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crowd, darkness, ecumenical, God, guilt, hope, Jesus, Judas, Lent, light, morning, passion narrative, Pilate, Sermon
When the clergy of our Ministerium gathered and decided to slowly walk through the passion narrative, a narrative that most of us normally consume in one service – either on Palm Sunday or Good Friday – I thought it would be great fun to dive deeply into the text, tarrying longer on the parts that seem to whizz by otherwise. I was excited to find hidden gems, or maybe moments of grace and goodness. But I confess, so far, the deep dive has been harder than I imagined. I have begun to wonder if we churches do not read the entire passion narrative in one sitting because we know how hard the text is: so we read the text in its fullness, like chugging awful tasting medicine in the hopes of getting the foul experience over with as quickly as possible.
Of course, when I started reading our portion of the text for this evening, I thought maybe there was hope after all. The text starts off with such promise. The very first words from the New Revised Standard Version are, “When morning came…” or, even more promising, in the paraphrase from The Message, “In the first light of dawn…” Immediately, my mind filled with the words from that old hymn, “Morning has broken,” with lyrics like, “Praise for the morning!… Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden… Praise with elation, praise every morning, God’s recreation of the new day!” Surely the inbreaking of light will mean the inbreaking of hope and renewal. Those things that happened in the cover of darkness: Judas’ betrayal, disciples unable to keep watch and pray with Jesus, disciples scattering as Jesus is arrested, false testimonies, and finally, the gut-wrenching betrayal of faithful Peter – surely in the first light of dawn, in the sweetness of the wet garden, the light will drive away the darkness.
But the morning light of this text does not overcome this day – at least not in the ways the light comes Easter morning. First, we have to walk through the darkness and light of Jesus’ final day. We start with Judas. What feels like redemption is coming for Judas. The NRSV says Judas repented, but this is not the same word used to describe what Peter does. Matthew is quite careful not to use the same word in the original Greek for repentance. Instead of the word for “repent” or “turn around,” the word in Greek for Judas means “regret or “change one’s mind.”[i] Somehow, Judas’ actions happening in the first light of dawn makes them more devastating. His hanging himself brings up for us all sorts of feelings, and quite frankly, some of the Church’s more damaging teachings about suicide. But in Judas, darkness and light get muddled. Theologian Stanley Hauerwas argues, “What Judas did is not beyond the forgiveness enacted in Jesus’s crucifixion. Indeed, Judas’s betrayal can be remembered because it is not and cannot be the last word about Judas’s life or our own. The last word about Judas or us is not ours to determine because the last word has been said in the crucifixion. The challenge is not whether Jesus’s forgiveness is good, but whether any of us, Judas included, are capable of facing as well as acknowledging that, given the opportunity, we would be willing to betray Jesus for thirty pieces of silver.”[ii]
In the light of day, as the morning comes, the text seems to tell us that the darkness of night might be dispelled after all. Pilate’s wife appears in the midst of Jesus’ trial – something that no other gospel describes – and tells of how Pilate should have nothing to do with Jesus. She, like so many others has been warned in a dream: the magi early on in Matthew, Joseph, Jesus’ father, and now Pilate’s wife. In all these cases, while people scheme to destroy Jesus, even Gentiles receive communication from God in dreams to preserve Jesus’ life.[iii] But today is not a day of Easter light – or a day of near misses like in Jesus’ birth. Instead, the darkness overcomes. Even though Pilate knows Jesus is innocent, he cannot muster the political strength to follow what he knows is right. And so, Pilate, whose name in own creeds remind us that Jesus was killed in a specific time and space, becomes complicit with the darkness even as the light of morning tries to break through.
The final mingling of darkness and light comes as the crowds get swept into the guilt of this day. Pilate cleverly offers the faithful an alternative – to release Jesus the Messiah or to release Jesus Barrabus, the murderous rebel. Caught up in the fervor stoked in the darkness, the people’s demand of Barabbas’ release feels like all the light goes out of the story. Those words, “Let him be crucified,” feels like the shroud of darkness and our human failure is complete. But even in this darkest moment, all light is not lost. What we forget in this moment is that when Jesus dies, Barabbas goes free. Scholar N.T. Wright tells us, “Barabbas represents all of us. When Jesus dies, the brigand goes free, the sinners go free, we all go free. That, after all, is what a Passover story ought to be about.”[iv]
We will not get the brilliance of that old hymn, Morning Has Broken, until Easter. God’s recreation cannot happen until the death and resurrection of Jesus. Famed preacher Thomas Long tells a story about a congregation who many years ago built a small and secluded chapel for prayer and meditation. Inside that little chapel, they placed twelve wooden chairs, each inscribed with the name of one of the disciples. You want to know which of the chairs is the most heavily worn from use? Judas’ chair, like stone step that shows its overuse, is the most worn, the most relatable, perhaps the most hopeful for visitors to that old chapel.[v]
We are not at Easter in this Lenten journey. In fact, most of our days even outside of this ritual time feel closer to the darkness of Lent than the lightness of Eastertide. But that does not mean that all our days do not have glimpses of light. Even on this darkest day, when Jesus’ fate is sealed and the worst thing will happen, light keeps fighting through. Whether in Judas’ remorse, whether in the witness of outsiders around us, or whether in the grace given to those who do not deserve grace, even on this darkest of days, the morning comes.
Our invitation this Lent is to open our eyes to the light. Judas, Pilate’s wife, even Barrabas invite us to seek the light, to name the light, to be the light. We will never master the perfection of Easter Sunday where the sweetness of the wet garden makes us praise with elation. So maybe our song this night is not Morning has Broken, but another gospel hymn, Walk in the Light. When the darkness threatens to overcome, we raise our voice, “Walk in the light, Beautiful light, Come where the dewdrops of mercy shine bright, Shine all around us by day and by night, Jesus is the light of the world.” Jesus is here, in our sinfulness, in our resistance, in our hardheartedness, giving us beams of light to walk in – beautiful light where mercy shines bright. We can walk in the light together because Jesus is that light. Amen.
[i] Douglas R.A. Hare, Matthew, Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1993), 314.
[ii] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew: Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2006), 230-231.
[iii] Thomas G. Long, Matthew: Westminster Bible Companion (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997), 312.
[iv] N.T. Wright, Matthew for Everyone, Part 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002), 178.
[v] Long, 310.
Seeking and Serving 