Courting Death, Choosing Life

How many of you were shocked to discover how early Easter is this year? Let’s have a quick show of hands: how many? March 23; earliest it’s been in nearly 100 years. In fact, the earliest it can ever be is March 22. The formula in essence is this: Easter falls on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the first day of spring. Now I love a full moon – there’s a sense of awe and mystery and beauty and wonder about a full moon, something very mystical and powerful about it, so tying the powerful story of Jesus’ death and resurrection to the first full moon of spring makes some sense. But, you know, another aspect of Easter is the tulips and the daffodils coming up through maybe a little remnant of snow; new life where everything appeared dead. Yeah, well, ain’t going to be any tulips and daffodils coming up this Easter! The song says “In the bulb there is a flower,” but this year it takes a whole lot of faith to believe not only that there’s a flower in that bulb but that there’s anything alive beneath that metre of snow that’s sitting on top of your garden!

But you know, maybe that’s appropriate as we move into Holy Week: the thought that there’s something alive beneath all of that snow; that there’s something alive in that frozen ground; that even in the midst of death there’s something just waiting to be born.

That’s what the Cross is all about. Looking at that tool of death, and believing that somehow by being nailed to it, or by passing through its shadow; somehow, by passing through the valley of the shadow of death, we’re going to find new life, new hope, new joy.

Jesus knew that in order to be fully alive, you had to be willing to die. He knew that courting death is part of choosing life. I mean, let’s be clear first of all that choosing life is what God calls us to do. In Deuteronomy 30:19, Moses exhorts the people to “Choose life.” Jesus comes into the world that we might have “abundant life” (John 10:10). But in order to choose life in the promise land you first have to risk death in battle with the people who live there. And in order to have the abundant life that Jesus is talking about, you have to follow him into the enemy camp in Jerusalem.

He didn’t have to do it. He could’ve continued with his backcountry campaign up in Galilee, planting the seeds of spiritual and, arguably, political insurrection while looking for a more opportune time to move on Jerusalem. I mean, surely he knew that what support he had was soft; what support he had would quickly melt away as soon as the Roman and Jewish authorities moved against him. Politically speaking, it was not a prudent time for him to march into Jerusalem. But Jesus wasn’t concerned with doing what was prudent. Jesus wasn’t so concerned with watching his backside that he failed to move forward. And moving forward is exactly what he did: on the back of a donkey, leaving behind the relative safety of Galilee, heading down the road to Jerusalem.

You can’t be so focused on success that you’re not willing to risk failure. But that’s the trap that we can fall into, isn’t it? So afraid of what might happen if we move into the challenge that lies before us that we fail to do anything. But when you let those challenging opportunities pass you by again and again and again, you’re not choosing life; you’re choosing a slow death.

A friend of mine tells me that her children prefer to communicate with their friends through text-messaging rather than face to face because it’s safer when people can’t see your facial expressions; it’s safer, they say, when you can’t give away how you’re really feeling through an angry scowl or an embarrassed blush. And yes, in a sense it is safer when you’re protecting yourself from the vulnerability of the face-to-face encounter. But sometimes, you know, after firing off a bunch of emails to people, I long to see their faces. I want to hear them laugh and see their tears and sometimes even be on the receiving end of their anger because, you know, as much as that hurts sometimes, it’s real; it’s living. Sometimes you have to risk the pain of face-to-face encounters in order to be fully alive. Sometimes you have to move forward into your fear in order to be fully alive. Sometimes you have to risk death in order to be fully alive.

The story is told of the mountain climber who decided to tackle a particularly high and difficult peak. Plus, the guy was something of an egomaniac and he decided to climb the mountain alone. He wanted all of the glory for himself. So after years of preparation, he started out. It was pretty tough going, but he was making progress. Then, one afternoon, he could see that he was nearing the summit. He thought about making camp for the night and climbing the rest of the way in the morning, but he was so hungry for the glory of making the summit that he just couldn’t wait. As he struggled up those last few hundred metres, the clouds began to gather, blotting out the setting sun. But still he trudged on. Then it began to snow, but still he trudged on. As the storm grew more fierce he couldn’t see a thing. Zero visibility. But sensing that the summit was only a few steps away, he still trudged on. And then he slipped. Falling into the air he was shrouded in darkness. Blinded by the storm and the night, he felt only the sensation of being sucked by gravity. Further and further he fell. Then, all off a sudden, he was jerked to a halt. The rope that was tied around his waist had stopped him. In a rare moment of caution he had tied it onto an outcrop that he’d stumbled across in the darkness just before he fell. And now only the rope was preventing him from falling to his death. As he hung there in midair he cried out, “God, help me!” Probably the first time in years that he’d asked anyone for help. “God, help me,” he cried, more out of desperation than any real faith; and much to his surprise he heard a voice saying, “It’s okay, son; I’m here.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here, God,” the mountain climber said, “now save me.”

“If you want me to save you,” God said, “then cut the rope.”

“Are you crazy!” the man said. “I’m not cutting this rope!” And with that the mountain climber held on to the rope with all his strength, clinging to what he perceived to be his life line in the midst of that pitch-black night.

Weeks later, a rescue team reported finding a mountain climber, frozen to death, his body hanging from a rope; only 10 feet above the ground.

Sometimes you have to risk death in order to choose life. That’s what Jesus did. St. Paul put it this way: Though Jesus
“was in the form of God, [he] did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him, and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, and every tongue confess, that Jesus Christ is Lord” (Philippians 2:6-11).

In 1983, the World Council of Churches Assembly was held in Vancouver. One of the featured speakers was Anglican Archbishop Desmund Tutu. At that time, of course, Tutu’s nation of South Africa was still in the throes of Apartheid, and Tutu had a lot of stories and wisdom and insight to share about the struggle to remain faithful, the struggle to seek God’s justice amidst such hatred and suffering. One evening Tutu met with some of the youth delegates to the Assembly. One of them remembers that as she listened to him, she began to feel overwhelmed by all the suffering that he and his people had experienced, so she asked him what gave him the courage and strength to keep pushing for change in a seemingly unchangeable system.

He turned to the young woman, asked her name, looked her straight in the eye and with that distinctive voice filled with joy he said, "Helen, I know that what I do is dangerous. I've been in prison many times. My life is threatened daily. Yet every morning I ask myself, 'What's the worst thing that can happen to me?' And, of course, the answer is 'I can die.' But let me tell you this," he said, his eyes piercing and dancing at the same time: "If dying is the worst thing that can happen to me, then I can do anything because I'm not afraid to die. If I die, I'll be home with God, so what is there to be afraid of? Nothing! That's what gives me the strength and courage to speak out."

You know, there’s a sense in which what Jesus did on Palm Sunday, riding right into the midst of danger, really was the most prudent thing for him to do. Because, in the final analysis, there’s nothing prudent about choosing the safety which is really a slow and boring death. It is far more prudent, perhaps, to court death from time to time, because maybe the people who take such risks are the ones who are fully alive. Amen.

Hymn # 651: “Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah”



Text: Philippians 2:8

Preached by Bruce D. Ervin

Palm Sunday

16 March 2008