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He
prayed as hard as he could... looking for answers... looking for
compassion... for anything that would take away this loneliness.
What he found was ...the will of God... and only that |
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| Where
did it lead him? You know the answer, you know the story... His pain,
courage, bravery... and love, made it possible for you to go on living,
knowing, that your God saved you from the power of evil and gave you
everlasting life |
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| Good
Friday Homily |
| Who
Was That Man? |
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| This
afternoon we who are alive, have no choice, but to talk about death. I
would rather like to talk about Easter, but two pieces of wood forbid
it. Two crossed beams tell me harshly that somebody died there.
Therefore I must discover who died, why he died like that, and what his
dying means for my living. |
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| First
- who died on the wood? A man, of course. Someone, who was shaped very
much like you and me: face, hands, feet, bone and blood, a brain and
five senses. He began to live as you and I begin. He grew up much as we
do: a child among children, a small segment of relatives and friends,
little startling to report, except three days in Jerusalem on his own.
He made no waives till he was 30. Then it was that he burst into Galilee
like a storm at sea, proclaiming God's reign, preaching repentance. For
free years he went through the land of Palestine just doing good. |
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| The
trouble was, he made enemies. He was his own man, not particularly
prudent. He turned tradition around, said the Sabbath was made for us,
not we for Sabbath. His disciples did not fast. He warned the rich
against their riches, assailed the powerful for abusing their power. |
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| When
the end came, it was terribly sad. One of his own dear friends sold him
for silver, betrayed him with a kiss. His enemies crowned his head with
thorns, compelled him to carry his own cross, nailed him to it, and let
him die in frightful, lonely agony. And his mother looked on. |
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| Yes,
it was a man who died on Calvary. Calvary is unique. Unique because the
man who died was more than man. The man who died on Calvary was the Son
of God. Since the First Good Friday, theologians have struggled how to
think it, stammered how to say it. We do not know how it can be, how to
explain it. And still the fact cannot be denied: the man on the cross is
the Second Person of the Trinity in human flesh. God's only Son took
flesh from a Jewish girl in Nazareth and died in that flesh outside
Jerusalem - bowed his head and gave up his spirit. |
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| Why
did the Lord of glory die like this? If he had been mere man, it would
make sense. He couldn't avoid it. He was up against impossible odds. But
it is different for the Lord of glory. He did not have to borrow our
flesh, grow up like any other child, get tired, dusty and angry. Take
insults from his own creatures. He did not have to sweat blood in a
garden, beg his Father - do not let me die - be condemned like a common
criminal. He did not have to die. |
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| Why,
then, did he die? A clue comes from the Gospel of St. John: "God so
loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in him
should not perish but have eternal life." He loved me and gave
himself for me. The answer lies in love. Where God's love is concerned,
we mortals are terribly dense, dreadfully uncomprehending. Because we
have not grasped the truth expressed in the first letter of John:
"In this is love, not that we loved God but that He loved us and
sent His Son to be the expiation for our sins." |
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| All
these above raise the final question: What does Christ‘s dying mean
for my living? Whatever Christ did, whatever he experienced, whatever he
suffered, all this was for me. To tap it all, he died for me. Christ's
dying did something for me. He freed me from threefold slavery: slavery
to sin, slavery to self, and slavery to death. Because Christ died for
me, I am no longer at odds with God. With the grace that flows from
Calvary, I can say no to sin. With the love that flows from Calvary, I
can reach out to others as he did, lay down life itself for my friends .
. . or my enemies. Because Christ died for me, death is no longer a door
to darkness. With the life that flows from Calvary, I too shall defeat
death, rise to life with the risen Christ. |
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| In
this context, Christ's dying says something to me. It tells me that
dying is not an isolated event. It tells me that my entire life must be
a journey to Jerusalem. As with him, so with me I must always let go ...
let go of yesterday. And let go is to die a little. Christ had to let
go. Let go of the glory that was rightfully his and to wear our
inglorious flesh. Let go of secure little Nazareth, to trumpet a
repentance many would resent. Let go of his mother, whose own deep hurt
must have tormented him as she stood at a distance. Let go of Lazarus,
Mary and Martha, all of whom Jesus loved. He had to let go; otherwise he
would never have set his face towards Jerusalem, and his dying would
never become our living. So then I must always let go... to let go of
yesterday - because - to let go is to die a little. |
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| Good
Friday has an aura of sadness and rightly so - because, the Son of God
died. But the sadness with which we entered this celebration should be
transformed into a fresh joy with which we leave this celebration - the
joy which Christ promised that: "no human being will take from you
- because - our good Lord did not simply die; he died for you. If he
loves you that much, you must be quite extraordinary. The least, or the
best you can do in return is: Don't simply live - live for Him. |
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