"What shall I do, then, with the one you call the king of the Jews?" Pilate asked them.
"Crucify him!" they shouted.
"Why? What crime has he committed?" asked Pilate.
But they shouted all the louder, "Crucify him!"
Something is bothering me today, on this Saturday of Holy Week. Yesterday, on Good Friday, Christians around the world entered into the narrative of the crucifixion of Jesus and came face to face with the reality of his death.
Today, we wait, sitting with the discomfort of inactivity, of helplessly remembering the body laid in the tomb, of trying to go about the paces of our daily routines while in reality this story wants to turn our world upside-down, if we will allow it to.
Yesterday, we heard about the chief priests, elders, and teachers of the law who bound Jesus and handed him over to Pilate. We heard the shouts of the crowd, demanding the release of insurrectionist Barabbas, and shouting for the crucifixion of Jesus. We read about the crown of thorns, the charge against him: "The King of the Jews," and the insults hurled at him. We read his final cry, "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?" And we listened as "with a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last."
As a Christian, I'm left wondering what it means to be the disciple of this man who was crucified. I look around for his disciples, looking for some kind of example to follow, but they're conspicuously absent by this point, having fled.
We're supposed to be disciples of Jesus; we're supposed to follow his example. But how far do we go, before we too can be excused, can flee from what's ahead?
In real life, this week, people have nudged me toward choosing crucifixion not once, but twice.
The first time was early this week, when I was sharing about a particular experience this winter--one that had been excruciatingly painful to walk through at the time, involving a dying and a letting go of sorts--and about how God has recently and unexpectedly brought about a restoration of some of what was lost. In response to the story, someone commented about how lucky I am to be able to "really live" like that, when so many others are merely going through the motions. And said how much they'd like to trade places with me. While the intention was good, all I could hear in their comments was a rebuke to the part of me that never wants to live through that particular kind of pain again, for not being faithful enough. "Crucify him!"
The second time, in a separate conversation, I had made myself pretty vulnerable, talking about how another particularly devastating experience had resulted in some pretty unhealthy consequences in its aftermath. We were discussing what we might learn from the experience, and I had articulated that I thought that we should be cautious not to choose ministry at the expense of people's health, that we should be careful when assuming that God was calling us to something if the only way that we could do it was to sacrifice the well-being of those involved. And the response, presented as if it should be taken humorously, was, "Well, except for the crucifixion..." As if, as followers of Christ, choosing health in ministry is a failure to follow Jesus well enough? As if perhaps God might, after all, prefer that we sacrifice our health? "Crucify him!"
Yes, we worship the Crucified One. Yes, Jesus followed God and lived for the values of the Kingdom of God, even to the point of his own death. But does that make crucifixion an end that we should strive for, or a sometimes unfortunate side-effect of commitment to God's upside-down kingdom in a world that espouses very different values? It strikes me that it wasn't God shouting out for Christ to be crucified, but the crowds. And we don't usually laud the crowds for their wisdom and foresight, for joining their voices to the cry because they knew the crucifixion of Jesus to be God's good and perfect will. I don't think that the text is an invitation to call out for one another's crucifixion.
There's another example in the text, much quieter than the loud shouts of the crowds, that I find hopeful as I search for a way to respond to the reality of being a follower of the crucified Christ:
Some women were watching from a distance. Among them were Mary Magdalene,
Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joseph, and Salome.
In Galilee these women had followed him and cared for his needs.
Many other women who had come up with him to Jerusalem were also there.
In the end, it was the women who stayed with Jesus to the very end. It was these women, the ones who had cared for his needs all along, who went up with him to Jerusalem. It was they who saw him breathe his last, and who were there to see the tomb where his body was laid. Later, it was these same women who would return to anoint his body and prepare it for burial.
What if, instead of getting caught up in the drama of crucifixion, and instead of urging one another on toward the cross, we took as our example these female disciples of Jesus? What if we walked with those who found themselves in painful situations, doing our best to care for their needs, to remind them they aren't alone, to bear witness to the sacredness of the moment and then to care for the needs of the aftermath?
What if, instead of urging others towards crucifixion, we were those who "keep watch with those who work, or watch, or weep this night...tend the sick...; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for Your love's sake"?
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