Cross, Double-Cross

a reflection on mark 14.32-52 We read this story in the shadow of three crosses. There is the story in a nutshell. There are the various ways into the story. There is the story itself. There are the stories themselves. There is the question: Whose story is this? They’d been waiting. Watching and waiting and endlessly praying. Praying for the one to come. The one who would set them free. Who would break them out of tyranny. Who would overthrow. Who would let them know that they were chosen, saved, and would rise in victory. They thought, hoped, wanted him to lead them all out of poverty. Misery. Slavery. There he was. There they are. Slaves of empire and slaves of desire. Entangled. Still waiting for the dawn. The dawn of a new age. A new covenant. A new deal. They wait. And as they wait, they fall sleep. They failed to see what was right in front of their eyes. Stopping and waiting. Pausing and reflecting on all that had happened – the throngs, the Pharisees, the blind man – in that place he had asked them, “who do they say that I am?” Prophet, drunkard, patriarch, healer, glutton. They’ve called you all these and more. But who are you really? They watched and waited, scared to speak the word. Messiah? And what if he was? What could that mean? Until that point they’d been unsure. Until then they’d avoided the question. But if it was true. If only it could have been true. They thought they understood. They thought they’d caught on. How had they been caught so unaware? Unaware. Blind. Asleep. These were not their best moments. These are not our best moments. No one had spoken of it, of how inevitable his death was. Death was denied the recognition it had placed right in front of everyone’s face, in the middle of everyone’s life, in his very body. A recognition he had gone to such extraordinary lengths to receive. They simply refused to acknowledge its presence or its power. All except one. And now they lie there waiting for the dawn. The dawn of a new age. A new covenant. A new deal. And in this garden, they’re about to see blood. The cross of Calvary follows soon after the double-cross. There is the story in a nutshell. There are the various ways into the story. There is the story itself (There are the stories themselves). There is the question: Whose story is this? It was just like a woman, wasn’t it? Just like a woman to go and do something like that. Inexcusable. Trivial. Waste. They all thought it, I’m sure. But he did something about it. I wonder if that was the moment Judas realised what was really going on. That moment, when Jesus graciously accepted my gift. In that moment, the disciples stood in opposition when we should have all been prostrate at his feet. An anointing for a burial. That must have thrown them off. I can see the same seeds in Judas that were in the others. All the watching, the waiting, the endless praying. The crowds gathered. They followed him around, watching and waiting and endlessly praying. Praying that He would be the one. The one who would set them free. Who would break them out of imperial tyranny. Who would overthrow. Let them know that they were chosen, they were saved, and that yes, they would rise in victory. They had held such expectations. Expectations he never met. Expectations he defied at every turn. Feeding thousands. Healing the sick. Making the lame to walk and the blind to see. Never once does he raise a sword against the empire. He even wakes a dead man, but he cannot wake his closest friends from their slumber. In their slumber, dreams of what the world might be like if this so-called Messiah picked up arms against the oppressor. But this was much different from the reality he was. The reality he is. The reality he is to come. They were dreamers of dreams. Tellers of tales. They lived surrounded by their stories, and the stories of others, seeing everything that happened through them. They lived their lives accordingly. The only problem was that they wanted Jesus to live his life according to their script. They were waiting for something and someone to overcome, to outlive, to outlast to outplay the imperial hand, to finally conquer the band of outlaws who kill, curse, and crush at every turn. And they wait and they long. They long for the dawn of a new age, a new page, for Jesus’ fire and rage against the Roman machine swallowing them whole. And when he didn’t. When Judas finally understands that Jesus would not act according to the script, he has no choice. Jesus’ life, his faithful improvisations, tell a different story than the one they wanted to hear. Jesus refuses to be directed, boxed in, or confined by human expectation. He refuses to be nailed down. Our story closes with a farewell kiss, the plot laid bare. We read this story in the shadow of three crosses. The cross of Calvary follows soon after the double-cross. One. Two. Three times he finds them asleep. One. Two. Three times betrayed into the hands of sinners. And yet. They thought they could pin him; Thought they'd nail him down once for all. We’re trying it again, today, this time with words. Trying to say exactly what I AM in human terms What, did we forget the last time; Did we forget the way it was before? We’re trying it again, today, this time with words. Thought we'd nail him down once for all. We thought we could pin him; And yet. One. Two. Three times betrayed into the hands of sinners. One. Two. Three times he finds us asleep. The cross of Calvary follows soon after our double cross. We live this story in the shadow of three crosses. Lent