06 Apr Obedience, Service and Trust
Were you there when they crucified my Lord? Of course, none of us were, but how can we put ourselves at the scene? Perhaps by thinking, “Where could I imagine myself to be when they crucified my Lord?”
As a young girl growing up in the Catholic faith, I pictured myself as Veronica. Moved by the sight of Christ, I would do anything to get near him and alleviate his suffering. I would mop his brow with anything I could lay hands on, use my best article of clothing… if I thought it might comfort him.
I know I would have because I once covered a dog I had just hit with my car with my camel hair coat. Had I known Jesus would leave the image of his face on a cloth I handed him, I would have chosen material beautifully made, always carried it around in my purse, kept it in pristine condition, and waited for the chance to forever preserve his likeness. Immersed in Catholic iconography, I easily identified with, and latched onto the image of a female in love with Christ.
My paternal grandmother and aunts had small but beautiful religious hanging art and statues adorning walls and tabletops. Colored thread, paper, paint and carved wood brought religious images to life who spoke to me. During Lent, my father, brother and I prayed before three-dimensional wooden carvings representing stations of the cross. I was moved and encouraged by one captioned, “Simon helps Jesus carry the cross.” The carving depicted a strong man lifting the heavy burden of the cross off Christ’s shoulders.
Inwardly, I said, “Yes!” Somebody else wanted to help and step in to relieve Christ’s suffering. If I could take Veronica’s place, wipe Christ’s brow and forever cherish the gift of his beautiful face left on my scarf, Simon could be my counterpart. So moved by the sight of a downtrodden Christ, Simon stepped in, saying, “Here, let me take that cross for you.” In my heart of hearts, I believed it was a brave act of compassion.
So, you can imagine, that when I saw a Hollywood movie portraying Simon as otherwise, I was quite dismayed. They pulled a man named Simon unwillingly into Christ’s drama much to his dismay, it appeared. Hollywood producers dramatically mistreated a character for whom I had sworn to name my firstborn son.
Because, if I had a son, I would want him to be so moved with compassion when he saw suffering that he would act. I would want him to be able to recognize another person’s difficult sacrifice and seek to share their burden.
Was Simon forced? At first, unwilling? As he made the journey with Jesus at his side, did his resistance melt and become compassion? Did he become more than willing to help Jesus make his destination? Was Simon a man of sympathetic generosity or an unfortunate bystander forced to bear a burden? How much are we like him?
Whenever God compels me to action and I comply, I want credit. How many of us have helped out never intending to take on a greater cause, but have anyway? Our participation, volunteerism, even our faith life has mirrored Simon. Funny thing, that notion of unintentional entanglement with Jesus.
You see, there is a difference between servanthood, obedience, and what we do out of pure trust. For a time in my life, I chose servanthood as a form of penance. In an attempt at humility, I decided to do home healthcare at the most basic level, agreeing to take any patient for any pay. Out of hundreds of clients and thousands of square miles, God assigned me two women whose property lines practically touched. In every other respect, they lived in two different worlds.
Personal caregiving was as close to servanthood as I ever want to get. A strong sense of duty made me perform tasks to the best of my ability. I often got a week’s worth of housework done during one four hour shift. I gained empathy for black women characterized in the movie, “The Help.” I vividly experienced the truth of this Bible verse, “A slave has no permanent place in the family, but a son belongs to it forever.”
I was, at times, ambivalent, exasperated and humiliated. I imagined escaping, but loved my clients in spite of my shortcomings through sheer obedience. A Christian friend told me pointblank, “You don’t get any credit if your heart isn’t in it, or if you have a bad attitude.” There were days when both were true. I started out volunteering to carry Christ’s cross, but when it came right down to it, I felt coerced. How do you feel about the cross you’ve been given?
Theologian Henri Nouwen wrote a prayer for Lent called, “Make Me a Servant.” It goes, “O Lord, I know you quicken me in a way fitting my history and temperament. As you invite me to enter more fully into the mystery of your passion, bring me greater desire to follow the way you create for me and the cross you give me. Let me die to the desire to choose my own way and select my own cross. You do not want a hero, but a servant who loves you.”
