We invite you to take a journey, again and anew, to the cross.

Resurrection is integral to our Christian faith. But you cannot have resurrection without death. There’s something quite powerful, though, about the fact that we spend a whole season of the church year (Lent) reflecting on Christ’s life and death, even while we know the Good News of Resurrection awaits us on Easter morning.

During Holy Week, we slow down even more. We leave Palm Sunday ushered into the Passion of Jesus as we take the journey, again and anew, to the cross. Our stories – yours, mine, each of ours – are entwined in that journey of Christ as Christ journeys with us today.

The seven last words (or phrases) of Christ have been used as a tool for meditation by Christians since around the 17th century. These phrases are drawn from the gospels and capture much of who Jesus was and is. Christians have used these phrases as a way to pray for others, to reflect on their own lives, and, ultimately, to approach the cross of Christ and the empty tomb in a new way. This year we invited our four Pinnacle pastors along with three pastors who worship with Pinnacle who are engaged in ministries of hospice and hospital chaplaincy and spiritual direction to share written meditations on the seven last words.

I take my lead from a daily devotion written on Tuesday morning of this week by former staff member and continuing friend of Pinnacle, Allen Hilton.  Allen began his devotional with the right New Testament passage for this week, from 1 Thessalonians:

Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of humankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.  1 Thess 4.13-14

And then six names

Evelyn Dieckhaus (9 years old)
Hallie Scruggs (9 years old)
William Kinney (9 years old).
Cynthia Peak (61 years old)
Mike Hill (61 years old)
Katherine Koonce (60 years old) 

There's more to be said, but maybe a long pause is in order here.

These are names of the dead from Monday at Covenant School, part of Covenant Presbyterian Church, in Nashville.  Add to this six the name of the 26-year-old shooter, Audrey Hale, who even in derangement was loved by God. 

Six names (seven).  Six families (seven).  Multiple networks of friendship, love, and community.  A nation that reels too many times and for too many names.  A world where preventable tragedies come far too often.  Just the day before this Nashville attack a massive fire broke out at an immigrant detention center in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico.  At least 38 people died there, people who were abandoned behind locked gates and couldn't get out. 

Too many to grieve. 

But Jesus says "blessed are those who mourn" (Matthew 5:8).  One wonders how much blessing must we endure to receive blessing.

Does the blessing Jesus promises to those who mourn contradict that passage from 1 Thessalonians, where we seem to be told that we don't have to grieve?  I don't think so, for perhaps the blessing we can find in all of this, in the face of a God who also grieves, is the power to grieve with resolve, with direction, and with hope--not to cover over, but to see more clearly; not to hide, but to acknowledge the anger and the horror and the shame of it all.  Grief, but not with despair.  Grief with honesty and resolve and faith that God can hold it all. 

The sting is still there, though.  How can this happen?  How do these families go on?  How do we protect the living--our children, our dear ones, our teachers, . . . all who are vulnerable?  How do we combine prayer and action--knowing there is evil and pain and trauma we won't vanquish this side of eternity,

There's a sentence going 'round social media from Miroslav Volf.  Miroslav is a theologian who's not unfamiliar with violence and tragedy from his native Croatia.  He's been part of Pinnacle's ministry in podcast and webinar through the Park Center.  The phrase from him is not poetic.  It's actually quite simple.  But, perhaps, it says something that needs to be said—stripped of theological language and said in a way that all might hear:  "There is something deeply hypocritical about praying for a problem you are unwilling to resolve."

There is no final resolution to violence, or indifference, or inaction, or tragedy, or evil this side of eternity.  But there is still action to take.  There are things we can do to inhibit, to respond, to care—in hope, to bless. 

Let's.

As Christians we are used to seeing crosses portrayed as the central and identifying symbol of Christianity. Some Christians display their crosses with Jesus affixed to them, while other Christians have empty crosses, signifying that the crucified Jesus has been raised from the dead. In scripture, each gospel account propels us toward the cross; it’s almost as if all of Jesus’ teachings and healings are merely a prelude to the event of his crucifixion. Certainly, in Paul’s letters, the cross stands at the crux of his proclamation of God’s setting all things right in the death of Jesus. The story of Jesus and the Jesus movement cannot avoid the cross.

