Good Friday's Good News

Meditations for the Mean Meantime

Gritsch, Brobst

• Publisher: Cascade Books
• Year: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781630873776
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Religion

This book is a collection of seven Good Friday homilies by the late Rev. Dr. Eric W. Gritsch. Due to the fact that this respected historian, writer, teacher, and preacher rarely wrote his sermons, this book of printed meditations will be a treasured addition to any library. Here Gritsch captures the essence of Christian theology, highlighting the concepts with his understanding of human history and human foibles. The insights and wit for which this beloved teacher is known abound in this small volume. In this collection, the seven last words of Christ from the cross are made relevant for those in the twenty-first century who live the daily experiences of their lives trying at all times to be faithful Christians. Page by page the good news of Good Friday is made real!

The Fifth Word

“I am thirsty.”

—John 19:28

One of the last things people who die often do is eat or drink. There is a tradition about Roman crucifixions that that is expected, and sometimes the drink is pain killing or in some strange way refreshing. Jesus was given hyssop with wine. Hyssop is a mint herb that may produce peculiar tastes when mixed with Israeli wine. It was His last physical act. It is what His body needed because one dies on the cross of asphyxiation, of total paralysis, of all the body functions coming to an end—not of a loss of blood, not of a heart attack; gradually, everything dies. Asphyxiation. And again according to Scripture, that is what the Messiah has come to do. Even the drinking was prophesied by the ancient prophets.

Jesus Himself instituted a final meal before He left for the Garden of Gethsemane. It was called the Last Supper, and later the Lord’s Supper and then the Supper of Thanksgiving, Eucharist—many names. Luther calls it the “Last Will and Testament of Jesus.” That is why we do it. But when He said, “Do this,” we do it, even if we do not always understand it. There have been many quarrels about that last meal when there should not be—about last things. One should just do it the way it was meant to be. One should teach it the way it is supposed to be done, not the way it is supposed to be understood in some odd, rational way.

There are two ways of talking about final things. One can describe them and be very clinical about it. One can be very medical, describing what happens. Twelve-year-olds and thirteen-year-olds always ask this question. When I taught confirmands as an interim pastor recently, a twelve-year-old said, “What did Jesus die of?” I said, “Well, what did you learn?” He said, “No one ever answered this question for me. I had all kinds of Sunday school teachers, but they did not give me a medical certificate. What would my father, who is a physician, write on this?” And I said, “Asphyxiation.” And he said, “Aha, that’s the answer.” He just checked me out. He had asked his father before.

That is descriptive speaking about final things—cold-blooded talk that a neurosurgeon or a physician or a funeral director might use. There is another way to talk about final things, and that is declaring something, praising something, talking out of a relationship—like saying, “I love you”—and I do not describe it. We distinguish between this declarative speech and this descriptive speech and we often get confused, because at some odd moments there are some people who want to talk about final things the way they should be described when the other partner just wants to be told what to believe. That cannot be described. You declare something. You announce something. You herald something, and it is taken for that. You describe something, write up something, and the mind might grasp it in some way. These are two ways. But when someone says, “I am thirsty,” one does not analyze; one gives a drink. When someone says, “I need help”—real help—one helps; one does not analyze.

There is a modern version about the Good Samaritan. The Good Samaritan sees the victim on the road and checks it out and does all the right things and really helps him physically. Well, the new version of this Samaritan, my seminarians tell me, is that someone goes by there and sees the victim and says, “Well, whoever did this to you needs a lot of help.” Whoever did this to you needs a lot of help! And no one is helped. This is an interesting descriptive remark that does not establish a relationship. When someone says, “I thirst. I need help,” you give him or her something to drink! Like Jesus—who was thirsty—and like all of us who need sustenance.

Jesus provided for His people after His death by saying, “I will be with you until the end of the earth. I will be with you in the Holy Spirit, whom I call the Paraclete, your Defense Attorney, the Advocate, who might even tell you what to say when you are in trouble. You will never be alone, when you do certain things, when you listen to My Word—to a new Word that says, from now on love each other. From now on it is the Golden Rule—love your neighbor as yourself—that at least will cancel your ego. At least that is 50 percent. At least it is justice; at least it is balance. But also, I sustain you in My presence, even physically through a Meal.”

Because the God who has come to us is not just someone who is heard or sort of perceived in some nonhuman way. This God comes as food, this God comes as a baby. Martin Luther hammered this into his own church in his own day, which was so careful about it and so esoteric and so guarded about it. Only priests could handle the Holy Food, said the Church in AD 1215. You have to be seven years old before you go to the Eucharist, said the same Church. You laypeople do not understand what is going on; therefore, you cannot even touch the bread, the Host, at the Holy Meal. It must be given into your mouth. And drinking? You cannot drink at all! Only priests can do that! Of course this has been changed since (courtesy of Martin Luther, among other things). He said that we all are priests when we are baptized. We all drink. And when I say, “I am thirsty,” I do not want to see someone else drink. I need that cup myself. I need to hold it and grab it and taste it. Luther said, “When I am in trouble, when I begin to lose my faith because my mind fools me”—theologians get fooled all the time—“when I am fooled, I want to eat God. I want to be so sure that I believe with my mouth by chewing, by eating, by tasting; because, sometimes faith is reduced to this simple act like the faith of a baby.” When you want to have that baby more secure and in a real doxological position, you stuff something into its mouth, and sometimes the baby smiles at you, as if it were love, and maybe it is. If you do not do that, nothing else may help. It has to be that physical—and in that sense we are thirsty; we need to be sustained.

Christians have always shied away from that because it is so crude to believe in a God Who wants to give you unleavened Jewish bread and this sip of wine. After all, there could be too much alcohol in it. There could be all kinds of problems with it. The Presbyterian Church just did a study on Eucharistic practices on the Holy Communion—to what degree it is dangerous from a medical perspective. They made a simple discovery. What is dangerous about it is the finger of the presiding pastor who gives you the bread. It is not in the cup. It is not in the bread. It is not in the sharing. All bacteria that are medically discernible are on the finger. So in some churches, you break your own bread. You do not use hands if you want to be clinical. If you do not want to be that physical, you do not want to take chances with that meal. And that usually domesticates the God we believe in. That usually means we really do not trust that much. It comes down to those things that we dare to do physically.

God has a Body. God takes up space and time. God comes as a sacrament. When we are fed through the presence of Christ, it is not just bread; it is not just wine; it is not just baptism water. It is more than that because He said, “Do it this way and I will be with you in a New Covenant, in a New Life, in a way you have not dreamed about yet.” All through that simplicity, all through that command. Martin Luther said in his Catechism, “The only reason we really do the sacrament is because it is commanded. We had others who tried to understand it and so we confused them. We say God is not just in the bread; we say that He is ‘in, with, and under’ the bread—just to confuse the others who want to explain everything.” Some things are not to be explained. Some things are not descriptive.

I know a couple where he always complained and said, “Why should I tell you I love you? I told you that on our wedding day. Aren’t you happy about it?”

“No,” she said, “I want to have it said every day.”

But he said, “This is silly.”

She responded, “But of course it is silly, but I need to hear it.”

He wanted to be descriptive; she wanted to be doxological. He had to come around and understand that.

God is seen doxologically in praise, in wonder, in acceptance by faith...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Foreword - The Rev. Dr. Theodore F. Schneider, Bishop Emeritus
• Preface
• Contributors
• Introduction
• The First Word
• The Second Word
• The Third Word
• The Fourth Word
• The Fifth Word
• The Sixth Word
• The Seventh Word
• Final Reflection