The Witness: Taking Jesus' Death Personally

Taking Jesus' Death Personally
By Leon Spencer
Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Lectionary Reflections for Maundy Thursday (A)

Readings for Maundy Thursday, Year A, Mar. 24, 2005

Exodus 12:1-4, (5-10), 11-14
Psalm 116:1, 10-17
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Garrison Keillor tells the story of his uncle who, at annual family gatherings during Holy Week, would read the story of the passion and death of Jesus. And each year, when he came to the verses describing Jesus' betrayal, he would burst into tears. The family would sit awkwardly until the man was able to continue the reading. Keillor commented that his uncle took the death of his Lord "so personally." He'd pause in his story, then add: "The rest of the church had gotten over that years ago."

[I]t was a given -- to me -- that I would have stood by Jesus, ready to get on with a defense of the message of justice against the corrupt powers-that-be. However presumptuous that reaction, it was emblematic of a good depersonalized faith. . .

Many of us have resisted taking Jesus' death "personally," perhaps out of a desire to distance ourselves from those whose stress upon their personal walk with Jesus seems narrowly to exclude not only the rest of us, but a thinking and tolerant faith as well. And yet Maundy Thursday brings us again to experience the intimacy of a narrative about a final meal with one's friends, sensing the pain of what is to come, and realizing, perhaps, how personal it all is.

I confess to resenting being placed in the position, in our role-played Gospel reading on Palm Sunday, of having to say, not once but three times, "Crucify him." As one who has spent most of my adult life engaged in justice and peace work, it is appealing to me to think less of the person of Jesus and more of the principles for which Jesus stood, more of the challenging counter-cultural message of the Gospel, more of the reasoning that we engage in to discern issues in society that demand challenges from the Body of Christ. In that context it was a given -- to me -- that I would have stood by Jesus, ready to get on with a defense of the message of justice against the corrupt powers-that-be. However presumptuous that reaction, it was emblematic of a good depersonalized faith, concerned with the message, concerned with an analysis of the message, concerned about a faith journey that did not involve a lot of embarrassing talk about my personal walk with Jesus.

That's my loss, my failure (and I'm working on it!), because at root our faith is stunningly relational and personal. When we hear the reading from John's Gospel on Maundy Thursday, we hear of Jesus' washing the feet of his disciples . . . an intimate act if ever there was one. He ordains the sacrament of the Eucharist, and then continues his relational theme as he declares, "[T]he greatest among you must [be as] one who serves." Servanthood for him is not an impersonal powerless role; rather it is a call to deeper relationship among those whom he has called to be his companions, his friends, his disciples, as they assume the role of leaders of the emerging church. The Jesus of this passage is a Jesus whose personhood resounds with every step that takes him closer to the cross.

On the wall of a classroom was a poster, its drawings reminiscent of signs we might find in health clinics . . . [But the] caption read: "I promise to teach my children not to kill or harm your children."

The task, then, it seems to me, is not to try to keep Jesus, facing death, as a distant and impersonal divinity, nor is it to personalize him so much that we reduce his teachings to a narrow individualized message. Instead our call is to see in the life of Jesus a wonderfully human challenge, a challenge

to live in relationship:
"I have longed to eat this meal with you";
to live in community:
seeing "this is my body. . . this is my blood" as a profound testimony to community;
and to use our reason and our hearts and our faith in service beyond ourselves:
"I am among you as one who serves."

How we do that -- how we live in relationship, community, and service -- has many answers. At root is the struggle to discern what matters, what is at the center, and to act upon that discernment.

With all the news from the Sudan these days, my experience in a Sudanese refugee camp in the northwestern corner of Uganda some time ago has come back to me. On the wall of a classroom was a poster, its drawings reminiscent of signs we might find in health clinics . . . simple sketches of a mother with her children, saying something like, "Remember to have your children immunized." But instead of such a predictable warning, the sign showed two mothers and a good-sized collection of children. The caption read: "I promise to teach my children not to kill or harm your children."

Discouraging, perhaps, that such a sign was necessary. But hopeful, too, that these people of faith had discerned what truly mattered, what was at the center -- a vision of a tolerant and caring community, a counter to a violent culture, a service performed by a parent not only for her children but for a society. When a Sudanese woman stood beside me in front of that poster and talked about how Jesus had been with her throughout the civil war and her exile, a more "personal" Jesus didn't seem quite so alienating as American evangelists made him sound, and I thought that taking Jesus' suffering and death personally might be a worthy response after all.

This personal Jesus is not the preserve of the Religious Right, nor is he an interloper into the structure of the church, though each community sometimes suggests that is so.

Every step of the way in Holy Week, we are confronted with the reality that ours is not a faith based upon principles and propositions but upon the life and death of a man named Jesus who lived 2,000 years ago, and suffered, and died, whom we believe to be the Messiah. This personal Jesus is not the preserve of the Religious Right, nor is he an interloper into the structure of the church, though each community sometimes suggests that is so. The personal Jesus is not an embarrassing word, should it pass our lips outside the safety of our closest fellowship. And the personal Jesus is not a passive recipient of whatever injustice is meted out to him, as some portray him.

If we believe in relationships characterized by sensitivity and caring, we need to grapple with more than ideas, rooted though they may be in our faith. For the same reason, if we believe in community in all its messiness, we need to grapple with more than concepts, and if we long for tolerance, compassion, peace and justice, we need to grapple with more than principles. I am increasingly convinced that a faith tradition that affirms reason and openness and thinking and reflection needs to recapture the "problem" that Keillor's uncle had: taking the death of our Lord "personally."

To do so is not to abandon our quest for an inclusive society by hiding behind an individualized faith, but to empower us for the challenges that quest entails. If we can reclaim that personal Jesus in a manner that sustains us in a quest for authentic relationship, for servant community, and for a just and peaceable world, then we can proclaim a Jesus whose intimacy is as meaningful as Christ's teachings are powerful. The richness of our religious heritage knows that. Our call, I think, is to rediscover it. And, it seems to me, we can rediscover it in this personal Jesus profoundly present on Maundy Thursday.

The Rev. Leon Spencer is dean of the School of Ministry in the Episcopal Diocese of North Carolina. He may be reached by email at leon.spencer@episdionc.com.