Irreverin
Our Good Friday service at Saint Andrew this year is all music and poetry–reflections on the Seven Last Words of Christ, in spoken verse and song. Below are the poetic reflections written by members of our church family. I’m also providing links to the songs that accompany each word, if you’d like a feel for the whole experience. Spoiler alert: If you’re coming to church tonight, this is the whole service. So if you want a few surprises, skip reading this. For everyone else–a blessed Friday to you. May you be disturbed, discomorted, shaken and stirred for the journey ahead.
Gathering at the Cross (an invitation) 
These last words of Christ are a synopsis of not only his life, but our own as well.
Jesus forgave his murderers because they did not realize the sacredness of every human being. Ask a griever of murder. They could not see the innate beauty, holiness and wholeness of what was within every being. Jesus died like other accused persons. He looked side to side to those hanging in agony with Him, nodding to their shared humanity and pain. Forgiveness has nothing to do with the perpetrator, but a gradual letting go of our pain. You don’t forget: not to retaliate, but to deepen our compassion for ourselves and others.
We have all been human. There is nothing more tender than one being honestly forgiven for what they have done…
We have all felt the dark night of the soul. When feeling abandoned and so totally alone– echoes of agonizing stillness blast your heart. It penetrates the hardened walls of our soft heart. You are greeted by yourself and God. Abandon judgment and self criticism. The entrance to the truth– the Truth that we are never alone– opens to a breath and width of love, serenity and peace beyond words.
We all thirst … physically, emotionally, mentally, socially and spiritually. It is only satiated by moments of quiet and stillness. Love, compassion, self-acceptance and mercy quench fear, loneliness, guilt, shame self-judgment and self-hate.
When we accept our life just as it is— the harshness, hate, unfairness and injustice that surrounds us–that acceptance leaves us less wounded. We are finished with the greed, power, control, fame and goal driven frenetic life that has become our model of modern day emptiness. Peace greets and welcomes us to wholeness. Our wounds begin to heal, freeing us to help wounded others.
Each moment, each breath, we surrender to the next. We have gone through the pain of the past and into a constant new beginning, not knowing what lays before us. Surrendering is the antithesis of humanity, and yet, it brings freedom and expansion that we never thought possible. Gratitude, even in difficult times, can become our new born human mantra.
Grief, pain, poverty, anger, disobedience and disappearance causing horrible anguish for his parents; dark nights of the soul, questioning, and defiance; screaming and yelling and finally acceptance and surrender…Jesus’ life is our life, although our stories may differ. My God, your God. Our shared humanity and divinity. —Jody Gyulay
The First Word: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.”
They relapse until their strength is sapped and their brains collapse waiting for their time on Earth to lapse while they fight for scraps that fall from the hands of the liars that claim ‘we can all raise ourselves by our bootstraps’ like that’s something more than an empty trope
They vote not with hope but for whichever dope holds the longest hangman’s rope, then mope when the scope of destruction causes myopia and try to cope with the dystopia and grope in the darkness for the cornucopia of each other’s love
They ignore the white turtledove that flies down from above and with their fists shove strangers away and forget we’re all clove from the same clay. Why move to help the stray when they can get preapproved the same day? They say “it doesn’t behoove me to parlay with this impoverished drove” as they flay anyone richer than them with castigation
They’ve became a nation on medication afraid of social demonstration, consider intentional aggravation to be an abomination, trade their grandchildren’s future elation for their own greedy satiation, they abhor moderation and seek inebriation from social media inundation, they equate liberation with isolation and choose surgical reanimation over graceful maturation. Any mention of salvation through self-sacrifice makes them balk
They never spend a second walkin’ in someone else’s moccasins just gawk at the awkward chalk outlines on their neighbor’s front yard. They say “sacrifice is hard” as they clock 95 in their Prius. They say “peace is hard” as they point their glocks towards heaven. They say “being a good neighbor is hard” as they double check their padlocks. As they stalk your flock, they race-walk to Hell
Why can’t they hear the bell tolling or smell the sin rolling in waves over their shoulders, can’t tell they’re not doing well controlling life’s groundswell rolling? Why can’t they see that endless trolling doesn’t gel with the plan God is bankrolling? It does no good to tell them to cease the endless vitriolling. They don’t see that an empty heart is a shell, it needs no patrolling, it can’t be saved
If they don’t want to be enslaved by the ethics of the craven and depraved, they must turn away from evil. If they want their accolades engraved they must join the real Crusade, and their escapades will make them modern society’s renegades. The enemies of God will label them The Misbehaved. They must do all the things their cultural decorum forbade. They must join a cavalcade worthy of You
In the meantime, Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. —Alex Waller
The Second Word: “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
Of all the watchers gathered at Golgotha…
-The teachers who hated him,
-The priests who paid for him in silver,
-The ghost of the traitor who sold him out,
-The fickle crowds who worshiped only the miracles which would change their lives,
-Pilate in his palace trying to justify his decisions,
-The disciples watching from a fearful distance,
-Criminals…both In agony, to the right and left of Jesus, guilty of high treason against Rome. Rebels. Traitors. Criminals.
