There are two ways of understanding the Lord’s suffering and death. Both are “correct”.
1) That the wrath of God the Father, because of human sin, was placated by the suffering of Jesus.
Isaiah: “But he was wounded for our transgressions,
he was bruised for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that made us whole,
and with his stripes we are healed.”
2) The other way flows out of the first, and clarifies it. God never pours out his wrath on us. He hates one thing only: that which keeps us from his mercy, his compassion, his love for us. I.e. sin. Sin is what keeps us from him. Everything we do that keeps us from the realization that God ALONE is our life, our peace, our fulfillment, our joy, our healing, our blessedness – everything that keeps us from realizing God to be the fulfillment of every authentic desire is SIN. That really is the definition of sin.
All God ever desired for us was that we should LOVE him, and so find happiness and peace in his embrace. That’s all. For ages he waited for someone in the world to love him perfectly. And that someone is Jesus. Jesus is the person who comes into the world and loves God with all his heart, mind soul, and strength. With every ounce of his being, with every action he undertakes, with every breath, with every step… he LOVES GOD – perfectly and completely and unfailingly.
And so God is satisfied. It is not that is wrath is appeased, but that finally there is a person, a man, who has done all that God every wanted from men: to be loved. And that is the other way to understand the cross: here is the nuptial bed of divine nature and human nature. Here is God loving man and man loving God in perfect communion, WITHIN A WORLD CORRUPTED BY SIN. That’s why Jesus suffers. Because he loves God within the world, a world that had grown old and embittered by its failure to love God.
So when a man comes into the world who loves God, he is mocked, derided, disbelieved, abused, misunderstood, scorned, rejected, tortured, and finally, he is killed. Because mankind had grown accustomed to his failure to love – our hearts had grown hard, and we had created a world for ourselves wherein hardness of heart had been canonized and enshrined into law. Where the best we could do was to build walls of separation to keep from tearing each other apart. As Isaiah said, “we have turned every one to his own way….” But “the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.”
Jesus is the man who shows us what perfect love looks like. And within this world, still full of people like you and me, who turn “everyone to his own way” – within this world, perfect love means suffering, because it means having an open heart.
If you want to know what love looks like, come to the cross. If you want to know God, come to the cross. If you want to learn to love God, come to the cross. If you want to be learn how to live for God, come to the cross. If you want to know how much God loves you, come to the cross. If you want to know how much God desires to be with you, to make you happy, and to give you his peace, come to the cross. If you want to know the lengths to which he was willing to go to save you from death and hell, come to the cross. If you want to know how much you should forgive others, come to the cross. If you want to learn to be humble, come to the cross. If you want to learn to believe and obey God, come to the cross. If you want to learn selflessness and generosity, come to the cross. If you want to live well, come to the cross. If you want to die well, come to the cross.
The cross is the source of every good thing. Every divine gift flows from the sacred heart of Jesus, pierced by a spear, opened for our sake. He shows us the way to life and peace because he assumed our humanity. We might wonder how it is that God could die. Jesus is God, and as such, he is impassable, immutable, immortal, unmoving, unchanging. How then is it possible for him to suffer and die? He suffered and died because he took on our broken nature. He assumed our flesh, he became one of us. And by becoming one of us, he assumed our ability to suffer and to die. God assumed the our life, human life, and he died our death. He died as a men die, alone, in agony and trepidation.
And he shows us the rout to God. The cross is the source of every good thing. To find perfected humanity, to find deified humanity, go to the cross. And the Lord has left doorways to the cross. They are prayer, meditation, and chiefly they are the sacraments, especially confession and the Eucharist. If we want what God offers to us, “let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely” (Heb. 12.1). We have to rid ourselves of every evil in order to make room in ourselves for the good that God desires to give us. That is why confession precedes communion. We lay aside and forsake those things that keep us from God, those things which he hates, so that we can make room in our hearts for the grace and blessing he gives us from the cross.
If the doorways to the cross are prayer, meditation, and the sacraments, the keys to those doorways are humility, love, and an open heart. The heart of God calls to us, and we must answer him from the heart. Psalm 102 says “Deep calls to deep in the noise of your cataracts.” On the cross, God calls to us from the depths of his being, from his heart. His infinite desire reaches out to us, and if we would answer his call, we must be willing to forsake all that is not him, and to grasp his hand.
This poem was written by the great priest-poet of the 17th century, George Herbert. I want to read it to you because I think in it, you can discern the outstretched hand of God, his invitation to love him.
OH all ye, who passe by, whose eyes and minde
To worldly things are sharp, but to me blinde;
To me, who took eyes that I might you finde:
Was ever grief like mine?
