Good Friday: Is It I, Lord?

"The Crucifixion", Rubens

    It seems all too easy for us sometimes to see the Apostles, in their bumbling humanity, as almost comic figures. There are a number of times, for instance, when they are arguing over which is greatest (Luke 22:24, Mark 9:33, and others), clearly missing the point of their Master's teaching. We see another example in last evening's Holy Thursday reading from John’s Gospel (John 13:6-10), where Peter just can’t understand what Jesus means when he washes the Apostles’ feet. Matthew shows us yet another instance of Apostolic confusion in his account of the Last Supper.  After the Apostles have assembled for the meal with Jesus, the Lord says a remarkable thing: "Truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me." (Matthew 26:21).  Were it not so serious a moment, we might be tempted to laugh a little at the Apostles all frantically asking "Is it I, Master?" (Matthew 26:24).  On the one hand, you would think that they know their own hearts, on the other, well . . . maybe they're on to something.

    As it happens, not all of them doubt.  Peter confidently asserts, "Though they all fall away because of you, I will never fall away." (Matthew 26:33)  He’s in for a rude awakening:  Jesus gently corrects the man he named “the Rock”, saying "Truly, I say to you, this very night, before the cock crows, you will deny me three times" (Matthew 26:34). And of course he does. The other Apostles, as it turns out, had a better understanding of their own weakness.

    Yes, it tempting to put a comic spin on the Apostles’ reactions, but that would be a mistake, and not simply because they are holy people to whom we owe respect.  When Jesus says to them, "You will all fall away” (Matthew 26:31), he’s not speaking only to his Apostles, but to all of us who have been his disciples in the millennia since, as well as all those in the years  to come.  They all betrayed him; we all will betray him; I betray him.  Constantly.  That’s why we need the Sacrament of Confession.

    That’s also why we venerate the Cross and meditate on Christ's suffering on Good Friday: because on the Cross Jesus died for us, because of our betrayals, because we fall away . . . because I fall away, not just three times, but over and over again.

O Jesus, Who by reason of Thy burning love for us

hast willed to be crucified

and to shed Thy Most Precious Blood

for the redemption and salvation of our souls,

look down upon us here gathered together

in remembrance of Thy most sorrowful Passion and Death,

fully trusting in Thy mercy;

cleanse us from sin by Thy grace,

sanctify our toil,

give unto us and unto all those who are dear to us our

daily bread,

sweeten our sufferings,

bless our families,

and to the nations so sorely afflicted,

grant Thy peace,

which is the only true peace,

so that by obeying Thy commandments

we may come at last to the glory of heaven.

Amen.

We All Betray Our Lord (Good Friday)

"The Crucifixion", Rubens

    It seems all too easy for us sometimes to see the Apostles, in their bumbling humanity, as almost comic figures. There are a number of times, for instance, when they are arguing over which is greatest (Luke 22:24, Mark 9:33, and others), clearly missing the point of their Master's teaching. We see another example in last evening's Holy Thursday reading from John’s Gospel (John 13:6-10), where Peter just can’t understand what Jesus means when he washes the Apostles’ feet. Matthew shows us yet another instance of Apostolic confusion in his account of the Last Supper.  After the Apostles have assembled for the meal with Jesus, the Lord says a remarkable thing: "Truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me." (Matthew 26:21).  Were it not so serious a moment, we might be tempted to laugh a little at the Apostles all frantically asking "Is it I, Master?" (Matthew 26:24).  On the one hand, you would think that they knew their own hearts, on the other, well . . . maybe they were on to something.

    As it happens, not all of them doubt.  Peter confidently asserts, "Though they all fall away because of you, I will never fall away." (Matthew 26:33)  He’s in for a rude awakening:  Jesus gently corrects the man he named “the Rock”, saying "Truly, I say to you, this very night, before the cock crows, you will deny me three times" (Matthew 26:34). And of course he does. The other Apostles, as it turns out, were right to doubt their own steadfastness.

