Good Friday

 

April 15, 2022

 

 

+ Way back in 2019, when we got our beautiful new altar, when it was consecrated by Bishop Carol Gallagher, part of the consecration rite included pouring chrism over the top of it.

 

Chrism is the specially consecrated oil that is consecrated by a bishop, and is used for anointing.

 

Christ is even more special because it contains nard.

 

Nard is a very fragrant oil that is added to the olive oil of chrism.

 

And nard is also the oil that Mary the sister of Martha and Lazarus, anointed the feet of Jesus with just before his crucifixion.

 

Nard is what the body of Jesus would’ve been anointed with when it was placed in the tomb.

 

And nard is used to consecrate an altar, because the altar is a representation of the tomb of Jesus.

 

Our altar here is a representation of the tomb of Jesus.

 

And that smell you smell today is nard, form chrism.

 

Last night, following our Maundy Thursday Mass, after the altar was stripped of its paraments, after it was stripped of the fair linen (which represents the burial shroud of Jesus), I poured chrism once again on the top of the altar and worked it in to the wood.

 

A few months ago, I purchased the beautiful cloth you see in glass before the altar.

 

It is called an epitaphios in the Greek Orthodox Church and a Plaschanitsa (plas-cha-neet-sa) in the Russian Orthodox Church, and in the Eastern Orthodox Church it represents the shroud in which Jesus is wrapped following his death on the cross.

 

As most of you know, I have a very deep love for the Eastern Orthodox Church.

 

I collect ikons and Orthodox religious art.

 

And the Epiptaphois has become one of my prized possessions.

 

And my love for the Eastern Orthodox Church has been especially painful due to the invasion of one Orthodox country—Russia—of another orthodox country—Ukraine.

 

This year the epiptaphios takes on a deeper meaning that past years in light of the war…no, let’s call it by what it really is, the attempted genocide—that is currently happening in Ukraine.

 

In a short while, there will be an opportunity for you to come forward, to venerate the cross of Christ—this cross that my father made that last Good Friday before he died (ironically he died on the Feast of the Holy Cross in 2010).

 

Later you will be invited to come forward for Holy Communion.

 

When you do, you will be able to see the epitaphios in more detail.

 

Look at it.

 

See it for what it represents.

 

In it we see the broken body of Jesus.

 

Pay special attention to the brokenness of Jesus’ body.  

 

The one word is what hangs in the air right now like the smell of nard from the chrism anointed into eh wood of this altar.

 

Brokenness. 

 

In many ways, that is what this day is all about.

 

Brokenness.

 

The Jesus we encounter today is slowly, deliberately being broken.

 

This moment we are experiencing right now is a moment of brokenness.

 

Brokenness, in the shadow of the cross, the nails, the thorns. 

 

Broken by the whips.  

 

Broken under the weight of the Cross.  

 

Broken by his friends, his loved ones.

 

Broken by the thugs and the soldiers and all those who turned away from him and betrayed him.

 

 In this dark moment, our own brokenness seems more profound, more real, as well.  

 

We can feel this brokenness now in a way we never have before.

 

Our brokenness is shown back to us like the reflection in a dark mirror as we look upon that broken Body on the cross.

 

We have all wondered at times in our lives if God, who once was such a source of joy and gladness to us, had turned away from us.

 

We have all known what the anguish of losing someone love feels like, whether we lost that person to death, or to a change of feelings, or simply due to desertion.

 

Some of us have known that fear that comes when we are faced with our mortality in the face of illness, and we think there will never be a time when we will never be well again. 

 

This dark place is a terrible place to be.

 

But as Bishop Charles Stevenson once wrote:

 

“To receive the light, we must accept the darkness. We must go into the tomb of all that haunts us, even the loss of faith itself, to discover a truth older than death.”

 

 Yes, we have known brokenness in our lives.

 

We have known those moments of loss and abandonment.

 

We have known those moments in which we have been betrayed.  

 

We have known those moments when we have lost someone we have cared for so much, either through death or a broken relationship.  

 

We have known those moments of darkness in which we cannot even imagine the light.

 

But, for as followers of Jesus, we know there is light.

 

Even today, we know it is there, just beyond our grasp.  

 

We know that what seems like a bleak, black moment will be replaced by the blinding Light of the Resurrection.  

 

What seems like a moment of unrelenting despair will soon be replaced by an unleashing of unrestrained joy.

This present despair will be turned completely around.

 

This present darkness will be vanquished.

 

This present pain will be replaced with a comfort that brings about peace.

 

This present brokenness will be healed fully and completely, leaving not even a scar.

 

In a short time (though it might not seem like it) our brokenness will be made whole.

 

And will know there is no real defeat, ultimately.  

 

Ultimately there will be victory.

 

Victory over everything we are feeling sadness over at this moment.

 

Victory over the pain, and brokenness, and loss, and death we are commemorating

 

This is what today is about.   

 

This is what our journey in following Jesus brings to us.

 

All we need to do is go where the journey leads us.

 

All we need to do is follow Jesus, yes, even through this broken moment.

 

Because if we do, we will, like him, be raised by God out of this broken place.

 

The God in whom we, like Jesus, trust, will reach out to us, even here, in this place, on this bleak day, and will raise us up.

 

Following Jesus, means following him, even to this place.

 

But, we, who have trusted in him, will soon realize this is, most definitely, not the end of the story.

 

Not by any means.

 

We will, in a short time know, that,  in our following of him, we will know joy—even a joy that, for this moment, seems far off.  

 

I close today with the words from a beautiful hymn that is used on Good Friday in the Eastern Orthodox Church.

 

 

Come, let us see our Life lying in the tomb, that He [Jesus] may give life to those that in their tombs lie dead. Come, let us look today on the Son of Judah as He sleeps, and with the prophet let us cry aloud to Him: You have lain down, You have slept as a lion; who shall awaken You, O King? But of Your own free will  You rise up, who willingly gave Yourself for us. O Lord, glory to You.

Today a tomb holds Him who represents for us the One who holds the creation in the hollow of His hand; a stone covers Him who represents for us the One who covered the heavens with glory. Life sleeps and hell trembles, and Adam is set free from his bonds. Glory to Your dispensation, whereby You have accomplished all things, granting us an eternal Sabbath, Your most holy Resurrection from the dead.

(Hymns of the Ainoi)