I’ve done a lot of thinking lately about how almost every aspect of Christianity has its root in the Judaism of the Old Testament: salvation, righteousness, justice, love, grace, and even resurrection. It dawned on me recently, though, that the cross is not mentioned in the Hebrew scriptures. Christians do see the “suffering of the Messiah” in the prophetic writings of Isaiah, but the cross itself is never mentioned. The ancient Greeks, Persians, and the Romans all used crucifixion as a form of state-sponsored torture, used to punish criminals, humiliate vanquished enemies, and suppress insurrectionists; the Jews did not. Crucifixion was not only a tragedy, but was also seen as a sign of God’s extreme displeasure with someone who got crucified. The Apostle Paul tries to make sense of Jesus’ death, quoting from the Book of Deuteronomy, by saying “Cursed is anyone who is hanged on a tree.” That’s as close as he can get to the cross from his scriptures. Paul reasons that the one who was without sin, Jesus, took on the curse of the Law, atoning for the sins of the many. If this definition isn’t quite satisfying, it’s because Paul is still trying to work out the meaning of the cross and how God used the cross to “set right” all that had gone wrong in the world and to “set free” those who were held captive to the power of Sin in the world. Paul proclaimed that in light of the event of the cross, those who are claimed by God in the faithfulness of Jesus Christ, through whose death on the cross God “snatched us out of the grasp of the present evil age,” are now New Creation! (Read Paul’s letter to get the fuller story.)

Even though the cross was a humiliating surprise to Jesus’ followers and remained a mystery, in terms of how God could use an instrument of state-sanctioned torture to set things right in the world, the cross became the central locus (place) for encounter with the Living God. When the world offered death, God offered life. When the world held to old structures of separation, the cross established a new identity for those who were not scandalized by it. Paul says that for anyone who is in Christ “there is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male and female, for all are made one in Christ.” And Paul says that the cross changes everything in the church as well. “If you follow old social patterns in the church, like saying that former Jews and former Gentiles cannot sit and worship and even eat together, then Christ died for nothing.”

Whatever place the cross holds for you, think on this as we approach Holy Week: the cross of Jesus breaks down the walls that separate us. Yes, it is a scandal (a stumbling block), because no one expected that God could turn humiliation into exaltation. The world has crosses to offer; God has resurrection in store. The key element that turns the cross from an offense to the effective means of grace is….love. Or, as Paul might say it, “Unless your love is genuine and has genuine impact in the world, breaking down old barrier walls, then Christ died for nothing, and the meaning of the cross is null and void.” Paul says, that in light of the cross, “the only thing that matters is faith energized by love.” The cross of Christ makes both faith and love possible…and thereby we have hope. The love God showed the world at the cross changes everything.

About a year ago (9/21/22) I wrote a post called, "Control. Control. Control."  It was inspired by a German sociologist named Hartmut Rosa, and his little book called The Uncontrollability of the World.  The modern gambit of living is the idea of controlling contingency, uncertainty, unpredictability, and time itself, he says.  But the more we try, the more uncontrollable the world feels.  Ok.  For more on that, take a look back at "Control. Control. Control."

Here, I want to riff a bit more on Rosa's thoughts.  This time on some ideas around which I and a couple of other preachers have shaped a sermon series.  They're inspired by the idea at the root of Rosa's social theory.  The idea's not new to him, but he's spent a career thinking about it.  That's the thought that behind our attempts to control life (and the irony that the more we try, the more we fail), is the modern wager made on acceleration, on speed, on the idea that if we can get there (wherever) faster, or think it faster, or read it faster, or make it faster, or remember it faster, or live it faster, we'll be able to cheat time and gain an edge over the things that worry us.  We'll get more.  We'll know more.  We'll win more often.  We'll feel closer.  We'll find our "selves."  