Of all the watchers gathered at Golgotha, I would choose to be like the criminal.
Let me tell you why.
Agony times two. Blinded by his own pain, the criminal on the right moves his head,
Trying to see the writing on the board at the top of Jesus’ cross.
He is distracted by the thorns that circle Jesus’ head at an angle,
Like a crown sitting askew above the blood seeping down his face.
Then the sun hits Jesus’ cross at just the right slant,
And both criminals can see now what is written:
“This is the King of the Jews.”
Heard of him, they think.
Maybe even heard him speak.
Heard he healed the sick,
Walked on water,
Even raised the dead.
Agony times three.
Convinced by the sign, the agony on the left rails at Jesus in a voice that knows that hope is dead,
“Aren’t you the Christ? Save yourself and us.”
Silence and agony times four.
And the first, who might have echoed the other, instead moans,
“Don’t you fear God? We’re guilty. We did what they say we did. This man did nothing wrong.” And with the last of his conscious awareness, he appeals to the King of the Jews.
”Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.”
Then Jesus, in agony times numberless, says simply,
“Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
And it is for this that I can say I would choose to be the criminal on the cross with Jesus.
“TODAY,” Jesus said. “You will be with me in paradise.”
Not tomorrow. Not in three days. Not next week. Today. Within just hours.
“Today,” Jesus said, “YOU WILL be with me in paradise.” Declaring the future. Not a command, but a prediction. A certainty.
Jesus said “You will BE WITH ME in paradise.”
As if to say, “I’m going; this is a given. I’m going. You will come too.
As surely as the sun will rise tomorrow… As surely as the dark will come tonight…
The inevitable will of God will continue.
“Today you will be with me in paradise.”
Paradise. The Garden in Eden. The third heaven.
That place beyond the immediate heaven of earth’s atmosphere.
Beyond space. Beyond the countless universes.
To God himself. At home with God himself.
A criminal assured of a thing unique in the history of mankind…
Accompanying Jesus to paradise.
And why would I choose to be like the criminal?
To place my life, my eternal future in Jesus hands…
Why would I not choose such a role. —Pat Boston
Pieta: The Silence and the Sorrow
The Third Word: “Woman, behold your son. Son, behold your mother.”
This is an execution.
And I don’t want to go.
I’m reluctant to put my toe into that water.
Because we have children
I’d rather write about Mary with her baby
That’s a picture easier to embrace.
From the day a baby comes into this world,
(Even children who arrive without heralds, without angels…)
Families just love you
We seek your little faces
We listen to the whisper of your sleep
We celebrate your rhyming and climbing and bouncing.
Your family has this big deep love for you
We want to protect your knees from scrapes
Your hearts from aches
So that’s why its just so hard to take in this scene.
This agonizing painful death
That makes our hearts heavy and aching
As Jesus comforts his mother and friend
We are reminded
We are here as family
To care for one and other
As we endure our pain and wait for the mystery to unfold. —Julie Broski
The Fourth Word: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
- Nothing, I thought, would pull me out
of the reverie of Jedis and evil emperors
Built with one part little plastic figures
And two parts constellated imagination.
Everything was simple there, I was the one
In control.
A raised voice from the other room, followed by
Another raised voice.
Two people who were the half and other half
Of my whole wide world, the sense within the senseless
Furtive Footsteps lead me to the hallway.
A tear streaked mother’s face, a father with set jaw.
The loudest silence I have ever heard.
A break in belonging.
My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?
- So cliche, it is embarrassing to even write.
A high school afternoon, with a yellow haired girl
Loud music in a cruising car, hamburgers and milkshakes.
There was nothing but electric possibility in the air.
The car turns down the tree-lined movie set of a street.
Once again, a tear-streaked mother, head hanging heavy,
Sits on the stoop.
She holds my hand in her hand.
“She is gone.”
The mother who gave my mother life,
The grandmother who danced to music
She couldn’t stand just to make me laugh.
“She is gone”. Another reverie broken.
Hamburgers and milkshakes and cruising cars.
She is gone and I didn’t get to say good bye.
My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?
- The terrace of a cheap, one bed-room apartment.
A celebratory sweet swisher cigar stuck between my teeth.
The news, so unexpected and sooner than planned
No longer scares me.
“I am going to be a father.”
Smoke rings blown out over the edge of the deck
And into the night air. A door slides behind me,
A tug at my sleeve.
