Psalm Sunday 2009: Where were you?

Mark 15: 1-15, page 721

Very early in the morning, the chief priests, with the elders, the teachers of the law and the whole Sanhedrin, reached a decision. They bound Jesus, led him away and handed him over to Pilate.
“Are you the king of the Jews?” asked Pilate.
“Yes, it is as you say,” Jesus replied.
The chief priests accused him of many things. So again Pilate asked him, “Aren’t you going to answer? See how many things they are accusing you of.”
But Jesus still made no reply, and Pilate was amazed.
Now it was the custom at the Feast to release a prisoner whom the people requested. A man called Barabbas was in prison with the insurrectionists who had committed murder in the uprising. The crowd came up and asked Pilate to do for them what he usually did.
“Do you want me to release to you the king of the Jews?” asked Pilate, knowing it was out of envy that the chief priests had handed Jesus over to him. But the chief priests stirred up the crowd to have Pilate release Barabbas instead.
“What shall I do, then, with the one you call the king of the Jews?” Pilate asked them.
“Crucify him!” they shouted.
“Why? What crime has he committed?” asked Pilate.
But they shouted all the louder, “Crucify him!”
Wanting to satisfy the crowd, Pilate released Barabbas to them. He had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified.
Sermon
Where were you on September 11, 2001?
I remember where I was, and this week I was reminded where John Walker Lindh was by a magazine article.[1]
John Walker Lindh was captured just months after the September 11th attacks fighting alongside Taliban forces in Afghanistan. While the nation united against the Taliban, this young white man from California was on the other side, a bearded convert to a fundamentalist version of Islam, and so became one of the most despised men in America. For siding with our nation’s enemy, for fighting for, and not against the people known to be responsible for attacking the United States on 9/11, he was beaten, vilified, and sentenced to twenty years in a Federal Prison.
How his mother felt when he took his first steps, how his father’s face lit up the first time his son smiled, his grades in school, his devotion to a foreign culture, and his quest for religious fulfillment are all wiped away, replaced by the words of Hilary Clinton who called him a traitor, or Ann Coulter, who called for his execution.
For any person tied to the United States, it is natural to think of smoke rising from the Twin Towers, airplanes flying where they shouldn’t, fear, death, and worry whenever John Walker Lindh is mentioned.
Like Pontius Pilate his identity is inextricably tied to one event – nothing else in his life could ever define him so completely.
Those buildings that he built, all other criminals who he attempted to try fairly, the justice that he sought, and the fairness that he asked of an unruly crowd are all forgotten – only the words: “Suffered under Pontius Pilate, he was crucified, dead, and buried” remain.
That was his defining moment.
Just as there are defining moments in all of our lives, those moments that change everything – categorize our lives into before and after - Pilate stood before the roaring crowd, Jesus, a huddled mass, silent and seemingly indifferent behind him, was living the moment that would define him forever; forever associating him with Christ’s crucifixion.
But the great theologian, Tertullian, gave verse two of our scripture passage an interesting reading – he saw something substantial in the conversation between Pilate and Jesus: “Are you the king of the Jews?’ asked Pilate. ‘Yes, it is as you say,’ Jesus replied.”
Tertullian saw a confession of faith in this verse – as though Jesus were saying to Pilate – you have already said it, you know who I am and have confessed that truth so why are you asking? Tertullian saw a “quiet faith that lived in [Pilate’s] heart.” Unfortunately, we modern readers say, that quiet faith never turned into loud words or strong actions – instead his faith was small, insubstantial, and quiet compared to the shouts of the crowd.
He won’t be remembered for this quiet faith – it’s his lack of action that matters – it’s his lack of action that makes his legacy the suffering represented by this symbol.
We look to the cross and blame him. We say the words of the Apostle’s Creed and let Christ’s suffering rest on his shoulders.
But he only played his small part in this tragedy.
He is judged more harshly, maybe because of where he was, but what about Peter, James and John; Mary and Martha, where were they?
We focus our aggression on Pilate, but here in Mark we know that at least he tried to defend Christ before the Crowd while the disciples hid – we know of Pilate’s quiet faith, but isn’t the disciple’s silent, absent, non-existent faith all the more appalling.
The truth of the crucifixion is that Christ suffered, not only under Pontius Pilate, but also by the cowardice of the disciples who feared for their own life.
And the crowd who had celebrated his entry into Jerusalem only days before, now so persuadable that they call for this same man’s death – we remember Pilate’s role in Christ’s crucifixion, but Christ suffered under a crowd of men and women of loose convictions, too easily swayed by the whims of religious authority.
The truth is that Christ suffered, not only under Pontius Pilate, but also under the jealously of the religious men who could not comprehend how this untrained man could outsmart the most educated, doing the miracles they weren’t able to do, healing the people they weren’t able to heal – to them he was a sign of what they should be - so they called for his death.
We know where Pilate was when they crucified my Lord, but where were his friends who knew who he was, where was the crowd who celebrated his entrance into the city only days before, and where were the educated who should have recognized him for his fulfillment of the scripture.
It’s easier to gravitate towards one figure, to let him bear the guilt that we all carry – so, we humans point our fingers in judgment, speak harsh words to the obvious targets so we can evade the question that really matters.
We know where Pilate was, but the question that really counts has nothing to do with Pilate. The question that really matters is: “Where were you when they crucified my Lord?”
Where were you when the crowds called for one thing and the quiet faith of your heart demanded another – did the quiet faith of your heart turn into words from your mouth, actions, or were you too afraid?
Where were you when worry surrounded you, bills pilled up, but your children needed you at home – did you obey the quiet faith that called you to your family, or did you stay at work giving up on the faith that told you all is in God’s hands?
Where were you when vengeance boiled up, fear trumped justice, and the call to war drowned out everything but the quiet faith of your heart calling you to patience and peace?
Where were you?
Here is the sign that reminds us all of the result of our sin – like a scar to remind us – we look to the cross as the sign of our condition, it is the result of our actions – but; if we are not afraid to see it now, to die to our ways of sin and death – we will be raised to new life.
-Amen.
[1] John Rico, “Can John Walker Lindh Go Home Now?” (GQ April, 2009) 126.