“…because he had set himself toward Jerusalem” (Luke 9.53).
So, we begin again this week of remembering, and experiencing the passage of days when we know death is so very close. We see the entry into Jerusalem, dinner at Mary and Martha’s, one last meal with his closest friends, capture, torture, and then death at its close. More than any other time in the year, we are aware that Jesus is going to die. And in the lead-up, life goes on and time ticks ahead. Just as it does for us.
There’s an old anthem that’s read at funerals and on Holy Saturday that begins “In the midst of life, we are in death.” I wonder, sometimes, if it would be better placed on Palm Sunday since that’s what we are reading and experiencing in this story: life in the midst of death.
After the last year, I suppose death and mortality are closer to the forefront of my mind than in other years; so, I see this day and the week that follows it in the light of how few in number our days are and how fragile we are. But it’s made me think that there two important reactions to this reality: denial and acceptance.
Denial of death, I believe, is at the core of much of the worst of our actions as humans. Denying in our minds that we are mortal that we, like everyone in history, must one day pass out of this world leads to thinking we are different. That leads to thinking ourselves divine, which naturally takes us to seeing everyone else as not-divine. And who can question a god?
History is pretty clear what happens when any of us starts to think of ourselves as unique from everyone else. Unique means separate, radically different. And the inevitable is that we are above. My needs become greater than yours, my actions beyond scrutiny; because, my thoughts are not your thoughts. Who but an immortal can understand or judge an immortal.
Contrast this with acceptance of this reality. Jesus is under no illusion that the path has narrowed. He has angered the wrong people, challenged too much of their power. They’re going to come for him, and death comes with them. Make no mistake, this week paints the picture of someone who is terminal. He knows that he is going to die.
And what do we see? We see what we have always seen in Jesus’ life: kindness, love, respect. We see someone who treats everyone he encounters as though they too will face death. He looks at them not as those below him, but as though they are the same. And in their fragility, like his own, loves each one more.
It’s the irony of Redemption: to reach that moment when death and hell are destroyed, that we have to accept that death is part of this life for each and every one of us. That the thing that feels the farthest from how things were meant to be is the reality that can lead us back to that place where all is made whole. Accepting that in the midst of this life we are dying is what opens us to a world where there is only life.
This doesn’t mean that the fear and sadness associated with death dissipate in this acceptance. Jesus’ fear this Thursday night is palatable. It is made real in the sour smell of sweat and the iron scent of blood. It’s scary, terrifying enough to keep anyone awake at night.
But its reality can change us and change our world. Seeing in Jesus the anxiety and pain, we are aware of our own. And in that awareness, we realize that everyone around us, from spouses and friends to the stranger that passes us in the store, is also anxious and scared of death. Like us, and like Jesus, in its face their fear would seep out from their skin.
This week, perhaps more than any other in the year, asks us to decide how we’ll live into the days that follow. Will we deny the reality of life and where the road takes us all? Will we give in to the temptations the Evil One continues to whisper—you are different, you are a god.
Or will we set our face toward what is ahead, accepting that we are mortal just like everyone around us. Will we let that wisdom sink into us so we see that its reality frightens us all, and makes us all the more precious because of it.
And, in ways we’ll never fully comprehend, through that acceptance draw closer the day when even death will die.
Incarnate One, you know what it is to be mortal, to fear death. Teach us to live into that reality as you did, and find a greater love for all those around us. Help us not to turn away, but, as you did, to set our faces toward the future in love, in trust that in so doing, we may come to the day when even death is overcome.