In general, I think it’s best to start with the good
news. But not always.
In the church we have a tendency to lead with the
bad news most of the time, don’t we? You barely get settled in your seats on a
Sunday morning and we say, “Let’s confess our sins.” It’s like we want to make
sure you’re not too happy. When you think about it, it’s a wonder anyone sticks
around. It’s amazing that people come back for more. Especially in the season
of Lent, when we like to give you an extra-large helping of bad news.
We could all really use some good news right about
now. But sometimes the gospel makes it challenging. A passage like this one we
read today seems like it’s all bad news. Suffering, rejection, crucifixion.
There is also the part about rising again on the third day, but the way he
tucked that in at the end of that list of calamities, I doubt anyone was able
to hear it.
I can only imagine what Peter said to Jesus when he
drew him aside. Hey, Jesus, lighten up. This is not what being the Messiah is
all about. Things have been going well so far. We’re riding a good wave, with
all the healing and the feeding and the casting out demons from innocent
children, you’re doing good work. So why bring up death and suffering and
denial now?
I don’t really know what Peter said to him, but
whatever he said was the wrong thing. Jesus drew away from him and said, “Get
behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on
human things.”
And everyone heard him say it. Now they’re all
listening. So Jesus says more.
If you want to be my follower, then deny yourself;
take up your cross. For any who want to save their life will lose it and those
who lose their life for my sake, for the sake of the gospel, will save it.
This all sounds like bad news.
Maybe that is why we, the church, are pretty good at
handling it – the bad news. We’ve been doing it for a long time.
One of the things we do every Sunday when we come
together for worship is to share our joys and concerns. Right before the
prayers of the people, with the understanding that all these joys and concerns
that we share will be taken up by everyone to hold in their prayers. Sometimes
I will say, we share our joys so that we all may be in celebration together for
the good things in our lives, and we share our concerns so that we all may
share in bearing the burden, the weight of our sorrows. It’s a weekly reminder
that we are all in it together.
And, as I said, I like to start with the good news –
the joys – before going into the concerns. But, as you have probably noticed,
the concerns always outnumber the joys – by a lot. And I don’t believe that is
because we are a bunch of miserable wretches. I think it is because we all have
the sense that in our greatest needs we can turn to the church and have our
burdens lifted.
I think it is because we know that, somehow, at the
cross we can find healing.
It’s a weird notion, that must be said. When Jesus
announced to his followers that they would need to take up their crosses and
follow him, I don’t doubt for a second that they were alarmed by this. They all
knew too well what the cross was about. They lived with it, crosses lining the
roads where they had to walk past them daily, crosses with suffering and dead
bodies hanging from them. It was an instrument of torture and terror, which the
empire used effectively. It was a daily reminder to the people of just what
awaited them should they revolt against the empire. Should they resist the
power of Rome, the cross was the threat.
Yet the mystery of the cross is that Jesus took what
was an ugly instrument of death and turned it into a symbol of life, because
that is where he chose to be. He took this pain into his body, and he brought
healing. And hope.
Jesus says to us, take up your cross and follow me; follow
me into the midst of the hardship and pain. Go where Jesus is already; stand at
the intersection of suffering and divine presence.
As I spent some time with this passage this week, I
could not help but think about Alexei Navalny, whose life ended in a Russian
prison cell on February 16. He was a man who clearly had decided he was willing
to give up his life for the sake of something bigger. And something I learned
just this morning is that in recent years, Navalny converted from atheism to
Christianity. During his trial a few years ago, he spoke about his faith. One
of the things he said was that when he became a believer, everything became
much simpler for him. There were fewer dilemmas for him because it was much
clearer to him what needed to be done. It was not necessarily easier. But it
was clear what he needed to try to do. And he also knew that he was not alone
in it. And all this was well beyond anything he could have imagined before he
became a Christian.
God has created each of us for a life that goes
beyond anything we can imagine, if only we can let go of the bumper pads we
like to wrap ourselves in; if only we would take off the training wheels and
ride into the reality of joy and sorrow, intertwined. See how powerful it is.
If you want to see this at work in a lovely,
delightful way, find a bunch of young children to share joys and concerns with.
I used to do this with a church preschool. We would bring the children into the
sanctuary and sit down in a circle. We lit a candle, sang a song, and then
invited the children to share their joys and concerns. Just like we do here.
As we went around the circle, I would ask each one if
they had any joys or concerns to share and they often would tell me they had
both. Then I would ask them which they would like to start with, and they
usually wanted to start with their concern. I think, like most of us, the
concern is what feels most urgent.
The things they shared ran the gamut. It could be a
joy like, “I have candy in my room!” or it could be a concern like, “Daddy
moved away,” or “Mommy had to go to the hospital.” Little people have big
concerns.
Sometimes they seemed kind of unclear, though, about
just what would constitute a joy or a concern. One day there was a girl who
said to me, “I have a joy! Elena is my best friend.” I said how glad I was that
she had Elena. Then she said, “I have a concern, too! Tony is my best friend.”
So, I don’t know what that meant. Maybe she didn’t really know either. And
that’s okay, because I think we are all a little hazy sometimes on what
qualifies as good news and bad news.
But one day I asked a child if he had a joy or a
concern to share and he told me he had a conjoy. And I think that is a
brilliant word.
There might not really be that much of a difference
between a joy and a concern. They are the warp and the weft of life. And if we
think that we can cut a wide path around the pain of life and just have joy,
joy, joy all the time, we are lying to ourselves. The way to joy is very often
right through the pain. The way to the good news is through the bad news. The
way to light is through the darkness.
The way to Jesus is through the cross. And the way
is full of conjoys.
May you live this life of conjoy, in its fullness.
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