SERMON FOR MAUNDY THURSDAY, APRIL 1, 2021
     When Joseph and Mary took their infant son to the temple in Jerusalem, they encountered Simeon there. “This man was righteous and devout,” we are told. He looked forward to the consolation of Israel, “and the Holy Spirit rested on him.” Simeon takes Jesus in his arms. He blesses his parents and addresses his mother Mary directly: “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed — and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” (Luke 2:25-35) 
     In the last days of Jesus’ life the inner thoughts of those around him are laid bare. They rise and fall abruptly. There are the chief priests and scribes who found Jesus so threatening that they “were looking for a way to arrest [him] by stealth and kill him” (Mark 14:1). Judas, who had followed Jesus as part of his most intimate circle, now, for unspecified reasons, offers them his services. “When they heard it, they were greatly pleased, and promised to give him money“ (Mark14:11).
     Then there is Peter who insists, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you” (Mark 14:31). But when Jesus is executed, he dies between two criminals, not between faithful disciples. Within hours of his vehement declaration, Peter denies his friend three times, just as Jesus warned him he would. Indeed, after their last supper together Jesus tells the Twelve, “You will all become deserters” (Mark 14:27), and not a one of them proves him wrong. 
     Jesus comes before Pontius Pilate, who realizes that the chief priests are motivated by jealousy. When the crowd clamors for the death of Jesus, he challenges them, “Why, what evil has he done?”(Mark 15:14). Yet this powerful man, who himself finds no fault in the prisoner, is content to take the path of least resistance. “So Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released Barabbas for them; and after flogging Jesus, he handed him over to be crucified”  (Mark 15:15). Pilate does allow Joseph of Arimathea to take the body for burial, but he washes his hands of any responsibility for saving Jesus’ life.
     The week begins with the Lord’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem. “Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting,’Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!’” (Mark 11:8-10). Mark tells us that “the whole crowd was spellbound by his teaching” (Mark 11:18). Jesus was so popular that the chief priests and scribes dared not arrest him openly for fear of causing a riot among the people. Yet no one comes to his defense when he stands before Pilate. Now the crowd bays for blood, like a pack of jackals closing in on its prey. “Crucify him,” they cry (Mark 15:13, 14).
     Among the many figures surrounding Jesus in his last days, only one appears to rise rather than fall in her encounter with him, the nameless woman who anoints him with costly ointment. It is striking that her story is told immediately before the account of Judas’ surrender to treachery. Jesus rebukes her critics when they chastise her for her wastefulness. He praises her for what her action reveals: “Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her” (Mark 14:6-9). She is the only one who does not leave Jesus utterly alone, whose kindness does not flinch in the face of the tragedy engulfing him.
     Maundy Thursday commemorates the last night Jesus spent in the company of friends, the last hours that offered him some possibility of altering the course of events. Who could have blamed Jesus, had he chosen to preserve his life, rather than hand it over to those acting out of malice and ignorance? He surely could have, but he does not. This is not an immutable fate he cannot escape. It is a choice he makes. At the same time it is necessary, if the will of God is to be done, if Jesus is to be who God wants him to be. Repeatedly he prays, “Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want” (Mark 14:36). God’s will is made known in His silence. Removing the cup of suffering is not what God wants, and so Jesus goes out from Gethsemane into the darkness where betrayal and death await him. Why is that? Why does Jesus have to die?
     Christians have sought to answer this question in a variety of ways, and the Church has never settled on one explanation exclusively. Surely we will continue to ponder this mystery with fear and hope until that day when we too drink anew from the cup with our Lord in the kingdom of God. Yet two things are clear: The Passion of Christ lays bare the darkest parts of our nature and reveals the depth of God’s love for us. 
     The end of Jesus’ life is horrific. Once he falls from favor, those around him seize the opportunity to torment him. They beat him; they mock and insult him; they readily subject him to this spiraling misery. Justice becomes irrelevant, mercy disappears, and cruelty runs rampant as it does in every generation. There is no end to the disdain and harm inflicted on the vulnerable, on those we have the power to hurt, on the people we fear and the ones we condemn. And here is Jesus, bearing the brunt of our hate and violence — sins that sow death, sins that reap it. He does not turn away from us at our worst. He shines the light of God’s love for us on the darkest part of our souls. He carries the power of God’s love for us into the grave. He had to die so that we might come to newness of life. Jesus had to die so that we would know what it means to love. Amen.