"Silence and Symbolism," the senior sermon of Susan E. Wilmot, Class of 2008 from the Diocese of Arizona, given on September 5, 2007, in Christ Chapel

1 Kings 9:24-10:13; Psalm 38 / 119:25-48; James 3:1-12; Mark 15:1-11

Summer months are often slow months in the retail trade. To boost sales, many stores offer ‘Christmas in July’ sales. That says a great deal, if you’ll pardon the pun, about the power of our modern cultural symbolism, and nothing about Christ’s ministry in and for the sake of the world. Fittingly and ironically, we have the beginning of Holy Week in September with a portion of Saint Mark’s Palm Sunday reading in today’s daily office.

Given recent media attention on the more than four hundred executions that have occurred in Texas since 1982, we clearly continue to stand in the shadow of the cross. We can hear the piercing resonance of voices screaming “Crucify! Crucify!” as the death penalty is implemented at the will of the people, and with the blessing of the Governor. Yet even at the foot of the cross, there are slivers of hope. Many voices worked together for good in the case of Kenneth Foster. Hours before his execution was to take place, Foster’s death sentence was commuted to life in prison, paradoxically at the will of the people, and by the authority of the Governor.

We tend not to ponder long on issues of life and death -- violent or otherwise. Yet this summer death has been very close to my heart and mind, and not just because of Kenneth Foster. Like many of you, I have just completed a unit of Clinical Pastoral Education, ministering to patients and families in a large hospital. Over a four-hour period on the morning of my last day, I spent time with two families. Both had just suffered sudden and seemingly unreasonable deaths. For one son and daughter, their mother’s death came within two months of their father’s demise. For the other family, a wife and mother died suddenly and inexplicably while her husband turned to move his chair closer during their visit.

In the hope of the resurrection, we know that these women found refuge through death, entering into eternal life with Christ. Yet we cannot forget the sheer messiness of death that the rest of us must deal with in life. As two women found refuge in Christ, two families were exiled in the sorrow and grief of this world.

Their stories and today’s reading from Mark bring to mind the words of Benjamin Franklin, “In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes.” In first century Palestine, the governing Roman authorities knew a lot about both death and taxes. I will leave you to ponder the matter of taxation then and now. To Franklin , I simply wish to say that the inevitability of death does not diminish the scandal, shock, or burden, especially of a death that seems unjust or untimely.

In Mark’s elegant economy of narrative, there is the scandal of injustice. The release of Barabbas – whose name literally means ‘the son of a father’, ensures the execution of Jesus, the innocent Son of God the Father. In many ways, Jesus’ death is a thoroughly contrived political maneuver based in fear. Fear on the part of the Judean religious leaders that Jesus’ prophetic words and symbolic deeds would lead the people away from their teachings. Fear that the crowd would abandon its leadership, shockingly transferring power to an itinerant preacher from Galilee . Above all, there is fear on the part of Pontius Pilate. Pilate’s mundane thinking assumes Jesus’ Kingdom is from this world, and that His Kingship may well constitute a resurrection of the Hasmonean dynasty, usurping his own power as Governor of Judea.

Characteristically, fear becomes manifest in violence. Violence that is littered across the pages of time. For those determined to secure and retain personal or corporate power at all costs, brutality is frequently a convenient means to an end. And it is the marginalized and powerless of society who usually pay the price. This recurring story is deeply and proudly engraved in history. Moreover, it is the epitome of life in a world governed by a culture of fear, and a mindset of scarcity. You and I know that the opposite of fear is love. You and I also know that God’s love is boundless in abundance.

Apparently fearless, Jesus is silent before Pilate. Where did such reckless confidence come from? As biblical scholar, NT Wright suggests, contextually the “events and actions [of Jesus’ life and death], and the implicit narratives they disclose [occur] ... within a world that knows the value of symbols.” Major interpretative symbols for Jesus’ death and resurrection are found in the story of the so-called cleansing of the Temple in Jerusalem , and Jesus’ Last Supper with His disciples. In our understanding, these stories connect and expand Israel ’s story to become God’s redemptive work in the history of salvation. The Christian narrative, your story and my story, are all grafted into and nourished by Israel ’s story. Israel ’s story is foundationally one of exile, exodus, and God’s redemption through the forgiveness of sins. God ordains Israel ’s mission to be a light to the world. Jesus is that light.

By His symbolic destruction of all that is unholy at the Temple in Jerusalem, Jesus prophetically acts out God’s judgment against the corrupt Temple cult foreseeing the destruction of the Temple and the end of Temple sacrifices. At the Last Supper, Jesus points to His own death as the single redemptive sacrifice for all, to be celebrated with thanksgiving in the new covenant of His Body and Blood. In the tradition of the Maccabaean martyrs, Jesus embodies the redemptive sacrifice of all Israel , not just for Israel ’s sake, but also according to Israel ’s God-given mission, for the sake of the whole world.

The Passover meal recalls the story of exodus and the return of Israel from exile, which also foretells God’s forgiveness of sins. In the new covenant, Jesus shows His disciples that in Him and through Him Israel’s exile is over, and that her sins are forgiven. In Christ, the gift of redemption extends beyond Israel ’s boundaries, to enfold the Gentiles, reconciling the world to God. In the way of prophets like Jeremiah and Ezekiel, Jesus’ acts at the Last Supper symbolize the weaving of His own story with Israel ’s narrative, ushering in God’s Kingdom as the next chapter. Jesus’ silence flows from complete trust in God’s love to conquer evil and death through the willing sacrifice of His own life. In a culture that understands symbols, Jesus’ silence says more than words ever could.

The shock lies in the manner of God’s triumph. It is not as the world expects, by means of a brutal and bloody revolution, but by way of the irresistible force of love and self-giving. Jesus shows us that God’s path to victory over evil and death is a way of non-violence. With God’s help, we too can walk that path, making it a highway for God’s justice in the world. Yet, given the power of today’s governing symbols, it is not an easy road. Many of us have elected individualism, the ideology of the state, and idolatrous consumerism to pave our way in the world, too often trampling over those who get in our way.

Standing before Pilate, bound for death, Jesus’ enigmatic silence speaks volumes. In our own context, now is not the time for silence. You and I must ask ourselves what we are asserting when we act out our own lust for revenge. How many executions do we need to drive away our fear, our pain, our hurt, and all the injustices of a broken world? How many executions must we witness to make us feel powerful and in control? Do we even see the crown of barbed wire that surrounds this cultural prison of violence, and that punctures our capacity to love others as God loves us? Where competition rules and the gift of life has no greater consequence than a disposable cup, let us not hesitate to join our voices and become the crowd that works together for the good that is God’s justice.

Desert father, Anthony the Great, once said, “Our life and our death is with our neighbor. If we gain our brother [or sister], we have gained God, but if we scandalize a brother [or sister], we have sinned against Christ.” We continue to live in the shadow of the cross. As Christians, you and I know that there can be no shadow without light. Our hope is the light of Christ who redefined the symbolism of that scandalous cross, by embodying love and mercy, compassion and forgiveness. For a society that calls the death penalty justice, it is a tragic irony that the hope of all people is Christ, who Himself suffered death on a cross, once for all, at the will of the people, by the authority of a Governor. Christ, who is the light of the world, now stands beyond the symbol that once signified a shameful death. Christ is the eternal reality of life and hope. As the Body of Christ, let us work as one to end the violence. Let us share our hope in Christ, and bring true freedom and justice to all.

Amen.