With this comes a set of realities we have a hard time stepping back from.  I'll name them with five "a"s:  acceleration (as I just said), amplification (shouting to get attention), accumulation (getting more as a hedge against losing the race), argumentation (losing capacity to listen well), and alienation (dividing ourselves from each other, so to be less encumbered).  When everything is accelerated, we quickly get bowled over and life gets harried.  When we have to shout to be heard, no one is hearing anyone--we're just shouting.  When we have to have more in order to feel protected, we feel more and more vulnerable to forces of collapse and loss--and we lose the capacity to live well with less.  When all we know how to do is argue, we have fewer and fewer life-creating conversations and we actually learn less and less.  And when we separate ourselves from each other, we don't really become freer.  To the contrary, we become bound to ourselves without support or love, or accountability from others.  

But I named this sermon series, "Holy Healing."  I did so thinking there are irregularly placed spots we can stand on to see (or feel) something healthier than what these "Ills" would leave us with.  

And, yes!, I think there are.   

To acceleration, we can be intentional and careful about going slow now and then.  Spend time with someone—a child, an older adult, someone with a chronic illness, or someone who's just figured out how to go slower.  Resist the idea of having "the latest."  Fix something that's broken instead of just replacing it.  And read stories of Jesus going off to pray, and asking his disciples to stay up with him, and echoing the psalmists who say, "Wait for the Lord."

To amplification, turn the volume down now and then—or off altogether.  Listen to a point of view before responding to it—hearing behind trigger words for what someone is trying to say even when they don't know how to do anything other than shout.  Whisper sometimes, and see how people respond.  Or say nothing, and let silence come.  

To accumulation . . . . think more about using things than having things.  Celebrate when you give something away.  Think more carefully about what you need.  Spend time with people who have less and learn more about what they do have.  

To argumentation, the prescription is pretty similar to the one for amplification:  listen a bit more carefully and more creatively.  Try to help others speak their thoughts, even if you disagree.  State your thoughts, but not first.  And remember Justice Learned Hand's words that the art of democracy is not knowing you're always right.

And against alienation, find a community of friends, family, church who practice these arts of resistance to the "a"s (acceleration, amplification, accumulation, argumentation, alienation), and get their help.  And help them too.  And live reconciled, for that is what God wants for you.  And that is what God wants for me too, I think. 

“When all else fails. Treat them like a plant. Put them in water or take them outside into the sunlight.” This was the advice someone gave me after having our daughter. Most of the advice was unhelpful and unsolicited. Sleep when the baby sleeps. Oh really? Do I do laundry when the baby does laundry? But this advice–I swear by. Not just for newborns or children, but for adults too. 

Contrary to popular belief–we aren’t meant to work all day every day. We aren’t meant to sit in front of screens either. Those things wear us out. You can tell by the frown lines in between our eyebrows. Think about it–where do you feel the most refreshed? Swimming laps or hitting the trail. Relaxing in a hot tub or kayaking on a lake. Taking a hot shower or boating down the river. One friend claims her best naps are at the shore. Laying in the sunshine, listening to the waves crash on the shore lulls her right to sleep. My mom’s daily habit is walking outside early every morning, even in the winter, to take a deep breath of the cool crisp air. I’ve taken to that too. As the sun comes up, I go outside and watch creation wake up too. I stretch and take a deep breath. Let’s start today off right. 

Water and Light. They are involved in methods of calming oneself too–especially when you’re anxious or having a panic attack. When you feel out of control, drink a tall glass of cool water, splash it on your face or place it on the back of your neck. Or go outside in your bare feet. Take deep breaths and say what you feel or hear. Cool grass. Warm pavement. Rough rocks. Sun on skin. Airplanes in the sky. Birds chirping. Pretty soon, you’ll feel your heartbeat and breath slow down. You’re grounded once more. 

Light and water. God created both. God knows we need both–not just to live but to live abundantly. It’s no wonder then Jesus is called the Light of the World and the Living water that quenches our souls. Water and light are essentials–not just to calm us down but to sustain life. To grow plants and feed all of creation. We need the rays from the sun to provide Vitamin D. We need water to fuel our bodies. And we need Jesus to be a daily essential too. For to spend time with Jesus, means our spirit and our emotional health receive the very light and water they need too. 

Jesus says, “Come away with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” (Mark 6:31) Come away and receive the Light of the World and Living Water.