Meditations on The Seven Last Words of
Christ
I originally composed this series of meditations to accompany a performance of Franz Joseph Haydn's "The Seven Last Words of Christ" with the Arianna String Quartet at The Tassel Performing Arts Center in Holdrege, Nebraska. Haydn's moving piece is comprised of nine movements inspired by the story of the crucifixion and these final statements of Jesus from the cross. - Eric Massanari
Introduction:
The cross of
Christ:
it has become such
a ubiquitous image—
in sacred and
secular settings alike—
that we might be
tempted to forget that
the cross is more
than a symbol.
When it is
colorfully painted and hung on walls,
cast in precious
metals,
adorned with
costly gems,
suspended from
necks and earlobes,
we understandably
lose some
elementary memory
of the cross.
The cross was an
instrument of death.
More than this, of
course,
it was an
instrument of death as punishment—
a death meant to
be tortuously slow, agonizingly painful,
and humiliatingly
public.
The cross was an
instrument of an empire
intent on
maintaining power and control,
and willing to do
it through violence and fear.
Even more, the
cross is the very desecration of life—
the life created
in the image of God,
the life
pronounced good,
the life that is a
light to all people.
The life of Christ
follows a path
that must pass through
the desecrating
violation of the cross.
All who would seek
to follow the Way of Christ,
must remember that
this is part of the story.
The story of
Jesus' public ministry began in the wilderness,
fasting, praying,
listening, and confronting
a tempting voice
calling out:
“Be relevant!”
“Be wonderful!” “Be powerful!”
All were
temptations to place himself
at the very center
of things.
These temptations
he released,
so that Love might
remain at the center.
Luke, the gospel writer, tells us that at the end
of this time of wilderness fasting
the Deceiver left him until a more opportune time.
There were many “opportune times” that followed
as Jesus had to
decide again and again whether to walk
a way of power and
control, or a way of compassion and vulnerability.
What more
opportune a time for temptation could there be
than that moment
when one is aware
that suffering and
death are approaching?
The temptation to
flee, to fight, to hide is strong.
Jesus, in the end,
chooses to walk the way
that so many other
human beings
have been forced
to walk in this world.
He does not resist
or avoid this path;
rather, with
self-emptying love
he redeems it and
transforms it.
Shortly before he
was arrested and killed,
Jesus shared a
simple meal of bread and wine with his friends.
He likened the
bread to his body, offered to them.
He shared the wine
as a sign of his blood
poured out as an
oblation for the world.
And he also told
them this:
There is no
greater love than this:
to lay down
one's life for one's friends.
And now....
The Seven Last
Words of Christ.
When they came to the place
called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one
on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, “Father,
forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”
(Luke 23:33-34)
Jesus speaks words of
mercy
for those who pounded
the nails,
and those who divided
the spoils.
He speaks words of
release
for silent
bystanders,
and absent friends.
His words are a
beatitude for the blind,
a blessing for the
ignorant.
In this life it is
difficult enough
to forgive those who
see their trespasses with honesty
and who come to us
with apology.
But this,
this forgiveness for
all—
all who do not yet
see with honest eyes,
all who do not yet
weep with contrite hearts,
all who do not yet
speak the words, “I am sorry”—
this seems
like some strange,
imbalanced equation
of love....
….that is, until we
come to know our own need for it:
our own need for
such unmerited release,
our own need for
such immeasurable mercy.
Father, forgive
us, for we do not know what we are doing.
One of the criminals who
were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the
Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying,
“Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of
condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are
getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing
wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into
your kingdom.” Jesus replied, “Truly, I tell you, today you
will be with me in Paradise.” (Luke 23:39-43)
I imagine this
thief having no one there
at the foot of his
own cross.
No one is there to
bear witness to his death,
or weep for his
suffering.
I imagine his as a
life of wounding,
betrayal, and
burned bridges.
There is nothing
here to indicate that
he was one of the
faithful.
He recites no
prayer or creed,
he offers no pious
confession
to try and prove
he is worthy of anything.
He simply asks to
be remembered by one other person
in this moment of
his suffering, and his dying.
The thief is
assured of this, and much more.
Jesus gives him an
immeasurable gift of mercy and welcome—
the full welcome
extended to a beloved child of God
at the moment of
homecoming.
Today you will
be with me in paradise.
When Jesus saw his mother
and the disciple whom he loved standing near, he said to his mother,
“Woman, behold your son.” Then he said to the disciple whom he
loved, “Behold your mother.” (John 19:26-27)
I'm so glad I'm
a part of the family of God,
I've been
washed in the fountain,
cleansed by his
blood!
Joint heirs
with Jesus as we travel this sod,
for I'm part of
the family,
the family of
God.
The old hymn
emerges from childhood memory.
It frightened me
then—it disturbs me now—
with it's image of
washing in blood.
Blood: that
current of life within our bodies.
When blood flows
out, something is wrong;
a wound needs
mending,
a body needs
healing,
a relationship
needs reconciling.
What could be more
wrong than a mother
or father
witnessing the bleeding,
suffering, and
dying of their own child?
“Blood
relatives” is what we call those
with whom we share
foremothers and forefathers.
Jesus points
beyond so small a clan
and reveals the
familial bonds
found in our
common humanity.
His entire
ministry was devoted to
pointing people to
the truth that our lives
are forever woven
together with our neighbors,
joined in the
eternal diastole and systole
of the great,
beating heart of God.
The suffering of
one is the suffering of all.