“Something is wrong. There is blood, too much blood”
My thoughts turn to god, to my wife, to my unborn child.
A few days I was angry…I am not ready for this.
Now I want nothing more than to make sure this life lives longer.
Why are you doing this to me I say to noone…or of course to someone.
My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?
- Where is my wife? This question is meant in two ways:
She has been lost to me, some unspoken wall built
Brick by brick over years of denial and shame.
But also, where is she now, in this house, at this moment
A door, meant to be closed, but left open just a crack.
I peak inside.
She is there. She is on her knees. Her hands held tightly
Clasped across her chest, tears rolling down from her cheeks.
“Don’t let me be this way. Dear God, don’t let me be gay.”
I have always known. And I didnt know at all. Both are true somehow.
I feel sadness course through my veins like an IV injection.
Sad for her. Sad for the kids. Sad for me.
My marriage is over.
My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?
- At first I don’t see your face as it is today…contorted
With rage, and hate, and fear, and pain.
I see your dimpled cheeks, robust with baby fat and
Eyes blue and soft and trusting.
I don’t see your hair cut short and angry with false
Hues of blue and cherry red and midnight black.
I see the tightly wound ringlets of blonde curls,
Splashing down like waves over your cheeks.
I don’t hear your voice as it is now…
Choked with loathing and wearniness
Strained with rage and hurt.
I hear your giggle, light and airy and pondering
The soft lilt as you say “Daddy I love you.”
But there was the blood…
The rivulets of red beads forming in a line
At your wrist and marching like ants down your arm.
How many reveries can be broken in a lifetime?
What is the matter with you? I think.
I love you I say.
I hold you in my arms.
My baby, my baby, it is going to be ok
Don’t hurt anymore. Let me hurt for you.
My God, My God Why hast thou forsaken me?
Epilogue:
My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me.
In the crack of the slavers whip.
In the fire of hunger in our belly.
At the drop of each bomb.
In the flight from home.
In the broken families,
The hurting children.
The lost and the confused.
In the hanging from each and every cross.
My God, My God….why hast thou forsaken me? —Bill Martinie
The Fifth Word: “I Thirst.”
Jesus spoke this simple phrase so many lifetimes ago
Strikingly human
So universally real to all times, all people
As real as the water relieving our dry throats
As real as the refreshing rain bringing life to the cracked, thirsty ground
As real as the wine shared at Communion
Which reminds us of that moment
Which refreshes our dry and thirsty spirits
Which restores our faith
On this Friday which connects us to that Friday all those many years ago. —Melody & Daphne Zakarian (age 14)
The Sixth Word: “It is Finished”
“It is finished;”
He takes a last breath.
“It is finished;”
Enveloped by death.
“It is finished;”
A man, bloodied and broken.
“It is finished;”
A salvation, yet unspoken.
“It is finished;”
Entombed behind stone.
“It is finished;”
Rest flesh, and rest bone.
“It is finished;”
One life for all men.
“It is finished;”
Until we meet Him again.
“It is finished.” —Brian Foster
The Seventh Word: “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”
“Into your hands,” he says. “Into your hands I commit.
Into your hands, I lay my spirit.”
So we will lay down too.
Today we lay down and die a little
For the suffering that didn’t go with him.
Into his hands we lay the sin
Of every child born hungry.
And every mother left holding an empty cloth.
Into his hands, we lay the sin
Of the burning cross, the swinging noose;
Of the barricade, the higher wall,
And the empty song of peace that hovers
On this same bitter breeze.
Into those hands, soiled with mud
and tears and sweat and blood
There we lay down our hollow words of atonement
And our sinful certainty that love will fail
Unless it is paid in flesh.
His hands, torn by our silence,
Our own fear; for the love comfort and safety;
Into his hands, empty in death,
we lay the fullness of our winter hearts.
Turning our eyes at the end.
The upturned palms, now full of us;
they bear our confession, our vain contrition.
Full of us. The weight of the weary world.
So that even with holes in his hands,
He carries us. He carries us all.
We turn to go; the crumbs of last night’s bread
leaving a trail from his feet to back home again.
To doors that close and roofs that shelter
and floorboards that know us by name. We go.
But not unburdened.
The turning away has its own price to pay;
the laying down, the silence, the giving over…
It costs us.
We see now what it is that we carry,
We feel now the weight that we hold.
We see now– that into our hands
He left his spirit.
Into our hands he died.
And so we go, but not without heaviness.
Because now we—we who know his name,
We who heard those suffering words,
Who witnessed that last breath
We carry the weight of him.
We are parts of that body, broken.
Hands and feet and pierced side.
His words catch at our throats
as we gather the crumbs from last night’s dinner
And bear him down the road. —Erin Wathen
The Hanging Tree
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-Oi43EsQNU
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