The Princes of my people make a head
Against their Maker: they do wish me dead,
Who cannot wish, except I give them bread;
Was ever grief like mine?
Without me each one, who doth now me brave,
Had to this day been an Egyptian slave.
They use that power against me, which I gave:
Was ever grief like mine?
Mine own Apostle, who the bag did beare,
Though he had all I had, did not forbeare
To sell me also, and to put me there:
Was ever grief like mine?
For thirtie pence he did my death devise,
Who at three hundred did the ointment prize,
Not half so sweet as my sweet sacrifice:
Was ever grief like mine?
Therefore my soul melts, and my hearts deare treasure
Drops bloud (the onely beads) my words to measure:
O let this cup passe, if it be thy pleasure:
Was ever grief like mine?
These drops being temper’d with sinners tears
A Balsome are for both the Hemispheres:
Curing all wounds, but mine; all, but my fears:
Was ever grief like mine?
Yet my Disciples sleep; I cannot gain
One houre of watching; but their drowsie brain
Comforts not me, and doth my doctrine stain:
Was ever grief like mine?
Arise, arise, they come. Look how they runne!
Alas! what haste they make to be undone!
How with their lanterns do they seek the sunne!
Was ever grief like mine?
With clubs and staves they seek me, as a thief,
Who am the Way and Truth, the true relief;
Most true to those, who are my greatest grief:
Was ever grief like mine?
Judas, dost thou betray me with a kisse?
Canst thou finde hell about my lips? and misse
Of life, just at the gates of life and blisse?
Was ever grief like mine?
See, they lay hold on me, not with the hands
Of faith, but furie: yet at their commands
I suffer binding, who have loos’d their bands
Was ever grief like mine?
All my Disciples flie; fear puts a barre
Betwixt my friends and me. They leave the starre,
That brought the wise men of the East from farre.
Was ever grief like mine?
Then from one ruler to another bound
They leade me; urging, that it was not sound
What I taught: Comments would the test confound.
Was ever grief like mine?
The Priest and rulers all false witnesse seek
’Gainst him, who seeks not life, but is the meek
And readie Paschal Lambe of this great week:
Was ever grief like mine?
Then they accuse me of great blasphemie,
That I did thrust into the Deitie,
Who never thought that any robberie:
Was ever grief like mine?
Some said, that I the Temple to the floore
In three dayes raz’d, and raised as before.
Why, he that built the world can do much more:
Was ever grief like mine?
Then they condemne me all with that same breath,
Which I do give them daily, unto death.
Thus Adam my first breathing rendereth:
Was ever grief like mine?
They binde, and leade me unto Herod: he
Sends me to Pilate. This makes them agree;
But yet their friendship is my enmitie:
Was ever grief like mine?
Herod and all his bands do set me light,
Who teach all hands to warre, fingers to fight,
And onely am the Lord of Hosts and might:
Was ever grief like mine?
Herod in judgement sits, while I do stand;
Examines me with a censorious hand:
I him obey, who all things else command:
Was ever grief like mine?
The Jews accuse me with dispitefulnesse;
And vying malice with my gentlenesse,
Pick quarrels with their onely happinesse:
Was ever grief like mine?
I answer nothing, but with patience prove
If stonie hearts will melt with gentle love.
But who does hawk at eagles with a dove?
Was ever grief like mine?
My silence rather doth augment their crie;
My dove doth back into my bosome flie,
Because the raging waters still are high:
Was ever grief like mine?
Heark how they crie aloud still, Crucifie:
It is not fit he live a day, they crie,
Who cannot live lesse then eternally:
Was ever grief like mine?
Pilate, a stranger, holdeth off; but they,
Mine owne deare people, cry, Away, away,
With noises confused frighting the day:
Was ever grief like mine?
Yet still they shout, and crie, and stop their eares,
Putting my life among their sinnes and fears,
And therefore wish my bloud on them and theirs:
Was ever grief like mine?
See how spite cankers things. These words aright
Used, and wished, are the whole worlds light:
But hony is their gall, brightnesse their night:
Was ever grief like mine?
They choose a murderer, and all agree
In him to do themselves a courtesie:
For it was their own case who killed me:
Was ever grief like mine?
And a seditious murderer he was:
But I the Prince of peace; peace that doth passe
All understanding, more then heav’n doth glasse:
Was ever grief like mine?
Why, Caesar is their onely King, not I:
He clave the stonie rock, when they were drie;
But surely not their hearts, as I well trie:
Was ever grief like mine?