The joy of one is
the joy of all.
Even from the
cross Jesus points to our neighbor near at hand
and the stranger
far away and says:
Here is your
son, your daughter.....
here is your
sister, your brother....
here is your
mother, your father......
From noon on, darkness came
over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And about three
o'clock Jesus cried with a loud voice, “My God, My God, why have
you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46)
It is the cry of
the abandoned,
an anguished
charge
against an
absentee God.
For some these may
seem
the most
unsettling words uttered by Jesus.
Artful exegetes
have gone to great lengths
to try and soften
the bitterness of these words.
For many others,
though,
there is great
grace in knowing
that Jesus dared
to pray this prayer.
Jesus joins his
voice with countless others
who have uttered
such a brokenhearted cry.
These words have
been spoken in many tongues,
in many lands, in
many horrible moments of history.
This is the prayer
of the battlefield,
the concentration
camp, and the mass grave.
It is the prayer
of the famine stricken, the abused,
the raped, and the
neglected.
It is the prayer
of the ailing and the dying.
This is the only
prayer one can offer
when nothing
remains to give solace,
and the longing is
all that is left.
For many who have
known such despair
there is a great
gift here:
the gift of
knowing that Love went so far as to
pass through this
deepest darkness,
and utter these
terrible words,
and then dare to
wait for an answer....
My God, my God,
why have you forsaken me?
Knowing that all things
were now accomplished, that the scripture might be fulfilled, Jesus
said, “I thirst.” A jar of sour wine was standing
there. So they put a sponge full of the wine on a branch of hyssop
and held it to his mouth. (John 19:28-29)
The thirst for
water is a longing
that unites one
life with all life,
one body with the
great body of beings.
With these words
Jesus gives voice
to his own
particular need,
and in the same
moment
reminds us of a
need common to all.
We all come to
know thirst in this life,
the feeling of dry
mouths and parched lips,
and the
tissue-deep longing of our body for water.
We may also come
to recognize a deeper thirst:
the Spirit-birthed
thirst of our souls.
This is our thirst
for meaning,
for wholeness,
for justice,
for truth,
for compassion,
and for love.
In this moment
the Son of
Humanity, the Child of God,
gives voice to the
longing
of all bodies,
all souls,
all daughters and
sons of the Earth,
and all children
of God.
I thirst.
When he took the wine,
Jesus said, “It is finished.” And having bowed his
head, he gave up his spirit. (John 19:30)
It is finished....
From the vantage
point of the living
death's finality is
felt
regardless of how it
comes.
Whether we deem it a
“good death,”
or wholly other than
“good,”
or a death somewhere
in between,
to be with another
human being
in the moment of
their death
is to stand on sacred
ground.
In the face of such
mystery one wonders:
Is it finished? Is
this the end?
Is this an
impenetrable barrier,
or is it a threshold
with the door held
wide open for all?
I think of Jesus'
mother, his disciples and friends, wondering:
Was it all for
nothing?
Is it all
finished?
Has evil won out
over love?
Jesus had once given
them a parable,
and like most of his
parables it was simple,
and it smelled of the
earth. He said to them,
Unless a grain of
wheat falls into the ground and dies,
it remains just a
single grain.
But if it dies, it
bears much fruit.
It is finished....
...finished, in the
way that a seed is finished
when it falls into
the ground and dies.
...finished, in the
way that the wave is finished
when it climbs the
shoreline and then returns the sea.
Jesus cried out with a loud
voice saying, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” And
having said this, he breathed his last. (Luke 23:46)
There have been
moments
at the bedsides of
the dying
when I have found
myself
suspending my own
breathing,
forgetting it for
long periods.
The silence and
stillness grows
in the spaces between
in-breath and
out-breath.....
I hold my own,
and wait,
and watch
until the breath of
the other is no more.
Luke describes Jesus'
last breath
as a final act of
offering.
It has not been taken
from him
by the violence of
others.
His spirit is his to
commend
and his last breath
is his to give
into the hands of God
with the prayer of
the Garden
still resounding:
Not my will, but
thy will be done...
Fear is now gone.
Betrayal has ended.
Evil holds no sway
in this final moment,
as the sacrament of
the Christ-breath
is emptied out
and shared with the
world.
The Earthquake
At that moment the curtain of the
temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook and the
rocks were split. The tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the
saints who had fallen asleep were raised. After the resurrection they
came out of the tombs and entered the holy city and appeared to many.
Now when the centurion and those with him, who were keeping watch
over Jesus, saw the earthquake and what took place, they were
terrified and said, “Truly this man was God's Son!” (Matthew
27:51-54)
Now, the stones
cry out,
and the earth
shakes,
at the death of a
beloved child of God.
The words from the
cross shudder downward
through fibers of
try timber, enter the ground,
and dive deep into
bedrock.
Creation screams
its grief
at the desecration
of life.
Perhaps with our
muted and
atrophied senses
we miss the signs
that are all
around us,
signs of the
earth's lament
when it must
witness the suffering
and accept the
blood of the innocent.
If we could attune
ourselves
to the cry of the
stones
we would hear
their keening,
and perhaps
something more.
For in this moment
when all seems lost,
the earth itself
makes an appeal:
The Word of
Love will not be silenced.
It will revive
and resound again and again!
The Light of
Life will shine in the darkness,
and not even
the darkness of death
will overcome
it.
Such will be the
cry of one great stone
that will roll
from the mouth
of an empty tomb.
