Forsake, abandon, desert, leave utterly alone,
renounce…
“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”
These are the final words of Jesus recorded in the
Gospel of Mark and in Matthew.
What a haunting, hopeless, even horrifying end
that shrouds us all in a mystery of intent.
What does God want us to understand here? Was it ultimately a cry of victory, as so many
surmise, extending his use of Psalm 22 through his own suffering to confidence
in God’s saving power? (Psalm 22: 1-3a).
Or are we left hanging in his abandonment…as so many of us are when we’ve
gone down to the pit, utterly bereft of hope, crying out with abandon at the
darkness of feeling utterly and totally alone?
It’s funny what strikes you at different moments
of your living. For years I have read,
heard, pondered these words and I never connected that these, according to
some, were his very last words. I think
of what my last words might be to my husband, my children. I would pray they are “I love you.”
Yet Jesus shows us the fullness of his human
suffering as he comes to the final moment of his living.
Lucky for us, we know what happens next. We know that God, indeed, so fully embraced
Jesus that he raised him above the suffering in light and life. This resurrection promise assures us that
suffering is never the final word for us, either.
But how sure was Jesus when he cried out, I
wonder? How sure are we?
A number of years ago I was summoned to the bed
of one of my newest church members from my first church, Shiela Plater. Sheila had struggled with cancer for over 10
years. Months before one of her friends
suggested I go and speak with her. From
then on we developed a deep pastoral friendship speaking of matters of life,
death, and faith. She joined the church from her home. Was able to worship with us on only one sunny
Sunday in the beauty of our sanctuary. So on that final day, in the hospital
deep in the stainless steel of Baltimore, MD I was with her as she struggled
for her last few breaths. Suddenly she
squeezed my hand with an intensity I hadn’t felt in a long time. She wasn’t anymore, able to speak. But her eyes, they pierced into mine suddenly
with a terror I had never seen in her. “My
God, My God, don’t forsake me” she seemed to be crying! I didn’t expect it. She had said she was ready to go, and here
she was, fearing like I’d never seen before, eyes pitch black with sorrow. I didn’t know what to do, but hold her ever
so tightly, speaking, almost shouting the 23rd psalm. I thought to myself, “I must pray her through
to the other side, to the light. Please
God, help me do this.”
Jesus wasn’t really alone before the curtain of
the heavens tore in two. There was his
mother, there was Mary Magdalene, there was Mary, the mother of James and
Joseph. There was the mother of the sons
of Zebedee - at least according to Matthew.
There was the centurion. There
was Nicodemus. Gathered, as we imagine,
the ones who believed, the ones who hadn’t abandoned him, the ones who
stayed. I wonder, did they pray him
through to the other side? Was that God’s
intent? Is that where God was? In the prayers of the faithful?
I am so glad that Jesus, too, felt lost and
abandoned. For because of his cries, I
am able to embrace the darkness that surrounds others and breathe in
light. Thank you, Lord Jesus for being
human enough to love me through the darkness and into the light. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment
All comments will be moderated and approved before being added. Thank you for your comment