enemies. It happens time and time again as Israel hardens her heart against her God.

Here we turn to our Introit, Psalm 22, which was also chanted as our Tract. MY God, my God, look upon me; why hast thou forsaken me? * and art so far from my health, and from the words of my complaint? O my God, I cry in the day-time, but thou hearest not; * and in the night season also I take no rest. This is the voice of David, the voice of the King of Israel whose kingdom was ruined because of his sin. 

It is also our prayer as we cry to God in our own despair. We are beset by our own sins and the wounds of the fall and our finite humanity. 

Psalm 22 is also taken as the voice of Jesus upon the Cross. [The Gospels record Jesus saying at least the first verse, but it said that Christ recited this Psalm all the way through Psalm 31:6, at which point he gave up his ghost.]

By reading this Psalm as the words of Jesus upon the Cross, we now see how Jesus has taken upon himself the sins of the whole world. He has taken upon himself all that separates humanity from God. And yet, this is God Himself! And He is redeemed humanity! This is man without sin, man healed from the wounds, man who is united to infinite divinity! This is the man in which all humanity is led to God because it is in Him that humanity and divinity are joined. He is man who may offer a perfect sacrifice.

And so in this narrative it makes sense how the One leading humanity back to God does so again through the Passover. He accomplishes this as the Lamb of sacrifice. He brings humanity back to Jerusalem as the Passover Lamb.

Just as Israel was brought into the Promised Land (which is Jerusalem) through the passover — now Christ leads humanity to the promised land of the heavenly Jerusalem through His own Passover at the earthly Jerusalem. Therefore, just like the Hebrews in Egypt, the Lamb is selected five days before the Passover. That is today as Jesus enters into Jerusalem to offer His life for the life of the world. 

In his actions, Jesus begins an Exodus of humanity itself. As the hebrews were freed from their Egyptian captors and from the angel of death, so Jesus leads humanity on an Exodus from our captors (the world, the flesh, the devil) and from the curse of death. Through his blood we are freed from the tyranny of death and have the power not to sin. Through his blood we are healed by the wounds of the Fall. Through His blood we are joined to His life–his divine life. Christ’s true and perfect sacrifice leads us back into the presence of God. 

And now, as the Hebrews were freed in order to obtain the Promise Land, we are freed in order to enter into our promised land–to enter back into the very presence of God. 

The triumphant entry leads directly to the Cross because it is the start of the Passover ritual. Jesus entered Jerusalem many times during his life. He was also pursued by the leading group of Jews in Jerusalem many times in order to kill him. Each time they did, Jesus slipped away from them. But now, this time is different. Jesus comes to Jerusalem as King and as the Lamb, leading himself as the sacrifice in full knowledge of what is to come. 

The doorposts of the Hebrews, marked with the blood of the Lamb, became their gateway of freedom. Now, Jesus enters Jerusalem and offers His blood on the Cross which becomes our gateway of Freedom. The Cross stands as a turning point of history, the means by which we arrive at fulness of humanity in the presence of God. 

We started Lent looking at the veiled Icon of All Saints and now we come full circle. Jesus is revealed as the crucified and risen savior sitting on his throne, ruling the cosmos, but what is so striking is that his reign is symbolized by the cross, which is held by angels on a cushion above Him. All creation must come to terms with the Cross. As John Henry Newman puts it: “His Cross has put its due value upon every thing which we see, upon all fortunes, all advantages, all ranks, all dignities, all pleasures; upon the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. It has set a price upon the excitements, the rivalries, the hopes, the fears, the desires, the efforts, the triumphs of mortal man. It has given a meaning to the various, shifting course, the trials, the temptations, the sufferings, of his earthly state. It has brought together and made consistent all that seemed discordant and aimless. It has taught us how to live, how to use this world, what to expect, what to desire, what to hope. It is the tone into which all the strains of this world’s music are ultimately to be resolved.”

Our Lenten journey is now coming to an end at the foot of the Cross. All of our devotion, fasting, and preparation will help us now as we come to Holy Week. If you have failed your Lenten intentions, or never even set aside this time in special intentions, do not despair. Start today and enter Holy Week with care. Let us all pray that this week we may join our Redeemer in His Passover as we ponder the mysteries of his passion and resurrection who forgives our sins, heals our wounds, and binds us together with all the Saints in heavenly joy. 

