And also with you.

Mark 15:25-38

²⁵It was nine o’clock in the morning when they crucified him. ²⁶The inscription of the charge against him read, ‘The King of the Jews.’ ²⁷And with him they crucified two bandits, one on his right and one on his left.²⁹Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, ‘Aha! You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, ³⁰save yourself, and come down from the cross!’ ³¹In the same way the chief priests, along with the scribes, were also mocking him among themselves and saying, ‘He saved others; he cannot save himself. ³²Let the Messiah, the King of Israel, come down from the cross now, so that we may see and believe.’ Those who were crucified with him also taunted him.

33 When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. ³⁴At three o’clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ ³⁵When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, ‘Listen, he is calling for Elijah.’ ³⁶And someone ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, ‘Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down.’ ³⁷Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. ³⁸And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. 

I could take you to the seat of my 7^th grade classroom where I first saw footage of the twin towers falling. I can tell you exactly what I was wearing when I got in a bad car accident, and I will never forget the date that a high school friend died in a house fire.

When something traumatic happens, you remember the details, even when you would rather forget.

“It was nine o’clock in the morning when they crucified him.”

Sometimes, I would rather forget the crucifixion story. I would rather skip from Palm Sunday to Easter; move straight from “Hosanna!” to “Christ is Risen!” without walking through the mess in between. No need to drag out the gory details.

The haunting details.

The holy details.

“It was nine o’clock in the morning when they crucified him.”

Mark’s story is dripping with details that beg us to slow down, to pay attention, to bear the weight of this heavy, holy story.

I can just picture it.

The sight of darkness all across the land.

The smell of sour wine on a sponge on a stick.

The sound of a jeering, taunting crowd,

and those uncomfortable last words: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”

Jesus’ last words here are not a pronouncement of forgiveness, not a prediction of his resurrection. Jesus’ last words are ones of deep suffering.

I think we would rather forget that detail; we would rather imagine a Jesus who was a bit more divine than human; a Jesus who did not know what meant to feel forsaken.

“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”

If we admit that Jesus asked that question, we might have to admit that we have asked it, too.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Jesus cries out in his dying moment, but the words are not his own.

The phrase comes from Psalm 22, a psalm of lament.

In Jesus’ moment of deep despair, he has no original words to say; he has no parables about the reign of God, no teachings, no miracles. When he has no strength to speak, Jesus leans on the words of his tradition. In his moment of deepest need, Jesus turns to the psalms.

“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”

His answer is buried in the question.

Where is God in the crucifixion?

Where is God in our moments of deep suffering?

God is there, in the words psalm 22.

God is there, in the language of our faith.

God is there, in the depths of human despair.

God is there in the holy, haunting details,

and God will be there in the empty tomb.

Holy God, Jesus came to proclaim good news–news of hope, joy, and justice for all.

We live in that good news, and we celebrate the glimpses of your reign in our midst. We give thanks for everyday moments of grace: the splash of rain that reminds us we are claimed, the touch of a neighbor’s hand that warms our deepest cold, the sounds of laughter, singing, and silence, that seem to carry the voice of your Spirit.

Jesus came came to proclaim good news, but he came in the midst of bad news.

As we remember the joy and hope of your promises, we pray for places in our lives and in our world where sadness, worry, and illness cast a dark shadow. 

Jesus said, “Come, follow me,” and the disciples dropped their nets.

May we hear those simple words again, and may we come, just as we are.

May we have the faith to believe that we are good enough, strong enough, brave enough–that we are enough to be loved and called by you. 

Amen.

This Sunday is a celebratory day in churches around the world. May this liturgy remind you that every Sunday is World Communion Sunday.

Invitation to the Table

Friends, this is the joyful feast of unity. Christ calls us all to this table, to share in a meal that binds us with the faithful around the world. At this table, all are welcome. At this table, Christ is the host. At this table, it is always a day of World Communion.

So come to this table, and bring all of who you are. Come to this table, and find a piece of who God is. Come to this table, and be nourished in body and in spirit.

Great Prayer of Thanksgiving

The Lord be with you.

And also with you.

Lift up your hearts.

We lift them up to the Lord.

Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.

It is right to give God thanks and praise.

It is with great joy that we praise you, Oh God, joining our voices with your faithful people around the world. We give thanks for who you are, for who you have been, for you who you promise forever to be. From the very beginning—from before there was a beginning—you have been a God of abundance–of abundant creation, overflowing grace, and bountiful love. You create all things good, you lovingly shape people—male and female—in your image, and you graciously keep your covenant with us, even when we turn away. When your desert people cried out to you in hunger and in thirst, you gave them bread from heaven and brought water from the rock. When your desperate people cry out to you in humility and in faith, you wash us in abounding grace and bring peace from our chaos. Since the time of the prophets, you have spoken holy words through ordinary people; created holy spaces in ordinary places.

In your holy trinity, you pattern our community—many people in one covenant, one spirit, one baptism. You love us when we are unlovable, you empower us when we are powerless, you forgive us when we cannot forgive ourselves.

Therefore we praise you, joining our voices with the faithful of every time and place, who forever sing to the glory of your name:

Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might, heaven and earth are full of your glory. Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest.

In your son Jesus Christ, your love became tangible; he ate with outcasts, taught with passion, lived with risk, and was executed by his own people. His resurrection is the content of our hope. Where there is death, life. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, holy light. Where there light, holy darkness.

Great is the mystery of faith:

Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.

Pour out your Holy Spirit upon us, O God, and upon these gifts of bread and wine, that they may be for us the life of Christ and that we may be the body of Christ. Fill this space, this table, these people, with your Holy Spirit, and move us to know you in every space, every table, every people. May this meal nourish us that we may love as you love, serve as Christ served, and rejoice with thanksgiving for your Spirit in our midst.

We join our voices with the church of all ages by praying the prayer that Jesus taught us, saying, Our father…

Words of Institution

On the night of his arrest, Jesus shared a meal with friends. He took common bread, and he broke it, and he gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, given for you. Take. Eat. Do this in remembrance of me.”

In the same way, he took the cup, and said, “This cup is the new covenant sealed in my blood, shed for you and for the forgiveness of sins. Whenever you drink of it, do so in remembrance of me. “

Whenever we eat this bread and drink this cup, we proclaim the life, death, and resurrection of our Lord until he comes again. These are the gifts of God for you, the people of God.

Communion of the People

God of light,

Shine upon us.

Move us to see the glow of your presence in the darkest places

     –the places where it seems impossible for a candle to hold its flame.

Move us to know the light of your Spirit in the brightest places

     –the places where the neon signs, LED headlights, and fluorescent bulbs are nearly blinding.

Move us to notice your light in the loudest places

     –the places where the constant chaos and cacophony demand all of our attention.

Move us to see you, to hear you, to feel your warmth.

May we know the light, and may we never fear the darkness.

     For it was in the darkness that you spoke to Jacob,

          and it was in the dark of night that you came as a child.