The Son cries out, but the Father does not answer (Mt. 27:46)

         Jesus cries out on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  This is a painful cry of desolation that we hear from Jesus.  With these words, Jesus seems to make a confession of despair in the face of his suffering.  And no wonder.  His cross is the culmination of a hellish tragedy, laden with deceit, infidelity, betrayal, ridicule and rejection.  Religious and political leaders have falsely accused Jesus; his dearest and closest friends have fled in fear; the crowds have mocked him and spit on him; he has suffered the indescribable cruelty of crucifixion.  He is physically and morally exhausted.  Every ounce of energy gone.  Even the heavens have darkened in solidarity.  Is there any wonder that Jesus cries out in agony, “My god, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

            Yet, these are not words of despair.  These are words of protest.  Jesus protests his sense of abandonment and neglect.  His entire mission has been to do the will of his heavenly Father.  This was his only food, the food by which he carried out his mission, emptying himself for others, proclaiming God’s kingdom, and doing good works.  And, Jesus had some measure of success—gathering a band of faithful followers and inspiring crowds to embrace his message of love and hope.  And now this—the injustice of the crucifixion, and the stone cold silence of God.  The Son cries out, but the Father does not answer.

            The Evangelist “does not hesitate to show Jesus in the utter agony of feeling forsaken as he faces a terrible death” (R. Brown, 44).  At his lowest moment, Jesus cries out in unity with the whole human condition.  We can understand the anguished prayer of Jesus in the Garden where he prayed for this cup to pass from him.  It is no wonder that, in the depths of his suffering on the cross, Jesus now confronts God with his pleading…but God does not answer.  God is silent.

            The contrast between Jesus on the cross and Jesus in the desert at the beginning of his public ministry is stark indeed.  Jesus in the desert declares his unwavering faith in God, and the angels immediately come to his aid.  Jesus on the cross has proven his faith in God to the last, and yet, no one comes to his aid, not even God it seems.  This contrast, this undeserved abandonment, this is the injustice that Jesus questions with his protest. 

            Perhaps the explanation for this protest lies in plain sight at the foot of the cross.  No one is there, no one except passersby who mock Jesus in idle curiosity.  All those who should have been there are nowhere to be found—his disciples, his supporters, his friends, his family.  The Evangelist even says that the women who were followers of Jesus and had ministered to him were watching from a distance.  All those whom Jesus held near and dear to his heart had left him alone in his hour of greatest need.  Jesus felt abandoned, and he projected this feeling of abandonment onto God.  This is what drives his question:  why have you forsaken me.  Because he was abandoned by all, Jesus felt abandoned even by God.

            A similar fate awaits many in today’s society.  When those who should care for us abandon us, we often feel abandoned by God.  When we abandon those for whom we should care, they feel abandoned by God.  This is especially true for those who cannot fend for themselves—the young, the old, the homeless, those without resources, the weak.  Those who are isolated from a web of love and support often have a deep sense of powerlessness.  When their pleas for help go unanswered, they often feel abandoned.  Eventually, they feel abandoned even by God.

            This is a sad and terrible fate that the prophet Isaiah warns against (58:7).  Isaiah warns us not to turn our backs on our own, especially the vulnerable and those who suffer.  We are called to see the face of Christ in the sufferer, even in those whom we think deserve to suffer.  Our commitment to Christ compels us to respond to suffering with love.  There is no place for self righteousness in regard to the suffering of our neighbor.  We, the Samaritan of today, stop by the side of the road, not out of curiosity, but out of solidarity, availability, sensitivity, and a willingness to be effective in our help (Salvifici doloris, 28-29, John Paul II). 

            Although our immediate response to suffering is invariably one of protest, our love for Christ and for others compels us to discover anew the meaning of suffering, not on a human level, but on God’s level.  On God’s level, love becomes the most effective response and antidote to suffering of any kind, but especially suffering from hatred, violence, cruelty, contempt, and insensitivity.  Through his own life and mission of love, Christ taught us to seek the good with our own suffering and to care for those who suffer. 

            Christ is our model and protector.  He has been in the depths of our suffering.  The crucified Christ understands how we feel when faced with insurmountable odds.  He knows what it means to feel all alone and without help from anyone.  Jesus knows the feeling of exhaustion, the fear of never being able to succeed, the horrible doubt of not having done the right thing.  He knows the pain and isolation of those who are divorced, addicted to drugs or alcohol, battered or raped, out of work and without resources.  Jesus knows the feeling of depression and chronic disability.  Jesus understands the silence of God.

