Good Friday Reflection
Doubt takes different forms. When people think about doubt in terms of religion, people tend to think about big-picture structural doubts. Does God exist? Did Jesus rise from the dead? Things like that. But there are other, more subtle forms of doubt.
Last night at Maundy Thursday service, I heard a stem-winder of a sermon. The topic of the sermon was how Jesus's death and resurrection defeats the Empire of Death, which is powered by fear, scarcity, and division. It was a fantastic sermon, and it presented the Christian message in its most vital and relevant possible form.
And yet, as I was sitting there, the doubts came. Did it really? Did this story that we remember every year really defeat fear, scarcity, and division? Or, even, did it provide the possibility of overcoming those forces? Fear, scarcity, and division seem more powerful and more omnipresent then ever. It doesn't feel like those forces are being defeated, or even in remote threat of being defeated.
It's strange, really. Logically, if you believe in a God who created the universe and holds it in existence, such a God must be able to overcome purely human and local forces like this. It must be the case that these things can be overcome, but it doesn't feel like they can. For me, my doubts are far less focused on whether Jesus was real and far more focused on whether Jesus's death really means anything or changes anything. Some times the cross feels like a lost cause. That's how it feels right now.
The services of the Triduum--Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Vigil--are about marking out time. Good Friday is a day, but really it is two days, a 48 hour period from the end of the Maundy Thursday service until the beginning of the Easter Vigil service. I think the purpose of these liturgies is to force us to stay for a while in a liminal space, a space that hangs between what has come and what we know is coming next. We've all read the story and we all know what comes next, but we need to be forced to stop and wait before we get to the ultimate resolution. If we are in an optimistic mood, the temptation is to skip ahead past all the bad stuff and get to the reassurance of Easter. But too much optimism, too much solar Christianity, and we don't do justice to the state of the world. But, more importantly, we shut down and marginalize and exclude the folks who are in the space of doubt, whatever those doubts might be. Excessive and forced optimism can be an enormous burden on those who aren't in that sunny space.
By marking out this time, I feel like the church is intentionally creating this space for our doubts, whatever the nature of those doubts may be. I think, on some level, we are supposed to look at the cross and wonder whether it really changed anything at all, whether any of this matters at all. Doing so is, in a way, entering fully into the experience of Good Friday. After all, it would have seemed to the people standing on Calvary that the cross represented big promises come to naught, hopeful dreams crushed against the weight or reality. It's a big ask, this Christian message, to tell us that we have really won when every indication says that we have lost. Some measure of skepticism is perhaps warranted.
My doubts didn't really abate when I woke up this morning. In an hour or so I will head to Good Friday services proper. Perhaps I will get some measure of consolation. Perhaps I'm looking at 48 hours, or more, of the dark. Either way, sunny optimism and eager looking ahead to Easter is not remotely where I am right now. Sunday is coming, but for now I am thankful for being allowed to stay on Friday for a while. Friday feels more true to where I am right now.
Last night at Maundy Thursday service, I heard a stem-winder of a sermon. The topic of the sermon was how Jesus's death and resurrection defeats the Empire of Death, which is powered by fear, scarcity, and division. It was a fantastic sermon, and it presented the Christian message in its most vital and relevant possible form.
And yet, as I was sitting there, the doubts came. Did it really? Did this story that we remember every year really defeat fear, scarcity, and division? Or, even, did it provide the possibility of overcoming those forces? Fear, scarcity, and division seem more powerful and more omnipresent then ever. It doesn't feel like those forces are being defeated, or even in remote threat of being defeated.
It's strange, really. Logically, if you believe in a God who created the universe and holds it in existence, such a God must be able to overcome purely human and local forces like this. It must be the case that these things can be overcome, but it doesn't feel like they can. For me, my doubts are far less focused on whether Jesus was real and far more focused on whether Jesus's death really means anything or changes anything. Some times the cross feels like a lost cause. That's how it feels right now.
The services of the Triduum--Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Vigil--are about marking out time. Good Friday is a day, but really it is two days, a 48 hour period from the end of the Maundy Thursday service until the beginning of the Easter Vigil service. I think the purpose of these liturgies is to force us to stay for a while in a liminal space, a space that hangs between what has come and what we know is coming next. We've all read the story and we all know what comes next, but we need to be forced to stop and wait before we get to the ultimate resolution. If we are in an optimistic mood, the temptation is to skip ahead past all the bad stuff and get to the reassurance of Easter. But too much optimism, too much solar Christianity, and we don't do justice to the state of the world. But, more importantly, we shut down and marginalize and exclude the folks who are in the space of doubt, whatever those doubts might be. Excessive and forced optimism can be an enormous burden on those who aren't in that sunny space.
By marking out this time, I feel like the church is intentionally creating this space for our doubts, whatever the nature of those doubts may be. I think, on some level, we are supposed to look at the cross and wonder whether it really changed anything at all, whether any of this matters at all. Doing so is, in a way, entering fully into the experience of Good Friday. After all, it would have seemed to the people standing on Calvary that the cross represented big promises come to naught, hopeful dreams crushed against the weight or reality. It's a big ask, this Christian message, to tell us that we have really won when every indication says that we have lost. Some measure of skepticism is perhaps warranted.
My doubts didn't really abate when I woke up this morning. In an hour or so I will head to Good Friday services proper. Perhaps I will get some measure of consolation. Perhaps I'm looking at 48 hours, or more, of the dark. Either way, sunny optimism and eager looking ahead to Easter is not remotely where I am right now. Sunday is coming, but for now I am thankful for being allowed to stay on Friday for a while. Friday feels more true to where I am right now.
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