Skip to main content

Good Friday: The Way of Peace

[caption id="attachment_1526" align="aligncenter" width="276"]Photo Credit: TheRevSteve via Compfight cc Photo Credit: TheRevSteve via Compfight cc[/caption]
As soon as it was morning, the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes and the whole council. They bound Jesus, led him away, and handed him over to Pilate. Pilate asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” He answered him, “You say so.” Then the chief priests accused him of many things. Pilate asked him again, “Have you no answer? See how many charges they bring against you.” But Jesus made no further reply, so that Pilate was amazed.

Mark 15:1-5

Against the violence of the empire, Jesus stood quietly, embodying nonviolence and humility. He responded vaguely to questions of his identity and silently to the accusations of wrongdoing.

If there was ever a time for violence, this was it. Ever a time for pride or boasting, this was it. But instead, Jesus responds with silence. He willingly bears the shame and humility, refusing to respond with equal vengeance.

Today, amidst the violence of our world, may we contemplate ways to be agents of change in the way that our humble king was. May the "things that make for peace" become our way of life.

And may we remember that all followers of Jesus are called to die with him, to take up our cross and sacrifice our lives for this upside down Kingdom of God.

 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Olivia Marilyn Rich

Hi friends! Looks like I blogged in 2018 a total of...zero times. I did start a lot of drafts, but none made it to publishing. I'm hoping to maybe get back into blogging (like, at least more than zero times in 2019), but I realized that until I can give any life updates, I need to post SOMETHING about baby #2's arrival. According to my blog, I'm still 9 weeks pregnant with her, but she is now 15 months old. So here is the completed version of her birth story that I attempted to write last year. In order to tell Livvie's birth story, I need to record her pregnancy. It was hard to write about during it, harder to write about it after it. I'm feeling less connected to it now- it is a hazy memory of misery in my mind. I know it was awful, but I can't quite remember just how awful. I guess this is how people have more babies, as the memories are slowly swallowed up by the heavenliness of the baby outside of the womb. The most difficult part of my pregnancies is...

'Til We Finally Meet

When we awoke you were not to be You never swam in our blue sea Now you’ve gone to different oceans Than the one we floated our hopes in When we lost our baby, I did not know how to grieve. So I didn't. I treated it like a failed cycle and put my hand to the plow, pulling my heart and body toward the next thing. We will get pregnant again, I told myself. That will make it all better. Lets pretend this never happened. You were a breaking in the clouds We barely said these things aloud There was a question you were the answer We heard music you were the dancer But in the in-between time, waiting for my body to recover so we could begin treatment again, it eventually became too much to ignore that we had a child. Two children, I guess, though my mind can't possibly comprehend the existence of that other one, the empty sac that never grew beyond four or five weeks. But that beautiful miracle on the ultrasound scream, the sound of the doctor exclaiming "There's a baby with ...

Miscarriage

... For we were so utterly, unbearably crushed that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death so that we would rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He who rescued us from so deadly a peril will continue to rescue us; on him we have set our hope that he will rescue us again, as you also join in helping us by your prayers , so that many will give thanks on our behalf for the blessing granted us through the prayers of many. 2 Corinthians 1:8-11 Three weeks ago, we got this: Yesterday, we found out that our baby does not have a heartbeat. Our hearts have been crushed to a million pieces, and the pain feels unbearable. And so I'm writing this to ask for prayer. Prayer unites us with the comfort of Jesus, the one well acquainted with grief, giving way to peace.  Peace for ourselves, and peace for others. But it's something we can not do alone. I do not understand why prayer did not make my baby live. But I do know that wh...