GIVE sentence for me, O God, and defend my cause against an ungodly people; / O deliver me from the deceitful and wicked man.

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The Psalm used for Introit today, Psalm 43, was composed at a very difficult time in King David’s life. Even though God had anointed David and blessed him with victory over his enemies, David’s own failures concerning Bethsheba and the murder of her husband Uriah are amplified within the lives of his own children. The cycle of sin and violence continues and David does not confront his sons who are really following his own example. The horrid actions of Amnon against his sister Tamar go unpunished and Absolom, Tamar’s brother, silently plans revenge both against Amnon and his father David. Eventually, Absolom kills Amnon and after a time, slowly builds a loyal following in order to claim kingship over his father. David, then, has to flee to some caves  to hastily plan some sort of military response to his own son. Simply put, things are a mess. While David flees and finds refuge in these caves, he and the appointed court musicians (who are called the sons of Korah) compose Psalm 43 among others.

The Psalm is a cry to God and one can see why David composed this Psalm at the time:

GIVE sentence with me, O God, and defend my cause against the ungodly people; * O deliver me from the deceitful and wicked man.

2 For thou art the God of my strength; why hast thou put me from thee? * and why go I so heavily, while the enemy oppresseth me?

3 O send out thy light and thy truth, that they may lead me, * and bring me unto thy holy hill, and to thy dwelling;

4 And that I may go unto the altar of God, even unto the God of my joy and gladness; * and upon the harp will I give thanks unto thee, O God, my God.

5 Why art thou so heavy, O my soul? * and why art thou so disquieted within me?

6 O put thy trust in God; * for I will yet give him thanks, which is the help of my countenance, and my God.

The people of Israel have turned against him as their king, and now his own son is his enemy. He knows at this point that his life is truly in the hands of God and even tells his comrades so as they retreat in 2 Samuel 17. David’s only hope is that God will lead him back to Jeruslaem, the holy hill. It is only God’s light and truth that will lead him, not the rebellious sons or backstabbing generals. But the Psalm can be read beyond the literal, historical meaning.

It can also be seen as David’s general supplication to God on behalf of his whole life. Psalm 43 is David’s general prayer that God brings him towards Himself. David’s sins time and time again ruin his relationship with God and wreak havoc on his life. His own soul is heavy within him. On top of that, David always dwelt with external enemies that not only threatened his Kingdom, they threatened his own life. Finally, as David faced death, he turns towards His creator, the only true help of his own countenance.

But we can expand our reading of this Psalm even farther. What we see in David, we see in ourselves, and Psalm 43 becomes our own prayer in troubling situations and generally as our prayer as humans. All of Lent we have been looking at the analogy of veils. Veils which, at the one and the same time, shroud the reality of an object and yet also build our desire towards that which is shrouded. We have used this as an analogy of our own lives which must pierce three layers of veils to understand God. (Veils of sins, wounds of fall, and finite nature) It seems a hopeless task. 

Psalm 43 summarizes the struggles of humanity that is burdened with sin, wounded by the fall, and faced with death. But the Psalm also shows a way through these veils. When reading the Psalm in this way, the Church has read these words as Christ’s own prayer on behalf of humanity. This reading helps deepen our understanding not only of the Psalm but also of the last two weeks of Lent. 

GIVE sentence with me, O God, and defend my cause against the ungodly people; * O deliver me from the deceitful and wicked man.

As we into Passiontide, Christ’s suffering  and humility now come in view, and this Psalm shows the depth of suffering Jesus experienced as He, God’s own son, has to plead for deliverance.

For thou art the God of my strength; why hast thou put me from thee? * and why go I so heavily, while the enemy oppresseth me?

Now Jesus is oppressed, but not by his own sin, but by taking on the sin of the whole world. Even more, those whom Jesus came to save are now the one’s denying his identity. So just as David was oppressed by his own son, now God is oppressed by his own children, Israel. “Then said the Jews unto him, Now we know that thou hast a devil: Abraham is dead, and the prophets; and thou sayest, If a man keep my saying, he shall never taste of death.  Art thou greater than our father Abraham, which is dead? and the prophets are dead: whom makest thou thyself?” The leading group of Jews in Jerusalem deny Christs kingship, even declaring Jesus as a devil. And once Jesus declares his identity, the leaders of God’s chosen people take up stones to kill their Messiah. “Jesus said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Before Abraham was, I am.  Then took they up stones to cast at him: but Jesus hid himself, and went out of the temple.”

