April 6, 2012 | 12:10 p.m. | Good Friday

Owning Up

Judith L. Watt
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

John 18:1–40
John 19:1–42

It was a little more than thirty years ago that I became aware of God’s hand on my shoulder. Though I’d grown up in a church, none of it was all that important to me until I was an adult and found myself going through this love affair with all things of faith. My spiritual self was being spiritually awakened. And at times it was wonderful and at other times it was awful.

At one point in that period of time, I felt strongly compelled to make my faith known to some longtime friends of ours. These were people with whom we’d shared dinner on many occasions, football games, late-night parties, New Year’s Eve. They weren’t church people, but we had been, and all of a sudden I felt I needed to bring my two worlds together in some small way. So at a dinner party at my house, I asked that we say grace before we eat.

Now today that sounds pretty insignificant, but at the time, with these people, it was a huge step. It felt good on one hand and awkward and exposing on another. But it was a step I’d taken to own up to who I was becoming—a follower of Jesus, struggling with values and ways of living life, yearning to express gratitude publicly. And so this small attempt in saying grace at a dinner party in my home was my way to own up to the truth of who I was.

Some years later, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer that had already spread to the bone by the time of his diagnosis. My mother had died just a year and a half before my dad’s diagnosis. And so my brother and I were thrown into another loss much sooner that our emotional states were able to bear. During those nine months of our dad’s illness, we would go to see him in Indiana, and at times he would come to be at my house. His illness and his needs became increasingly complicated, and I started thinking that I should have him live with us during his last weeks or months. No one could predict how long that would be. The thought wouldn’t let me go, but every time it came to me, I couldn’t figure out how it would work. I had small children, no spare guest room. I knew that if my dad were to live with us, the dining room would eventually be taken over by a hospital bed. I couldn’t bear the thought of my young children watching their grandfather slip away. And so I didn’t follow this internal voice that kept prompting me. I just ignored it, and we made arrangements for our dad to stay in his home, with a caregiver.

Situations like this—just how to care for an aging or ill parent—are different for every single person. There is no one right or wrong decision. But for me, the truth of it was that somewhere deep in my soul, I knew the internal nudge I was feeling was a nudge from God. I turned my back to that internal voice, and when I did, I didn’t own up to what I believed about who God was and how God worked. I didn’t own up to the person I was or who I could have been if I’d been courageous enough to follow.

It was while I was thinking about Peter in today’s readings that these two stories from my past came back to me. Throughout the Gospels, Peter shows himself to be sometimes full of passion and exuberance for Jesus, and at other times Peter fails miserably. He is sometimes full of courage and bravado, and at other times he is scared and full of cowardice.

At the beginning of the drama today in the garden, all the main players are there: Judas, Simon Peter, unnamed disciples, the Pharisees, the religious professionals, the Roman soldiers, and the Roman government officers. At the first round of confrontation between Jesus and the soldiers and the police and the chief priests, Peter reacts impulsively—maybe out of a desire to defend Jesus and lash out, maybe as a way to own up to his allegiance to Jesus, to come out, to be clear about whose side he was on. Peter takes his sword and goes after the high priest’s slave and cuts off part of his ear. But it’s not exactly the right move. Jesus tells him to put away the sword.

They proceed to the courtyard. And there, three different times, Peter denies knowing Jesus, denies knowing Jesus, and instead seeks the comfort of the fire and stands there, warming his hands, side by side with the slaves and the police. This time, these three times, Peter absolutely refuses to own up to who he is and to his friendship with Jesus.

An impetuous attempt to own up on one hand and an absolute denial on the other.

Barbara Brown Taylor, Episcopal priest, professor of religion, noted author, speaks about Jesus in this passage and the way he responds to the myriad of different forces coming at him from all directions. Each time he is confronted or questioned, his action or his response acts as a mirror to those confronting him. Every one of the players in the drama can look at Jesus, how he reacts, what he says, and his actions and his words function like a mirror for them. In that mirror of Jesus, there is pure truth. Every one of the players in the drama can see in the reflection how far off each one of them is from Truth. Jesus mirrors that to them. They see themselves in the truth of what Jesus reflects to them.

She says “One way we Christians have avoided seeing our own reflections in the mirror is to pretend that this is a story about Romans and Jews. As long as they remain the villains, then we are off the hook—or so we think. Unfortunately this is not a story that happened long ago in a land far away. . . . This is a story that can happen anywhere at any time, and we are as likely to be the perpetrators as the victims.” She continues, “I doubt that many of us will end up playing Annas, Caiaphas, or Pilate, however. They may have been the ones who gave Jesus the death sentence, but a large part of him had already died before they ever got to him—the part that Judas killed off, then Peter, then all those who fled. Those are the roles with our names on them—not the enemies but the friends” (Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Perfect Mirror,” Christian Century, 18 March 1998).

This day is a day filled with ever-increasing darkness if we find the courage to look honestly at ourselves. How would I rate what kind of friend I am to Jesus? How would I rate my loyalty and allegiance? When do I own up to who he is in my life, and when do I choose to just warm my hands by the fire instead—to stay comfortable?

The darkness of today is not only focused on our personal journeys. The darkness of today extends beyond us. Innocent people are being killed for the sake of one nation or another. Good and faithful people speak their truths or do their deeds and what they say or what they do is used by the media or the politicians or the pundits to deride or to advance their own causes—sell papers, increase market share, win political elections. I’ve come to think that one reason for our reticence to own up to our allegiance to Jesus has to do with our not wanting to be identified with the faith that has been defined and reduced by the media and the politicians.

You and I both know the many ways we use to avoid owning up to an allegiance to the God we know in Jesus Christ. The comfort of the fire is a draw. It feels good to stand in the crowd and warm up our hands. Fear of being wrong is another. There are a thousand ways to avoid owning up to him, some of them, as Barbara Brown Taylor notes, “as obvious as choosing where we will stand when in a conflict between the weak and the strong, others of them harder to detect—like keeping our mouths shut when someone asks us if we know him, or if we trust him” (“The Perfect Mirror,” Christian Century, 18 March 1998). Or not following that internal nudge that you’ve come to know as God’s nudge.

Today, between now and Sunday, assess your friendship with Jesus. Ask yourself how well you own up to knowing him. Taylor writes, “Today, while he dies, do not turn away. Make yourself look in the mirror. Today no one gets away without being shamed by his beauty. Today no one flees without being laid bare by his light” (“The Perfect Mirror,” Christian Century, 18 March 1998).

And then, on Sunday, believe the unbelievable—that no sin or failing or turning away or denial can overcome the loving forgiveness that the risen Christ has for you and for me and for the world. Amen.