            Thus, we are not alone in these experiences.  Because of our mutual need for care and understanding, there is solidarity among those who suffer.  Because of Christ’s constant concern and love for each of us, there is also solidarity with him, who suffers with us each time we suffer.  For this reason, all suffering is holy and deserves reverence.

            The Anglican poet Elizabeth Lavers gives voice to this solidarity and reverence in her poem, “Why hast Thou forsaken me?”  Her loving verse of four stanzas with four lines each is a fitting conclusion to this reflection:

Rejected and set apart
To hang between earth and sky,
Straight from his anguished heart
Comes this dreadful cry.

His spirit wearies now.

Forsaken and alone.

Bearing, I can’t tell how,

Our sins, not his own.

No voice to wish him well.

No milestone or mark

In all the bleak wastes of Hell,

All the freezing dark.

Now that he nears death’s gate

I must not turn away.

But I weep for him, desolate.

And try to pray.

Palm Sunday, Year C 2016 (Lk 22:14—23:56)

            What a contrast between the joyful reception of Jesus upon his arrival in Jerusalem and the cruel rejection and agonizing death he will soon endure.  When Jesus first arrives in Jerusalem, his disciples are overjoyed.  They praise God for all the mighty deeds they had seen—the same disciples who will soon desert Jesus and pretend they never knew him.  For now, however, the disciples celebrate Jesus as a true king with no idea of what fate shall soon be theirs:  “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord” is the praise they shout as they spread their cloaks on the road before him.  Who would believe that soon many of them will call for his death in exchange for the release of a murderer?  Even God it seems will abandon Jesus in his darkest hour.  How else to explain the words Jesus moans on the cross:  “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”   

            For us today, kings are little more than a social curiosity with celebrity status. Royalty is simply out of place in our American culture and way of life. We value independence, self reliance and democracy far too much than to allow a serious role for a king in our society.  For this reason, Palm Sunday serves as a reminder that Jesus Christ is the true King of heaven and earth.  The challenge for us is how to acknowledge and honor Jesus as the king of our lives. 

            Through his life and mission, Jesus shows us what HE means by king, and how we can participate in the kingdom of God.  The paradigm that Jesus offers as a guide is the very opposite of an ordinary understanding of royalty. That paradigm begins with his birth into poverty rather than wealth.  His birthplace was a stable for animals rather than a castle for monarchs.      

            As an adult, he lives as a hermit for forty days in a desert, visits a social outcast named John to get baptized, travels the countryside as a homeless person, eats with tax collectors and sinners, enlists the aid of women, and preaches the good news of salvation.  Indeed, a woman anoints his feet with tears and oil, rather than his head as the high priest would anoint a king of this world. 

            In fact, Jesus promotes a kingdom not of this world, where membership is freely granted to faithful servants, not earned by loyal subjects, and where love, not power and wealth, rules supreme.  Many of those who listen do not understand nor do they accept his message that love of God and love of neighbor go hand in hand.  Serving others as the way to love God is not in their vocabulary.

            And yet, this is the message that Jesus delivers over and over.  He informs his followers that the Son of Man came to serve, not to be served.  He tells them that they must not lord it over others.  That the greatest among them must be the least, the one who washes the feet of the others.  

            Jesus demonstrates through word and deed what being a king means and what participation in the kingdom of God entails.  He heals the sick; he cares for the poor, the vulnerable, the marginalized; he challenges injustice; he insists that mercy and compassion overrule custom and ritual; he sums up the entire Mosaic Law with the dual command to love God and to love neighbor as self.

            Jesus is no one’s fool, however.  He warns his disciples that following in his footsteps is risky.  He makes it clear that those who challenge injustice and go against the grain to oppose greed and extravagant accumulation can expect the same fate that he will soon endure.  The only assistance Jesus offers is a sure promise to send his Spirit to guide the way and provide the necessary defense.  At first, the disciples don’t understand what fate he has in mind.  But before long, they witness firsthand what awaits their beloved teacher, only to catch a glimpse of their own futures—and they run. 

            Only after his humiliating death of sacrifice is Jesus able to claim his throne of love.  Only then does Jesus come into his kingdom to rule the hearts of those who follow him in the way of love.  We celebrate the entrance of our great King with full awareness of what participation in his kingdom really means.  Following Christ means picking up the cross of self denial, rather than a royal scepter of power and wealth.  It means having an active regard for others and ourselves out of love for God.  It means seeking what has everlasting value.  It means choosing substance over appearance.  As St. Paul reminds us, following Jesus means living a life worthy of the gift and calling we have received—living in peace and unity, with patience and humility, bearing with one another through love—living in the Spirit of Christ our King (Eph 4:1-6; cf. 2 Pt 1:10-11).