May
the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts be acceptable to
you, O Christ, our God and our Redeemer.
At
the end of today’s gospel, we are left with an empty cross. To those who first
lived the Jesus story, this was its horrible climax. Their Rabbi, their Lord,
their promise of a future filled with hope, was executed by their Roman
overlords. Hope was destroyed with the death of their leader and teacher. With
Jesus’ end, everything was finished. Or so it seemed.
As I
was preparing for this sermon, I found myself thinking about symbols of faith. One
of those symbols is the cross, which remains an essential symbol of our faith. Without
it and its brutal suffering, the empty tomb would not have been possible. Yet it
is not the only symbol of faith. There is the bread which we shared yesterday
evening, a commemoration and a celebration of the bread which Jesus shared with
His disciples. You can probably think of other symbols of faith important to
you.
Another
symbol which comes to my mind is that of stone – not that of the tomb, but that
found in the Garden of Gethsemane. You may recall that in January I spent two
weeks in the Holy Land. One of the sites we visited was the church
commemorating Gethsemane. We don’t know whether it is the exact place where
Jesus and his disciples waited in what would become the last night of His
earthly life. But we do know, based on the geography of Scripture, that it was
somewhere in the immediate vicinity. It is situated in a valley which looks up
to the Temple Mount and the surrounding city of Jerusalem. Behind it is a steep
hill. Today that hill is covered with Jewish graves, some of which were there
in Jesus’ day and centuries before. He had only to walk up the hill and out of
town to safety. He probably had a good idea of what was coming. The Romans used
crucifixion not only as a punishment, but as a deterrent, hanging the dying
along well-used public roads for all to see. Like other prophets before Him, He
followed the call to question the powers-that-be in His community. He knew from
His Scriptural heritage it had not ended well for those prophets, either.
At
the front of the church at the Garden of Gethsemane, at the foot of the altar,
is a large stone. Pilgrims swarm near, to kneel and touch it. It is expansive,
flat and cool. It has been smoothed along the edges, shining from the touch of
generations of pilgrims. As I knelt among the swarm, I felt quiet in spite of
them. I imagined Jesus lying on the cool stone, praying that the worst may be
withheld. Though is disciples are nearby, they are asleep and unaware. Jesus is
alone, perhaps more alone than he has ever been. He could have risen and walked
up the hill. Instead, he stayed.
That
stone has become, for me, a symbol of faith.
Yesterday,
Jesus celebrated with his friends. Today, we are left with an empty cross. With
Jesus’ end, everything was finished. Or so it seemed…until God had the last
word.
