WHY, GOD?
SCRIPTURE
About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?" (which means "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?").
-Matthew 27:46
We prefer our saviors to look like saviors. We echo Eugene Peterson's paraphrase of the first verse of Isaiah's great prophecy: "Who would have thought GOD's saving power would look like this?" (Isaiah 53:1, MSG). We look with disgust at images of Jesus nailed to a cross, the crown of thorns pressed into his forehead deep enough for blood to stream down his face, which is swollen from the abusive blows that had nothing to do with justice. He slumps, shoulders bowed, gasping for breath. And he says nothing.
He is the teacher who spoke with authority. His words delivered people from blindness, paralysis, death, and hopelessness. He commanded the wind and demons. But when he is the victim of injustice—he says nothing.
Our senses aren't prepared to see anyone nailed to wood, suffocating on a cross, losing blood, dehydrating, gasping for air with painful, inefficient results. Yet we can't take our eyes off Jesus. We must look. That's when we hear the cry that cuts us to the bone--words of utter abandonment. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Here is the dark night of the soul. The comfort and assurance Jesus needed before his last breath was not there. It made the darkness even darker.
But here also is where we realize what Jesus did for us and how far he went to do it. Jesus carried the sin of the world and took on the full effects of God's unrelenting repulsion of sin. In that moment, Jesus took what we need never experience—the total turning away of God from sin. In this moment, the heavens did not open. The dove did not descend. There was no voice affirming the Son who did what his Father asked. There was nothing but silence, darkness, and absence magnifying the agony of Jesus in ways we can never truly understand.
But don't stop looking--because here is where Jesus does the unbelievable. Jesus does not rail against what his Father did not do (save him from this pain). Jesus takes the darkness of God's absence and uses his last breath to commit himself into his Father's hands anyway.
I have heard the cries of many who blame God for not doing something. The darkness they live with is painful. But God does not withdraw his presence from us--not since Jesus took that darkness for us. We never need to know a single moment of abandonment in the way that Jesus experienced it.
So what will we do as we stand before the cross this Good Friday? Will we take all the whys we've hurled at God and leave them where Jesus did—in God's hands?
SCRIPTURE
About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?" (which means "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?").
-Matthew 27:46
We prefer our saviors to look like saviors. We echo Eugene Peterson's paraphrase of the first verse of Isaiah's great prophecy: "Who would have thought GOD's saving power would look like this?" (Isaiah 53:1, MSG). We look with disgust at images of Jesus nailed to a cross, the crown of thorns pressed into his forehead deep enough for blood to stream down his face, which is swollen from the abusive blows that had nothing to do with justice. He slumps, shoulders bowed, gasping for breath. And he says nothing.
He is the teacher who spoke with authority. His words delivered people from blindness, paralysis, death, and hopelessness. He commanded the wind and demons. But when he is the victim of injustice—he says nothing.
Our senses aren't prepared to see anyone nailed to wood, suffocating on a cross, losing blood, dehydrating, gasping for air with painful, inefficient results. Yet we can't take our eyes off Jesus. We must look. That's when we hear the cry that cuts us to the bone--words of utter abandonment. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Here is the dark night of the soul. The comfort and assurance Jesus needed before his last breath was not there. It made the darkness even darker.
But here also is where we realize what Jesus did for us and how far he went to do it. Jesus carried the sin of the world and took on the full effects of God's unrelenting repulsion of sin. In that moment, Jesus took what we need never experience—the total turning away of God from sin. In this moment, the heavens did not open. The dove did not descend. There was no voice affirming the Son who did what his Father asked. There was nothing but silence, darkness, and absence magnifying the agony of Jesus in ways we can never truly understand.
But don't stop looking--because here is where Jesus does the unbelievable. Jesus does not rail against what his Father did not do (save him from this pain). Jesus takes the darkness of God's absence and uses his last breath to commit himself into his Father's hands anyway.
I have heard the cries of many who blame God for not doing something. The darkness they live with is painful. But God does not withdraw his presence from us--not since Jesus took that darkness for us. We never need to know a single moment of abandonment in the way that Jesus experienced it.
So what will we do as we stand before the cross this Good Friday? Will we take all the whys we've hurled at God and leave them where Jesus did—in God's hands?
Since today is a solemn day of reflection, consider praying this prayer several times today:
Understanding Lord,
You know the whys l've lived unsuccessfully.
Today I stand before the cross
Where Jesus took the full impact of my sin.
How can I be anything but grateful?
Because of what you did for me,
I place my unanswered questions in your hands
Because keeping them will destroy me.
I confess that living without your presence
Is worse than living without the answers I want.
Today, I begin a new journey.
I will seek my answers
In the answer you gave all of us
Through the cross where you surrendered all,
Even your why.
Amen
Understanding Lord,
You know the whys l've lived unsuccessfully.
Today I stand before the cross
Where Jesus took the full impact of my sin.
How can I be anything but grateful?
Because of what you did for me,
I place my unanswered questions in your hands
Because keeping them will destroy me.
I confess that living without your presence
Is worse than living without the answers I want.
Today, I begin a new journey.
I will seek my answers
In the answer you gave all of us
Through the cross where you surrendered all,
Even your why.
Amen
Posted in Lent