Abandonment
Sermon
A Cry from the Cross
Sermons on the Seven Last Words of Christ
Object:
At three o'clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani" which means, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, "Listen, he is calling for Elijah."
-- Mark 15:34-35
If you're a young child, it can be quite traumatic to get lost in the crowd. You don't know where your mother or father is and you feel abandoned. If you're that child, you hope that your parents are nearby so that when you cry out to them they'll hear and recognize your voice. You want to hear them call out to you, "Here I am, I'm coming for you." You hope that once they hear your voice coming through the crowd, they'll quickly come and rescue you. But what if all you hear is silence? What if no one comes running to sweep you up in their arms? What if you look around and all you see are strange faces and all you hear are unrecognizable voices? With no one there to reach out and embrace you, you feel alone and abandoned. And when that happens, you begin to lose hope.
In recent years, as we've watched a war unfold on television, we've seen the faces of Iraqi women and children crying out to God. At the beginning of the war, their eyes showed the terror of having experienced the shattering noise of falling bombs and missiles. If only it would stop, then there would be peace. Unfortunately, this terror has given way to new terrors, for as the war has dragged on and insurgents' bombs began exploding in their neighborhoods, and while armed gangs terrorized them, they once again cried out for help. As we watch scenes like this from the safety of our living rooms, we can see the confusion, the terror, and the hopelessness in their eyes. Yes, they feel abandoned. They are lost and alone. Where is God? Why does God seem to remain deaf to their plaintive cries?
It had been six hours since the soldiers put Jesus and his two companions on their respective crosses. Darkness had covered the city since noon, and bystanders and gawkers wandered by, mocking and taunting him. They peppered him with questions like: "Where is your God now?" or "You saved others, why can't you save yourself?" "Yes, why can't you climb down from your perch and save yourself and us?"
I'm sure that these thoughts had entered his mind. In his agony, he must've pondered ways of avoiding his destiny. In Gethsemane, Jesus had, in fact, asked God to remove this cup from him. But even then all he heard was silence from God. This was, of course, the "last temptation" as Nikos Kazantzakis imagined it. Why not come down and live a normal extended life? Why not enjoy the pleasures of family and friends far away from the maddening crowd? Even one of the men crucified with him couldn't keep from shouting at him in derision. In that moment, surely, Jesus felt alone and abandoned.
At around three in the afternoon, Jesus once again cried out to God. Now the pain was becoming unbearable, and the questions running through his mind were too unsettling. Surely the taunts of the crowd put seeds of doubt in his mind, and he clearly felt a sense of God's absence. In these moments, as the day began to fade, he cried out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" As he cried out, surely he wondered why God didn't seem to hear his pleas. He must have wondered: "Why are you silent in the face of my tormenters?" Perhaps it was here in this moment that Jesus most completely identified with us. He called out to God, but no one answered. That link with God that sustained him had now been severed, and he tasted the alienation we as humans so often feel. Yes, when darkness strikes our lives, we feel alone and we wonder why God doesn't do something.
But Jesus wasn't the first to utter this cry of dereliction. His question for God has a history, since these words come from Psalm 22, a psalm that once gave voice to Israel's sense of abandonment as it lived through exile in Babylon. In that moment, Israel found itself alone and powerless. Though once they'd been something, even if that something was small, now they were beholden to others, and God didn't seem to care. Just as the psalmist cried out in anguish, pleading for God to end the silence, now Jesus picked up this cry and made it his own. Though the noise of the moment may have been great, all that the psalmist, and now Jesus, heard was God's deafening silence. The words that follow this anguished cry give further depth to his cry of dereliction: "But I am a worm, and not human; scorned by others, and despised by the people" (Psalm 22:6). This is the word that gets our attention. We look at our life and we wonder: does it have any meaning? Is there a purpose to what I'm doing and experiencing? Yes, in our time it is the question of meaning and purpose that haunts us more than the question of guilt.
To be scorned and despised is not just disheartening, it's dehumanizing. Surely there can be no worse feeling than to be rejected. A child wants to play a game, but the other children refuse entry. A friend turns her back on you for no apparent reason. Silence exists where conversation once prevailed. The leper in an earlier age was the epitome of abandonment. A leper would cry out, "Stay away, because I'm unclean." Today, it might be the person who is HIV positive or who suffers from AIDS who knows what it means to be marginalized or feel abandoned.
We can see here that Mark frames Jesus' closing moments of life with Psalm 22. Just as it was in the psalmist's experience, Jesus faced the question: "Where is your God? Yes, why doesn't God rescue you?" All around him, he heard people shouting at him words of scorn and dismissal, and in their abuse they posed a distressing question: "Are you not a godforsaken person?"