Is it possible to love the Lord and do the work of a servant through sheer obedience? What if you can’t progress beyond obedience defined as doing what you’d rather not do? Nouwen concludes, “Let me serve you, heavenly Father, as your Son, Jesus, served you.” What does Jesus-style obedience look like? Let’s use an image hidden in our reading.
Jesus sent his disciples to Bethphage to get a donkey and her colt. The Aramaic word Beth means:House. Beth-el:House of God. Beth-lehem:House of bread. Bethphage:House of unripe figs. Unripe figs do not ripen once off the tree. They are unfit to eat, having an irritatingly strong and unpleasant taste.
Obedience without total surrender and total trust in God’s will is like an unripened fig. Jesus hung on a tree until he was ripe. Until his delicate flesh was the same as how fig-growers describe ripe figs: sweet, gooey and strawberry colored. His obedience was a choice beyond compliance, beyond conforming to external pressure, beyond a stiff response. His obedience required flexibility.
We were asked and now we must comply with orders to stay home. At one point, you may have left home, gotten married or taken a job because you had to. But now, what kind of cross-bearer are you? Will you hand the cross over once authorities tell you that your time is done? Or will you insist on carrying it further, knowing God put you in a certain place for a certain time? Maybe you are the person for the job. The question is: Will you stop fantasizing about other places, other relationships, other ways of being? Will you hang on long enough to bear ripened fruit?
God is a good farmer. He understands how everything interacts and knows what delivers overall benefits. God knows how to layer the stories of multiple people so each of them continues to hang in there and ripen.
When Jesus enters Jerusalem, Matthew cites Zechariah for validation. He includes a conversation with Judas and an account of his suicide to bring empathy to an otherwise vilified character. He enlists Pilate in the verdict and the making of a sign that declares Jesus is king. Matthew places a Roman guard at the tomb to show how complicated it was to produce a perfect ripe fig, the figure named Messiah. In the story of life, in our histories, each character finds their purpose and has a part to play.
The cross was not a tragic means of transaction, but a time of ripening. A time when servanthood, obedience and the fruit of trust was revealed in Jesus’ full trust in God. If he no longer trusted, he wouldn’t have cried out to him. He knew God was listening and had not abandoned him. But, gosh, it sure felt like it. Even Jesus spoke of fear and faith in the same breath.
Sometimes, becoming ripe means you don’t get picked. Instead, you fall to the ground as I discovered when obedience took the form of false humility. Never worry about experience going to waste, though. God will pick you up again and intertwine other people’s stories with yours. Walk your path and see who God sends to engage you like Simon who got tangled up with Jesus.
Without the tree that’s the cross of Christ, we have no hope of ripening. Our obedience is unfit for consumption. Good Christian effort can come across as an unripe fig, irritatingly strong and unpleasant. With Christ, we become delicate, sweet and soft inside. We are valuable and desirable to those who cross our path. We become a blessed gift to others besides being great for making those cookies that taste like little cakes with special filling.
God not only watches, but makes possible every shade of ripening, every bit of sweetening, every moment of perseverance. God helps people hang on precisely when they feel like dropping off. God catches those who fall.
Jesus probably felt pretty discouraged right before Veronica wiped his brow. He must’ve struggled pretty badly and been about to drop his cross, the moment before God gave a soldier the idea of enlisting Simon’s strength.
All those people, the one who attempted to show mercy by sticking a sponge full of wine on a stick to his lips, the ones who spoke words about his divinity, the onlookers who watched in horror, all helped Jesus defeat death. Their presence and encouragement brought him (and us) to the throne.
Let us pray.
“Oh, Lord, thank you for grafting us to your tree, for planting seeds within our souls to bear fruit, for helping us hang on and ripen in your kingdom. Let our story enrich somebody else’s journey. Help me be a help, share a burden, or lift a spirit. Engage me in a time of transition from servanthood to obedience to ripe fruit bearing. Help me serve, obey and trust as your Son, Jesus served, obeyed and trusted you. Amen.