Listen Lord: We Hate it Here - Day Twenty Six
Good Friday
Praying with God’s Children Suffering Abuse
Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee along with him, and he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”
Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. “Couldn’t you men keep watch with me for one hour?” he asked Peter. “Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
He went away a second time and prayed, “My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done.” When he came back, he again found them sleeping, because their eyes were heavy. So he left them and went away once more and prayed the third time, saying the same thing. from Matthew 26
Today we keep watch with God’s children. Today we remember the suffering of God’s only begotten, our best beloved and only hope. Jesus had one passion and was set to fulfill one grand purpose that required his death. We share in that purpose and because of his death we are required only to give our lives, because our souls are now made eternal. We cannot die.
This is the good news that I cling to on bad days; days when I would rather waste away than tarry any longer, days when I would wish my enemies away from me to the pit of hell, rather than make it my life’s work to see renewal come to everyone.
On this Good Friday, I am pressed and compelled by the Spirit to cry out for survival. For the children of God who sit in cages - like Jesus - I pray survival. For the children of God worn down by the wickedness of abuse - like Jesus - I pray survival. I pray justice, mercy, and divine visitation. Emmanuel is near. Hosanna! Lord, bring a swift salvation.
On this Good Friday, a day of days for many faith communities, I am thinking about the people who suffer like Jesus. I come bearing my prayers to the God who listens, for all God’s children who were made to survive and promised a day when we will be free to truly thrive.
O Lord, haste the day, haste the day! Until then, we tarry. Together.
Lord, we come to you this morning, knees bowed and body bent. Our hearts bowed beneath our knees, our knees in some lonesome valley. We are wearied from the weight of the world, yet you have told us that you bore this and more upon your shoulders. We are emptied out from wandering in the wilderness with no water, yet you have told us that you possess the ever flowing waters of life. We remember the cup of bitterness and death you took into your precious body, Lord Jesus, so that we might have the cup of joy. But our cups are neither half empty or half full this morning, Lord. Our cups are drained and silt stained. And we are ready to throw them at the wall. We need your promise of peace this morning, we need the God who suffered for our stillness. We look up and live by the watchful one who suffered rejection for our rest.
Then Jesus told them, “This very night you will all fall away on account of me, for it is written: “‘I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.’ But after I have risen, I will go ahead of you into Galilee.” Peter replied, “Even if all fall away on account of you, I never will.” “Truly I tell you,” Jesus answered, “this very night, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.” But Peter declared, “Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you.” And all the other disciples said the same. - from Matthew 26
Listen, Lord, have mercy on us proud and impatient children. We have sworn our faithfulness to you in times of feasting, then fallen away when your work and witness is questioned. and placed our trust in those disciples of yours who would deny your power and the dignity of the people you came to save. We have watched quietly in nervous wonder when our friends are abused and berated. We join the “crucify him” cries of the crowd. We need your steadfast, single-minded mercy, Lord. For we are complicit in your children’s grief, and we hate it here.
Lord, we are abused and betrayed. We are your children who bear the marks of being burdened and beaten, spat upon and crucified by oppressors whose psychoses convince them that our shed blood will cure them from their sins. We are objects of hatred. We are trapped with the evil presence in our homes. We are haunted by betrayals to the point of killing trust - in you or in anybody at all. We sometimes wish to never see another rising or setting sun. We often doubt that your promised tomorrows to end our weeping will ever come. Lord, you told us that you have our names written on your nail-scarred hands. Will you show us your remembrance right now? For in this season of grave solitude, we are lowly and forgotten, and O Lord how we hate it here.
We raise these laments to you, Lord Jesus. King of the people, Savior of souls.
Then they led Jesus from the house of Caiaphas - the High Priest - to the governor's headquarters. It was early morning. They themselves did not enter the governor's headquarters, so that they would not be defiled, but could eat the Passover. So Pilate went outside to them and said, “What accusation do you bring against this man?” They answered him, “If this man were not doing evil, we would not have delivered him over to you.” Pilate said to them, “Take him yourselves and judge him by your own law.” The Jews said to him, “It is not lawful for us to put anyone to death.” This was to fulfill the word that Jesus had spoken to show by what kind of death he was going to die. - from John 18
Lord, we see you delivered over to the state by the church. We see you in the prison cell. We see Emmanuel, God with us, in court and in jail and in court again. In turmoil and in weakness and in sorrow so heavy it brings the sweat of blood to your brow. We see you whipped and interrogated, tossed and driven, and lifted up to die. Our passions are with yours, for so many of your children face the same strange fate.
We are the church’s children discarded; driven out from your bodies of believers. When the churches we called home thought we were too much, or were convinced that we thought too much of ourselves, they shut us out. Members excommunicated, ministers terminated, leaders left in the cold and followers forsaken by their shepherd. We are women trapped in systems of misogyny masquerading as mercy ministries. We are offspring disaffected when we grow too bold. We are the poster children of urban ministry movements cast aside when we grow too old. Lord, with you, we say “we thirst!” and find ourselves given the bitter wine of loneliness in the crowd.
We are the incarcerated and those imprisoned for debts. When the church realizes it is not permitted to execute, they lobby and fight to make sure we do not escape the pain of probation and penalty of death. We hear them cry “we have no king but Caesar” and announce the real location of their sacred places. We watch them argue over the value of our souls and bodies. We read the room when they visit us in jail but do not expend energy to show empathy. They do not leverage their political power to see us truly set free. Lord, with you we say “Forgive them, Father.” For truly we have learned that they have no idea what they are doing.
Listen Lord, your children honor the women who never left you. We weep with them and with your mother. We ponder and are perplexed with your followers who withdrew. We hide with Nicodemous. We self-despise in secret with Peter. We suffer you on one side, “Save yourself!” and bring supplication on the other: “Lord please remember me.” But more than anything, Lord of Life given over to death, we cry out with you “Why have you forsaken me?” and we answer with the words The Spirit gave to the guard at the foot of your cross, “Surely this man is the Son of God.” Amen.
Liturgy: Isaiah 53 + lyrics from common Black Gospel tunes
[Read this remembrance out loud if you can]
He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Like one from whom people hide their faces he was despised, and we held him in low esteem. Now behold the Lamb, the precious Lamb of God.
Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered him punished by God, stricken by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed. We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all. Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth. By oppression] and judgment he was taken away. Yet who of his generation protested? For he was cut off from the land of the living; for the transgression of my people he was punished. He was assigned a grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death, though he had done no violence, nor was any deceit in his mouth. When will we realize, God is on our side?
For he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors. Even me, O Lord, even me.
Experience: The Cross and the Prison Cell
Music: The King of Love is Dead, Nina Simone // Bitter, MeShell Ndegeocello // Ghetto Gospel, Tupac // The Blood Will Never Lose Its Power, Andrae Crouch // Wasteland, Urban Doxology // You are God Alone, Marvin Sapp
Artwork: Romare Bearden