"Sadder-day"
April 2, 1999
Good Friday
Matthew 27:46

     What are your plans for tomorrow, Saturday? I’m not curious about any old Saturday, but tomorrow, the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Will you spend it waiting? Waiting for the resurrection?
     John Irving, in his novel A Prayer for Owen Meany says, "I find that Holy Week is draining; no matter how many times I have lived through the crucifixion, my anxiety about his resurrection is undiminished – I am terrified that, this year, it won’t happen."
     What are you doing tomorrow? Will you be waiting?
     The days of Holy Week can be draining. Today it appears that the forces of evil have won over the forces of good. The world looks grim. The disciples have fled in fear. Jesus hangs dead on the cross. Good Friday and Easter Sunday have earned names in the church calendar. But what about Saturday?
     We live on Saturday. The day with no name. We live our lives on one long continuous Saturday. What Jesus’ friends experienced on a small scale – three days of grief and fear in the shadow of the cross, some now live on a larger scale. Human history drags on, between the time of promise and fulfillment. Do we believe that this world that includes Kosovo and racial hatred can be transformed into something beautiful and good?
     What are your plans for tomorrow?
     Tony Campolo tells a wonderful story. He attended the funeral of a close friend. A friend who died too early in life. A friend loved by all. The funeral was tragic. The collective grief overwhelming.
     The minister did a strange thing. He slammed the lid of the coffin shut and shouted, "It’s Friday, but Sunday’s com’in!"
     "It’s Friday, but Sunday’s com’in!"
     Today’s Friday and I long for Sunday.
     Like many, I don’t like suffering. I’ve been sick this week. My, Oh my, I don’t like suffering. Tylenol PM, Tylenol Cold - Severe Congestion formula, Dayquil Gelcaps, Vicks Vapor rub, vitamin C, Echinacea: my Holy Week litany. I don’t want to suffer, but I’d like someone to listen to me complain.
     I don’t want to hear about others suffering. Turn off the TV and the radio. I don’t want to hear about it. I want to pretend that life is grand all over. I look in horror at the pictures of Kosovo and I dread any footage of the three captured soldiers.
     Do you like to suffer?
     Do you like to hear about suffering?
     What are we doing here?
     It’s a lovely day, yet here we are hearing about the death of Jesus.
     We could skip this whole week. Go straight from triumphal entry to resurrection. Skip all the yucky stuff! Betrayal, denial, torture, sorrow, pain, death. I don’t like suffering!
     Jesus didn’t either.
     "My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" I never knew these weren’t the words of Jesus until my early twenties. I was shocked to discover that these words are from a Psalm (22:1).
     You see, I had often wanted to say these words, "My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" "God, why?" But I didn’t feel like I could. That wonderful midwestern conscience said, "Who are you to use these words. These are Jesus’ words. When you’re betrayed, denied, tortured, and crucified, all in matter of days, not drawn out over a lifetime, but in a matter of days, then and only then can use these words. Who do you think you are? Well, you can imagine my delight when I discover that this was a Psalm. Jesus was quoting scripture in a time of need and distress. Or was he?
     Was God truly absent at that moment?
     Do you live your life on Friday, with God absent?
     Do you live your life on Saturday, waiting for new life?
     Do you live your life on Sunday, filled with love and hope?
     I’d like to introduce you to two characters. One is Standish, he’s found in a novel by May Sarton and one is Morrie Swartz. Standish lives his life on Friday, shaking his fist at God. For Standish there’s no thought of Sunday, no thought of new life. Here is a conversation with Rev. Thornhill as overheard by Miss Spencer. Standish says, to a visiting Rev. Thornhill, "Hard going all my life. That’s no news. But just the same. I didn’t think it would end like this. " Again there was silence. I felt for Rev. Thornhill and I admired him for being silent. Sometimes silence is the greatest sign of understanding and of respect. It is far more consoling than words of false comfort.
     "Do you have no family?" Thornhill asked then, speaking loudly.
     "Yes…no…what does it matter? You talk to Miss Spencer nest door, the only person with her wits about her within a radius of ten miles. She has her hearing. You talk to her."
     "I will. God bless you."
     But this of course, was a red rag to a gull. "God bless me? You’re joking! God doesn’t have the address. God never got further than the general store in the village. God?" Suddenly he was in one of his rages. "Christ!" he shouted, "I’m an old man. I had a wife, I had children. My wife is dying miles away form me. I’m dying miles away from her. My children?" I could hear the sob wrenched out of him. Talk to Miss Spencer for Christ’s sake."
     Standish lives his life on Friday, shaking his fist at God.
     Morrie Swartz, on the other hand lives his life on Sunday. Death is a reality for Morrie, yet he embraces life. Mitch Albom, in his book Tuesday’s with Morrie, shares this conversation, "Once you learn how to die, you learn how to live." I nodded. "I’m going to say it again," he said, "Once you learn how to die, you learn how to live."
     "Most of us all walk around as if we’re sleepwalking. We really don’t experience the world fully, because we’re half asleep, dong things we automatically think we have to do. Strip away all that stuff and you focus on the essentials. When you realize you are going to die, you see everything much differently. Learn how to die, and you learn how to live. If you accept that you can die at any time – then you might not be as ambitious as you are. The things you spend so much time on – all this work you do- might not seem as important. You might have to make room for some more spiritual things. We are too involved in materialistic things, and they don’t satisfy us. The loving relationships we have, the universe around us, we take these things for granted."
     He nodded toward the window with the sunshine streaming in. "You see that? You can go out there, outside, anytime. You can run up and down the block and go crazy. I can’t. I can’t go out. I can’t run. I can’t be out there without fear of getting sick. But you know what? I appreciate that window more than you do." I look out that window every day. I notice the change in the trees, how strong the wind is blowing. It’s as if I can see time actually passing through that windowpane. Because I know my time is almost done, I am drawn to nature like I’m seeing it for the first time.
     Morrie lives on Sunday. Embracing life, in spite of death, in spite of suffering.
     This week I’ve been living on Saturday. In between Friday and Sunday. Feeling sorry for myself. Feeling yucky. Not shaking my fist at God. But not embracing life either. It’s not a bad place to be. Sometimes Saturday is unavoidable.
     Jesus knows all three days. He lives and died and lives again. He knows all three days.
     Where do you live life?
     How will you live tomorrow?