O send out thy light and thy truth, that they may lead me

Now we see Christ’s work at hand, for he is the light and the truth, and his passion becomes our salvation. Yesterday we celebrated one of the greatest feast days of the entire year: the Annunciation. It is the feast of the Incarnation as the angel Gabriel visit the Blessed Virgin Mary and tells her that she will be overshadowed by the Holy Ghost and conceive a son, which she does, 9 months before Christmas. It is the day, as in the words of the Apostle John, that the light cometh into the world. This is the light that drives away darkness, the light that shines through those veils that shroud us from reality, from God. As the light shines and the veils are removed, then can we approach God, or as the Psalm says, to bring me unto thy holy hill, and to thy dwelling. 

When David spoke these words, he hoped that he would return to Jerusalem, the holy hill, as king. Read as a Jesus’ prayer, we still understand the holy hill as Jerusalem, but not just as the literal city that stands there today, but to the heavenly Jerusalem that Paul mentioned last week–the heavenly Jerusalem, the Church, in which God dwells with his people. 

Even more, when Jesus turns himself towards Jerusalem, he knows that he is turning towards his suffering. And so that Holy Hill is also Mt. Calvary, which is one of the hills of Jerusalem. Mt. Calvary was known as the place of the skull, and in Jewish tradition it was considered the place where the skull of Adam, the first man, was buried. It was the same place where Cain and Abel offered their sacrifices to God. The same place Noah built an altar to God in thanksgiving. The same place Abraham brought Isaac his son to be sacrificed. The same place where David himself built an altar at the end of 2 Samuel and offered a sacrifice that stopped a plague infecting Israel. And it is the same place where the new Adam, the true King David offered himself for the whole world.

And that I may go unto the altar of God, even unto the God of my joy and gladness; * and upon the harp will I give thanks unto thee, O God, my God. 

Through the Cross, Jesus takes on death for all humanity and through his Resurrection he brings humanity back to the altar of God, which is his own body. Listen to how the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews puts it: 

For if the blood of bulls and of goats, and the ashes of an heifer sprinkling the unclean, sanctifieth to the purifying of the flesh; how much more shall the blood of Christ, who, through the eternal Spirit, offered himself without spot to God, purge your conscience from dead works to serve the living God?  

Jesus’ blood – his blood which was fully human, blood that came from his own mother – now becomes our life, and the veils which have obscured and shrouded reality fall away.

We enter into his life through the great gift of baptism. There the veil of our own sins, the veil of the fall, and the veil of our own finite nature are washed away in the waters of baptism as God forgives, heals, and joins our human nature to his divine nature. We become sons and daughters of the Divine. 

When faced with the veils, we ask Why art thou so heavy, O my soul? * and why art thou so disquieted within me? This is the question that stands before us as merely humans. But through the waters of baptism we may respond: O put thy trust in God. 

And then finally, the Psalmist ends with for I will yet give him thanks, which is the help of my countenance, and my God. Now that we read this as Christ’s words, we see with clarity that this is Jesus’ own offering of thanks that we get to join. And, of course, as you all well know, the word for giving thanks is Eucharizo, it is the Eucharist in which Jesus brings all humanity to His Father through the offering of his own Body and Blood in thanksgiving. 

As each of you has been joined to God through your baptisms, now come and give thanks for that great gift. Come and receive God himself in the Eucharist. Let your vision be healed so that you may see reality as God sees it. Through God’s mercy we can truly come to know Him through His Son, and the veils which have obscured our vision/understanding are taken away. We know that what may look like a mere sign of putting water on the forehead is really the rebirth of a new creation, a new son or daughter of God. We know that what may look like just bread and wine is truly the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. We now see through the veil. What looks just as physical matter is teeming with meaning, significance, and the true grace of God. And as we train our sight here at this Altar, may we then see God’s work in all the world, in our day to day lives. 

GIVE sentence for me, O God, and defend my cause against an ungodly people; / O deliver me from the deceitful and wicked man.

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