Every now and then I’m astonished by the difference in the way I experience my life as a follower of Christ now and ten years ago. Last Sunday was such a moment…
Donned in a choir robe with a lent-colored purple sash, I was standing in the balcony of our church, in arms reach of a hundred silver organ pipes next to me, overlooking the beautiful windows and arched, intricately painted ceiling of the cathedral. The sanctuary beneath us was flooded with morning light breaking through the stained-glass windows lining all four sides of the church.
My heart was heavy. One month into praying for the people and leaders of Ukraine, as well as the countless Russian soldiers and civilians who did not choose this war. One month of hearing heartbreaking stories of fear, loss, and pain from people just like us. One month of unanswered questions such as why? How long? And how do You see this, God?
Our pastor prayed for the people in Ukraine, his prayers expressing the same helplessness his parishioners felt. Then it was time for our choir to sing. Ave Verum Corpus, in Mozart’s hauntingly beautiful rendering. I almost made it to the end before my tears blurred the music too much to make out any notes. The beauty of the music meeting the pain in my heart with inexplicable harmony. The medieval lyrics speaking of the suffering of Christ on the cross and its redemptive meaning for the lives of those who follow Him as a mysterious answer to my silent questions.
It these days of war, it becomes more obvious than ever that the human experience combines joy and pain, love and suffering. It’s not one or the other. They go together, and they are connected in a way that ultimately eludes even the most ardent seeker of “truth”. This is because joy and pain, love and suffering constitute the mystery of Christ.
It is the mystery of a God who chose not to set the world right by wiping out evil and force everything under His rule. On that day in the wilderness, the temptation was real and tangible: “I will give you all the kingdoms of the world.” Not only an invitation to rule, but to set it all right. Satan was saying, I give you a chance to end all suffering and evil, to create the perfect world with you as a ruler in it, forever.
But Jesus knew that even a right goal, when achieved the wrong way, will turn into a wrong goal. So, instead of reigning from an earthly throne in splendor, God chose to reign from the cross in agony – by sharing in our suffering, seeing our pain, and following us into our darkness. It still eludes us, two thousand years later. Wouldn’t it be so much easier to use a so-called “Act of God” to deal with mankind’s rebellion and cruelty? Let a certain current world leader have a heart attack. Protect the “good ones” and punish the “bad ones”. Why not, God?
The writers of the psalms were in the same conundrum as we are today. How many psalms implore God to punish and destroy the enemies of Israel and bless His own people? Often within the same psalm, the writer will then lament the fact that in reality, the wicked often prosper and their plans come to pass. Even Jesus commented that the Father in Heaven causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. Incidentally, He says this right after commanding his followers to love their enemies.
Clearly, God’s way baffles us today just as it baffled the children of Israel. It insults our sense of justice. And yet – aren’t we glad the lines between good and bad aren’t drawn too tightly? As much as we want to see cruel war criminals punished, do we really want justice in the areas of our own lives where we have wronged others, knowingly or unknowingly? Don’t we all intuitively know we are in daily need of God’s forgiveness, not His judgment?
It seems that in modern Christianity, the cross is as much of an insult to Christians as it is to followers of other religions. The desire to get Christ off the cross is a leading cause for spiritual poverty. The evangelical culture I was part of for many years cannot stand the sight of the suffering Christ – or at least not beyond a few minutes in a passion play, followed by the grandiose resurrection narrative of a triumphant Christ. We want victory. Happiness. Influence. Church names such as Overcomers, Church of the Triumphant or Victory Church express this need to direct attention away from co-suffering love and onto something that is closer to the advertisements of nationalistic politics.
I used to speak with slight about the crucifixes I remembered from the Catholic church of my childhood. “Did they forget about Easter Sunday?” we Evangelicals would mock, proudly wearing our empty crosses. Lord, have mercy.
“Easter Sunday without Good Friday is not only shallow, it’s dangerous.“
In reality, so-called modern Christianity has turned into a one-dimensional affair that misses more than it could ever understand. Easter Sunday without Good Friday is not only shallow, it’s dangerous. If we can only see the victorious Christ, we will also yearn for only victorious experiences as Christians. Which means we bury and deny our pain and suffering – something I have seen plenty of in modern Christian circles.
The problem is, pain that cannot be fully experienced and shared will turn into bitterness and hatred. This is why in many churches these days, a halfhearted prayer for peace is quickly followed by a patriotic, political sermon against the evils of communism or the spiritual warfare between East and West. There are no tears. No sorrow. No confessions of helplessness. It is the shallow way of needing a happy, pragmatic Easter Sunday without the deep mystery of Good Friday.
I started out saying I was astonished by the difference in my Christian experience over the years. Today, I weep over Ukraine. I don’t have any answers. Not spiritually, nor practically. Instead, I let my heart experience the co-suffering love of Christ on the cross as He is absorbing the cruelty of the Roman nails then and the bombs of Putin now into His body. Liturgy and beauty help me refrain from turning my pain into hatred, and instead become more aware of the brokenness of this world and the need for redemptive love. I can’t fathom how He can love through such injustice, but I desire to imitate Him.
I desire it because I know the Way of the Cross is the only way that will save the world.
Liberty Culture says
Without the resurrection, our faith is in vain. Thank God for he who suffered for us. Praise to God who defeated death and sin.
judichri says
Liebe Judith
Danke für deine sehr guten Worte! Auch Lino hat sich lobend geäussert über deine Gedanken. Mir gefällt es, dass du für all die Ungerechtigkeiten keine Antwort hast. Der allerletzte Satz ist allerdings eine Art Antwort: Was Jesus erlitten hat, wird die Welt retten.
Ich wünsche euch ein schönes Wochenende! Seid alle herzlich gegrüsst von
Omi
chattingaboutgod says
I think about about Isaiah 53 and Psalm 22…
Keep your eyes on the risen Lord Jesus Christ… who paid our debt that we could never pay,
“being therefore justified faith we have peace with God , through our Lord Jesus Christ ( Romans 5:1 ) also 1 Corinthians 15:1-4…
God Bless you in the name of the risen LORD Jesus Christ,
Dave