|
Good Friday, 2005
March 25, 2005
Christ Church, Covington
“Put your sword back into its sheath. Am I not to drink the cup that the
Father has given me?” (Jo. 18:11).
It’s early in the afternoon of June 18th, 1815, not far from the small
Belgian town of Waterloo. The engagement between French and British forces
has begun a couple of hours before: it’s the very beginning of the battle.
There’s a lot at stake. Advancing French infantry in column are met by a
counterattack of British cavalry. The Union Brigade (part of this force)
is commanded by General Sir William Ponsonby, an experienced and
aristocratic professional soldier who leads the charge himself. The
counterattack is devastating to the French advance, but Ponsonby has a
difficult time restraining his cavalrymen. The troops cut through the
French infantry and continue to advance into the enemy lines toward the
artillery: a crucial mistake. When their horses and the troops are spent
by battle, the French unleash their own cavalry: a riposte which catches
the British overextended and disorganized and virtually destroys the
British cavalry. Blow, and counter-blow.
Ponsonby himself is caught in a muddy field on his second-string horse,
far from the British lines. There is a certain inevitability about what
happens next. French cavalry armed with deadly lances appear (8 feet long,
with a foot long razor-sharp blade), and Ponsonby knows that with the mud
and his inferior horse he cannot escape. He hands his watch to his aide
and tells him to escape with it as a memento for his son, not yet born,
but it’s too late. Both the General and the aide are killed; Ponsonby’s
body is found later with seven wounds (overkill on the part of the
lancers), mired in the muddy field behind enemy lines. The watch
disappears from history.
Why this story now? It’s stuck with me since I first encountered it some
thirty-five years ago. Maybe it’s not a bad time, on Good Friday, after
two years of war in Iraq, to call to mind the nature and cost of combat,
the bravery of soldiers and the inhumanity of war. But I’m not just trying
to connect you to what’s happening now in our world, but more importantly
to connect you and your life to the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.
What do we find, in this early modern tale of war? We discover the
violence of the battlefield: an acute form of misery where people suffer
at the hands of others. There is the savagery of Ponsonby’s death, the
bloodlust and overkill. At the same time, we find bravery in the soldiers
of both sides, a willingness to risk all in a good cause. There is pathos
here as well, in the story of a single man with hopes and aspirations like
our own, with family and loves, cut off by cruel events. There is sin, in
the ambition of the French Emperor, if in no other place. There is
miscalculation and mistake. There is tragedy, in the muddy field and the
poorly chosen horse, and the inevitability of the lancers turning up for
the kill. This story is an old, old story, which the human race seems
doomed to repeat, not simply in combat but elsewhere as well.
In many ways, our story of crucifixion is like these other stories, with
sin, suffering, pathos, bravery, and the others mixed in. There are the
nails, the spitting, the sword and even the lance: the familiar tools of
death. But don’t stop there, because the crucifixion of Jesus Christ is
more than just a repetition of the old, old story: it is redemptive as
well. There’s hope here, and transition, as we move from death to life.
Somehow, this death is privileged in that it sets us free, buys us back,
from the eternal consequences of human sin and our slavery to an old way
of life. I don’t know how God does this, except that in making the
crucifixion the means of life, God has tricked the devil and used his own
weapons, the weapons of death, against him. Suffering has become patience;
humiliation has become humility. I don’t know how God does this, except
that love is the means. When Jesus tells Peter to put his sword back in
its sheath, and out of love gives himself up to the death that has been
prepared for him by the enemy, he wins a great victory. There’s no novelty
in innocent suffering, on the battlefield or anywhere else; the new thing
that God does in the death of Jesus Christ is to give us new life through
it.
So where does such a mysterious truth find you today? Surely not in the
midst of the confusion of battle or at the executioner’s block. Yet we too
have our own confusions and uncertainties, our own experiences that might
leave us broken and stuck, mired in mistake and miscalculation and even in
sin. Not every wound is external. Yet here we are, in the beauty and
silence of Good Friday, contemplating the love that God has for us. Here
we are, on Good Friday, remembering the cost of love and the high price
that has been paid for us. Here we are, on this Good Friday, gathered at
the foot of the cross, thankful for the grace that has brought us here to
share in the gift of new life.
The Rev’d John Bauerschmidt is Rector of Christ Church, Covington.
Return to Recent Sermons |