    Yes, it tempting to put a comic spin on the Apostles’ reactions, but that would be a mistake, and not simply because they are holy people to whom we owe respect.  When Jesus says to them, "You will all fall away” (Matthew 26:31), he’s speaking only to his Apostles, but to all of us who have been his disciples in the millennia since, and in the years  to come.  They all betrayed him; we all betray him; I betray him.  Constantly.  That’s why we need the Sacrament of Confession.

    That’s also why we venerate the Cross and meditate on Christ's suffering on Good Friday: Because on the Cross Jesus died for us, because of our betrayals . . . because I fall away, not just three times, but over and over again.

O Jesus, Who by reason of Thy burning love for us

hast willed to be crucified

and to shed Thy Most Precious Blood

for the redemption and salvation of our souls,

look down upon us here gathered together

in remembrance of Thy most sorrowful Passion and Death,

fully trusting in Thy mercy;

cleanse us from sin by Thy grace,

sanctify our toil,

give unto us and unto all those who are dear to us our

daily bread,

sweeten our sufferings,

bless our families,

and to the nations so sorely afflicted,

grant Thy peace,

which is the only true peace,

so that by obeying Thy commandments

we may come at last to the glory of heaven.

Amen.

    

Asleep In The Garden

Today is Wednesday of Holy Week, a day on which it's worth revisiting this post from Holy Thursday 2014. 

To enjoy the work of other faithful Catholic bloggers see Worth Revisiting Wednesday, hosted by Elizabeth Reardon at theologyisaverb.com and Allison Gingras at reconciledtoyou.com.) 

Asleep in the Garden

And they went to a place which was called Gethsem'ane; and he said to his disciples, "Sit here, while I pray." And he took with him Peter and James and John, and began to be greatly distressed and troubled.  And he said to them, "My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch." And going a little farther, he fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him.  And he said, "Abba, Father, all things are possible to thee; remove this cup from me; yet not what I will, but what thou wilt." And he came and found them sleeping, and he said to Peter, "Simon, are you asleep? Could you not watch one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak."  And again he went away and prayed, saying the same words.  And again he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were very heavy; and they did not know what to answer him. And he came the third time, and said to them, "Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? It is enough; the hour has come; the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners.  Rise, let us be going; see, my betrayer is at hand." And immediately, while he was still speaking, Judas came, one of the twelve, and with him a  crowd with swords and clubs, from the chief priests and the scribes and the elders.      (Mark 14:32-43)

     It’s been a tough week.  Like Martha, I’ve been worried about many things (Luke 10:41), to the point of feeling physically and mentally exhausted.  And yet, in the midst of all this self-involved anxiety, I have found myself contemplating the image of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, in agony.  According to Steve Ray, to whom I was listening on my car radio on the way in to work,  many scholars believe that Christ’s greatest suffering was in the garden, where he felt the full weight of humanity’s sins.  Peter, John, and James doze off (three times!), too wrapped up in themselves to attend to the Master who has asked for their support in his time of supreme trial.  That’s me, I realized: at the holiest time of the year, as I should be focusing on The Lord suffering for my sins, all I can think of is myself.  It’s sort of sad, isn’t it? 

     That being the case, I’ve resolved to turn my focus to Jesus Christ as I take part in the observance of the Easter Triduum.  I’ll set aside my concerns and worries (please, Lord, give me the Grace!); if the Holy Spirit gives me something worthwhile to say I’ll say it, if not I’ll content myself to keep My Lord company from the Cenacle to Calvary, and wait in Joyful Hope for his return on Easter Sunday.

Be Vigilant At All Times (Worth Revisiting)

An earlier version of this Worth Revisiting post was first published November 29th, 2014.

To enjoy the work of other faithful Catholic bloggers see Worth Revisiting Wednesday, hosted by Elizabeth Reardon at theologyisaverb.com and Allison Gingras at reconciledtoyou.com.

   I discovered a very curious thing one day.  As we were saying our family prayers, I noticed that the rosary that I have been carrying has only nine beads on its first decade, as you can see in the picture to the left.  It has wooden beads strung on a strong cord which has never broken, so it must have been that way since I bought it.