Yes, in these agonizing moments before death, Jesus experienced true "god-forsakenness." We use that term to describe a deserted place, a place in the wilderness where not even God would want to dwell. Jesus understood what it was like to dwell where no one wished to be. It seemed as though God had slammed the door in his face, leaving him out in the cold. Oh, we've all felt this way on occasion. It's insult added to injury. When it comes to our cries to God, our prayers of desperation, we begin to wonder, is God even listening? Prayer is always a difficult proposition. We pour out our hearts, always wondering if someone is really listening. How can we be sure that God is even there? We cannot hear God's voice or see God's face, because God is invisible to us. Yet, we cry out anyway, just hoping that someone will rescue us from this feeling of abandonment.
There is, however, more than simply silence here. In the background, we hear the psalmist begin to sing a song of deliverance. Having reflected on Jesus' experience of being abandoned in his moment of greatest need, Henri Nouwen writes:
When Jesus spoke these words on the cross, total aloneness and full acceptance touched each other. In that moment of complete emptiness all was fulfilled. In that hour of darkness new light was seen. While death was witnessed, life was affirmed. Where God's absence was most loudly expressed, God's presence was most profoundly revealed.1
Even as we, together with Jesus, feel God's absence, even when the answer we seek doesn't seem to be forthcoming, God remains present.
I think it's instructive to remember that the psalm following this song of abandonment is Psalm 23. This is a most beloved song that speaks of the shepherd's presence in the midst of our despair. When we feel alone and abandoned, it's the shepherd who is there walking alongside us. The shepherd guides us through dangerous canyons and prepares a table for us in the very midst of those who'd do us harm. There is no need to fear. Even when we dwell amongst those who would do us harm, we feel safe because the shepherd is with us. Here in the midst of our agony and our sense of aloneness, we hear the promise that even when we walk through the darkest valley, there is no need for fear. Evil may have its say, but it will not prevail, for God is present!
The seeds of this promise of vindication are already present in Psalm 22. Mark knew the whole of this psalm and its promises. Whether on Jesus' lips or not, the psalmist sings, ["For he did not despise or abhor the affliction of the afflicted; he did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him" (Psalm 22:24). The promise of vindication is there. Abandonment is not final, but the agony of this wall of separation is quite real. Easter may come, but it's not here yet. And so for now, the silence of God remains deafening.
__________
1. Henri Nouwen, Seeds of Hope, 2nd ed. (New York: Image Books, 1997), p. 126.
-- Mark 15:34-35
If you're a young child, it can be quite traumatic to get lost in the crowd. You don't know where your mother or father is and you feel abandoned. If you're that child, you hope that your parents are nearby so that when you cry out to them they'll hear and recognize your voice. You want to hear them call out to you, "Here I am, I'm coming for you." You hope that once they hear your voice coming through the crowd, they'll quickly come and rescue you. But what if all you hear is silence? What if no one comes running to sweep you up in their arms? What if you look around and all you see are strange faces and all you hear are unrecognizable voices? With no one there to reach out and embrace you, you feel alone and abandoned. And when that happens, you begin to lose hope.
In recent years, as we've watched a war unfold on television, we've seen the faces of Iraqi women and children crying out to God. At the beginning of the war, their eyes showed the terror of having experienced the shattering noise of falling bombs and missiles. If only it would stop, then there would be peace. Unfortunately, this terror has given way to new terrors, for as the war has dragged on and insurgents' bombs began exploding in their neighborhoods, and while armed gangs terrorized them, they once again cried out for help. As we watch scenes like this from the safety of our living rooms, we can see the confusion, the terror, and the hopelessness in their eyes. Yes, they feel abandoned. They are lost and alone. Where is God? Why does God seem to remain deaf to their plaintive cries?
It had been six hours since the soldiers put Jesus and his two companions on their respective crosses. Darkness had covered the city since noon, and bystanders and gawkers wandered by, mocking and taunting him. They peppered him with questions like: "Where is your God now?" or "You saved others, why can't you save yourself?" "Yes, why can't you climb down from your perch and save yourself and us?"
I'm sure that these thoughts had entered his mind. In his agony, he must've pondered ways of avoiding his destiny. In Gethsemane, Jesus had, in fact, asked God to remove this cup from him. But even then all he heard was silence from God. This was, of course, the "last temptation" as Nikos Kazantzakis imagined it. Why not come down and live a normal extended life? Why not enjoy the pleasures of family and friends far away from the maddening crowd? Even one of the men crucified with him couldn't keep from shouting at him in derision. In that moment, surely, Jesus felt alone and abandoned.