Ah! how they scourge me! yet my tendernesse
Doubles each lash: and yet their bitternesse
Windes up my grief to a mysteriousnesse:
Was ever grief like mine?
They buffet him, and box him as they list,
Who grasps the earth and heaven with his fist,
And never yet, whom he would punish, miss’d:
Was ever grief like mine?
Behold, they spit on me in scornfull wise,
Who by my spittle gave the blinde man eies,
Leaving his blindnesse to my enemies:
Was ever grief like mine?
My face they cover, though it be divine.
As Moses face was vailed, so is mine,
Lest on their double-dark souls either shine:
Was ever grief like mine?
Servants and abjects flout me; they are wittie:
Now prophesie who strikes thee, is their dittie.
So they in me denie themselves all pitie:
Was ever grief like mine?
And now I am deliver’d unto death,
Which each one calls for so with utmost breath,
That he before me well nigh suffereth:
Was ever grief like mine?
Weep not, deare friends, since I for both have wept
When all my tears were bloud, the while you slept:
Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept:
Was ever grief like mine?
The souldiers lead me to the common hall;
There they deride me, they abuse me all:
Yet for twelve heav’nly legions I could call:
Was ever grief like mine?
Then with a scarlet robe they me aray;
Which shews my bloud to be the onely way
And cordiall left to repair mans decay:
Was ever grief like mine?
Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear:
For these are all the grapes Sion doth bear,
Though I my vine planted and watred there:
Was ever grief like mine?
So sits the earths great curse in Adams fall
Upon my head: so I remove it all
From th’ earth unto my brows, and bear the thrall:
Was ever grief like mine?
Then with the reed they gave to me before,
They strike my head, the rock from thence all store
Of heav’nly blessings issue evermore:
Was ever grief like mine?
They bow their knees to me, and cry, Hail king:
What ever scoffes & scornfulnesse can bring,
I am the floore, the sink, where they it fling:
Was ever grief like mine?
Yet since mans scepters are as frail as reeds,
And thorny all their crowns, bloudie their weeds;
I, who am Truth, turn into truth their deeds:
Was ever grief like mine?
The souldiers also spit upon that face,
Which Angels did desire to have the grace,
And Prophets, once to see, but found no place:
Was ever grief like mine?
Thus trimmed, forth they bring me to the rout,
Who Crucifie him, crie with one strong shout.
God holds his peace at man, and man cries out:
Was ever grief like mine?
They leade me in once more, and putting then
Mine own clothes on, they leade me out agen.
Whom devils flie, thus is he toss’d of men:
Was ever grief like mine?
And now wearie of sport, glad to ingrosse
All spite in one, counting my life their losse,
They carrie me to my most bitter crosse:
Was ever grief like mine?
O all ye who passe by, behold and see;
Man stole the fruit, but I must climbe the tree;
The tree of life to all, but onely me:
Was ever grief like mine?
Lo, here I hang, charg’d with a world of sinne,
The greater world o’ th’ two; for that came in
By words, but this by sorrow I must win:
Was ever grief like mine?
Such sorrow as, if sinfull man could feel,
Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel.
Till all were melted, though he were all steel:
Was ever grief like mine?
But, O my God, my God! why leav’st thou me,
The sonne, in whom thou dost delight to be?
My God, my God ------
Never was grief like mine.
Shame tears my soul, my bodie many a wound;
Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound;
Reproches, which are free, while I am bound.
Was ever grief like mine?
Now heal thy self, Physician; now come down.
Alas! I did so, when I left my crown
And fathers smile for you, to feel his frown:
Was ever grief like mine?
In healing not my self, there doth consist
All that salvation, which ye now resist;
Your safetie in my sicknesse doth subsist:
Was ever grief like mine?
Betwixt two theeves I spend my utmost breath,
As he that for some robberie suffereth.
Alas! what have I stollen from you? Death.
Was ever grief like mine?
A king my title is, prefixt on high;
Yet by my subjects am condemn’d to die
A servile death in servile companie:
Was ever grief like mine?
They give me vineger mingled with gall,
But more with malice: yet, when they did call,
With Manna, Angels food, I fed them all:
Was ever grief like mine?
They part my garments, and by lot dispose
My coat, the type of love, which once cur’d those
Who sought for help, never malicious foes:
Was ever grief like mine?
Nay, after death their spite shall further go;
For they will pierce my side, I full well know;
That as sinne came, so Sacraments might flow:
Was ever grief like mine?
But now I die; now all is finished.
My wo, mans weal: and now I bow my head.
Onely let others say, when I am dead,
Never was grief like mine.
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