     The first thought that entered my mind (after I got over my initial surprise) was of the Muslim prayer rugs that have a few stiches the wrong color, or the great mosques where every row of columns has one that’s just slightly out of kilter.  The makers put these imperfections into their work intentionally, as an acknowledgement that only God can lay claim to perfection, which it is right and proper for us to acknowledge.

     These visible flaws don’t simply remind us that God is perfect, of course; their purpose is also to remind us that we ourselves are radically imperfect; not simply morally flawed, but incomplete without God.  So my flawed rosary, through the (unintentional, no doubt) mistake of its maker can represent the flawed nature of all of us. 

     There is also a reminder here, however, of my own particular imperfection: I have carried this rosary in my pocket for seven or eight years; I don't use it every day (when I pray the rosary in the car, as I often do, I usually forgo the beads and use my fingers, in the interests of automotive safety), but I use it frequently enough that I ought to have noticed that it is one “Hail Mary” short.  In fact, I really should have noticed when I first bought it at the local Catholic book store.  So, I have not only a symbol of human imperfection, but a very real, concrete reminder of my own broken nature, and in a very particular area.    

     As it happens, when I first discovered the curious flaw in my rosary and set out to write about it, this was the Gospel reading for the day:

Jesus said to his disciples: “Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life, and that day catch you by surprise like a trap. For that day will assault everyone who lives on the face of the earth. Be vigilant at all times and pray that you have the strength to escape the tribulations that are imminent and to stand before the Son of Man.”    (Luke 21:34-36)

We are about to embark on the Season of Lent, a penitential season which hearkens back to Christ's forty day fast in the desert in preparation for his earthly ministry.  It is a time of penance, and of purification, in which we are preparing our hearts for the trials of Holy Thursday and Good Friday, and the triumph of Easter Sunday. The warning Jesus gives to his disciples above is a warning to us as well: "Be vigilant at all times".  Two verses later we see the chief priests plotting to kill him, and Satan entering into Judas Iscariot.  This is Christ's final warning before the Passion Narrative begins to unfold, to his disciples then and now.  Be vigilant.  It looks like I have my work cut out for me; and every time I put my hand in my pocket, I have a tangible warning of how far I have to go.

Holy Saturday

    Holy Saturday is unlike the other days of the Easter Triduum.  We celebrate the Mass of the Lord's Supper on Holy Thursday, on Good Friday we commemorate the drama of Calvary; on Easter Sunday, of course, there is the Glory of the Resurrection.   Holy Saturday, on the other hand, is an in-between time, a time of waiting, until the Easter Vigil begins at nightfall.

    Holy Saturday, for us, is also a time of preparation, because we know Easter is coming.  My sons and I usually attend Morning Prayer and the Office of Readings at the Cathedral first thing in the morning; this year we're staying afterwards to help decorate the Cathedral for the Easter liturgies.  At home, too, we'll be busy with cooking for the Holy Day and other preparations.

    We can easily forget that Holy Saturday was not like that the first time around.  The Disciples were frightened, devastated by the the loss of their Master, and despite his prophetic suggestions that things would happen just this way, it must have seemed to them that he was gone forever. On top of that, most of them were feeling the full shame of the knowledge that they had abandoned their Master in his time of trial; in the case of Peter, the "Rock", that he had even denied him, not once, but three times.

    It would be good for us to pause a moment today, in the midst of our preparations, to remember how abandoned those first Christians felt.  God does all things in the ripeness of time, and it seems that He wanted them, and us, to have a little while to experience the full weight of Christ’s Sacrifice on the the Cross before celebrating the profound joy of the Resurrection.  Why rush it?

"O Sacred head Sore Wounded" - JS Bach (King's College, Cambridge)

Over this past Lent I have been posting clips from Mozart's Requiem and J.S. Bach's St. Matthew Passion that complement the penitential focus of the liturgical season. In my final music posting of Lent, we look directly at "nothing but Jesus Christ, and Him crucified" (1 Corinthians 2:2)

(My penultimate music clip for Lent is “So Now My Jesus Is Taken Prisoner” from Bach’s  St. Matthew Passion, on the Principium et Finis blog)