At around three in the afternoon, Jesus once again cried out to God. Now the pain was becoming unbearable, and the questions running through his mind were too unsettling. Surely the taunts of the crowd put seeds of doubt in his mind, and he clearly felt a sense of God's absence. In these moments, as the day began to fade, he cried out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" As he cried out, surely he wondered why God didn't seem to hear his pleas. He must have wondered: "Why are you silent in the face of my tormenters?" Perhaps it was here in this moment that Jesus most completely identified with us. He called out to God, but no one answered. That link with God that sustained him had now been severed, and he tasted the alienation we as humans so often feel. Yes, when darkness strikes our lives, we feel alone and we wonder why God doesn't do something.
But Jesus wasn't the first to utter this cry of dereliction. His question for God has a history, since these words come from Psalm 22, a psalm that once gave voice to Israel's sense of abandonment as it lived through exile in Babylon. In that moment, Israel found itself alone and powerless. Though once they'd been something, even if that something was small, now they were beholden to others, and God didn't seem to care. Just as the psalmist cried out in anguish, pleading for God to end the silence, now Jesus picked up this cry and made it his own. Though the noise of the moment may have been great, all that the psalmist, and now Jesus, heard was God's deafening silence. The words that follow this anguished cry give further depth to his cry of dereliction: "But I am a worm, and not human; scorned by others, and despised by the people" (Psalm 22:6). This is the word that gets our attention. We look at our life and we wonder: does it have any meaning? Is there a purpose to what I'm doing and experiencing? Yes, in our time it is the question of meaning and purpose that haunts us more than the question of guilt.
To be scorned and despised is not just disheartening, it's dehumanizing. Surely there can be no worse feeling than to be rejected. A child wants to play a game, but the other children refuse entry. A friend turns her back on you for no apparent reason. Silence exists where conversation once prevailed. The leper in an earlier age was the epitome of abandonment. A leper would cry out, "Stay away, because I'm unclean." Today, it might be the person who is HIV positive or who suffers from AIDS who knows what it means to be marginalized or feel abandoned.
We can see here that Mark frames Jesus' closing moments of life with Psalm 22. Just as it was in the psalmist's experience, Jesus faced the question: "Where is your God? Yes, why doesn't God rescue you?" All around him, he heard people shouting at him words of scorn and dismissal, and in their abuse they posed a distressing question: "Are you not a godforsaken person?"
Yes, in these agonizing moments before death, Jesus experienced true "god-forsakenness." We use that term to describe a deserted place, a place in the wilderness where not even God would want to dwell. Jesus understood what it was like to dwell where no one wished to be. It seemed as though God had slammed the door in his face, leaving him out in the cold. Oh, we've all felt this way on occasion. It's insult added to injury. When it comes to our cries to God, our prayers of desperation, we begin to wonder, is God even listening? Prayer is always a difficult proposition. We pour out our hearts, always wondering if someone is really listening. How can we be sure that God is even there? We cannot hear God's voice or see God's face, because God is invisible to us. Yet, we cry out anyway, just hoping that someone will rescue us from this feeling of abandonment.
There is, however, more than simply silence here. In the background, we hear the psalmist begin to sing a song of deliverance. Having reflected on Jesus' experience of being abandoned in his moment of greatest need, Henri Nouwen writes:
When Jesus spoke these words on the cross, total aloneness and full acceptance touched each other. In that moment of complete emptiness all was fulfilled. In that hour of darkness new light was seen. While death was witnessed, life was affirmed. Where God's absence was most loudly expressed, God's presence was most profoundly revealed.1
Even as we, together with Jesus, feel God's absence, even when the answer we seek doesn't seem to be forthcoming, God remains present.
I think it's instructive to remember that the psalm following this song of abandonment is Psalm 23. This is a most beloved song that speaks of the shepherd's presence in the midst of our despair. When we feel alone and abandoned, it's the shepherd who is there walking alongside us. The shepherd guides us through dangerous canyons and prepares a table for us in the very midst of those who'd do us harm. There is no need to fear. Even when we dwell amongst those who would do us harm, we feel safe because the shepherd is with us. Here in the midst of our agony and our sense of aloneness, we hear the promise that even when we walk through the darkest valley, there is no need for fear. Evil may have its say, but it will not prevail, for God is present!
The seeds of this promise of vindication are already present in Psalm 22. Mark knew the whole of this psalm and its promises. Whether on Jesus' lips or not, the psalmist sings, ["For he did not despise or abhor the affliction of the afflicted; he did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him" (Psalm 22:24). The promise of vindication is there. Abandonment is not final, but the agony of this wall of separation is quite real. Easter may come, but it's not here yet. And so for now, the silence of God remains deafening.
__________
1. Henri Nouwen, Seeds of Hope, 2nd ed. (New York: Image Books, 1997), p. 126.
