The First Word from the Cross: "Forgive Them" -- A Lenten Sermon

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Today is the first Sunday of Lent. And Lent is supposed to be that 40 days that lead to Easter. The church gives us 40 days to get ready for the wonder of the Open Tomb. And the church has historically used these days as a time of pushing back a little and thinking, thinking about Jesus and what he asks of us. And what it really means to be a Christian.

And what I want to do is to use these days to turn again to that hill far away. To Golgotha—skull-shaped. A place where we find a cross. Remember the old song; “At the cross, at the cross where’d I first saw the light and the burden of my life fell away—It was there by faith that I received my sight, And now I am happy all the day!” That’s what we are going to concentrate on until Good Friday. And maybe, just maybe standing so near the place where Jesus died—we might just find something to keep us going.

The church collected the words that Jesus spoke from the cross. They called them: The Seven Last Words. And we are going to stop beside all seven of these words in the next few weeks. And listen. Really listen. The Rule of Benedict says we are to listen with the ears of the heart. It isn’t easy this listening. We are bombarded telemarketers, by TV and newspapers and web sites and I-phones and sermons. And we’ve heard so many words that we just tune them out, don’t we. Even sermons—especially sermons.

But the seven last words say: Listen—listen—listen. I don’t know anybody who does not need this first word: forgiveness. As they nailed nails into his hands and feet, they lifted up that splintered crossbeam to put it into place. The body was suspended on a stave between his legs. The hurt must have been excruciating. On either side of Jesus were two thieves—common criminals—he was surrounded by soldiers who must have smoked and told dirty jokes and gambled for his garments. In the shadows the rulers stood by and smirked. The ugly crowds pointed to Jesus, as crowds always do—and they laughed. The disciples? Where were they? Scared out of their wits. The book said “they all forsook him and fled.” Judas had already hanged himself. Peter had gone away in shame and derision. And only three women—his mother and two others and John, one lone disciple stood at the foot of the cross.

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So this was the setting of Jesus’ first word. What—what did he say? Listen. Listen. “Father, forgive them for they knew not what they do.” Back at the edge of the circle an old man nudged his neighbor and said, “What did he say? What was it.” And the neighbor said: “He said: “Father forgive them for they know not what they do.” And the old near-deaf man said: “Oh..”

Those words are a prayer. They are spoken by Jesus to his heavenly Father. He did not pray for himself. He prayed for them—all those that stood there—and the two thieves, too. “Forgive them.”

Them?  Who are the them’s for whom he prayed? They were the soldiers who cast lots and had no idea what was really going on. Just carrying out orders. Who were the them’s? That nasty crowd that sneered and gawked and called him names. Who were the “them’s”? The rulers in purple robes standing before the microphones and reading off their teleprompters. Who were the them’s? The two sad criminals on each side. But the them’s were also his Mama who wept and those two who came too hold her up and John who was there until the end. He prayed for Judas, who was dead by his own hand and Simon who had betrayed the best thing he had ever known. And I think he also prayed for all the cowards and the weak ones and the broken out there somewhere.

This first word is a word of inclusion. Not only for them. It is a word for us, too. I think he prayed for all of us. You and me and the drunks and homeless and kids riding school buses and the parents in Florida planning today funerals for their fifteen-sixteen years olds. He prayed for us all. We are all included in that first word. 

Remember how Jesus started there at the beginning of his ministry. He came preaching—preaching what? A gospel, a good news of repentance. A forgiveness of sins. Disturbing the status quo. Turning everything inside out. Saying, over and over, you can be different. Whores? Yes. Tax-collectors? Yes. The addicted? Yes. The scared and frightened? Yes. Who are the them? Not only Pilate and Judas and Simon but you and me, too. We are in that company. The Greek original puts it this way: “While they were crucifying him, he prayed: ‘Father forgive them…’

Can you hear what he said? Forgive them. Listen  Forgive all of them. We are all taken in. None of us are left out. And you know there are some that I wish he would leave out. I have this list—do you have one too?

We spent a month in Oxford, England. And I told my wife I wanted to go to Coventry to visit

the cathedral the Germans bombed in the Second World War. We took the train and found ourselves in the little village of Coventry. The Cathedral there was over a thousand years old. It was a beautiful place. And on the night of November 14, 1940 the Germans bombed the city and the Cathedral was destroyed.  More than 550 citizens lost their lives that night. Nothing was left but crumbling walls where this magnificent building had been. The next morning and the demolition crews came in the town decided they would rebuild their church. And finally the foundation of the new Cathedral was laid by the Queen in March of1956. 

When we visited there—we saw they had kept the ruins. They did not tear them down. But they stood as a grim reminder of what had been. And what evil could do when let loose. To the left of those remains was an archway that leads to the new Cathedral. And in that archway—we stopped. There is a cross—a cross made from the nails and chased beams that fell that terrible night. Natives found some of them still burning. And so they took those nails and the burned-out timbers and constructed a cross. Underneath that cross are two words: “Father Forgive.” And then next door is this beautiful new structure. I try to keep remembering those old bombed-out ruins and those words and the new building. Evil does not have the last word. And the bridge between the old and the new are always the words: “Father Forgive.”

For the charred remains of your dream or lost virtue or failure or hope is where forgiveness begins. He prayed for whatever it is that we just can’t let go of. All the things that cripple and diminish us. Money. Sex. Status. Shame . Heartbreak. Doubt. Fear. Grudges. Hatred of self. Hatred of self. Hatred of self. He prayed for whatever it is we need to let go of.

Those words: “they know not what they do” are troublesome. Does it mean that if we do not know what we do it does not matter. Not at all. I like the way Karl Rahner translates this phrase. “They know not what they do.” He says there is only one thing we do not know. It’s not our sins. Oh, we know them well. Only one thing, he says we do not know. It is God’s love for us. Most of us have never to really heard how much God really loves us. We are like the old man who asked, “What did he say?What did he say?”

I really don’t know how it happens. But forgiveness can touch us all. I was on a plane

leaving Birmingham for somewhere up north. And my seat mate was a distinguished black lady. Her name was Mrs. Robertson. We began to talk. “Do you live in Birmingham?” I asked. “Yes, I have lived here all my life.” 

 I asked her, “You wouldn’t be a member of the 16th Street  Church, would you?” (Remember the 16th Street Church was where four little black girls were killed one Sunday morning.) And she said, “I used to be a member of that church.” “Were you there during the bombing?” I asked. She said, “My daughter was killed that day. Her name was Carole with an ‘e.” She said, “ I was getting ready for church that morning when my husband came by with the terrible news.” She grew quiet and then she said: “Life was different--always different after that.”

We struck up a friendship that day and from time to time we would talk on the telephone. Years later they finally caught a couple of KKK members responsible for that bombing. They asked Mrs. Robertson to testify at one of the trials. Doug Jones that just became a Senator in Alabama was the lawyer. Mrs. Robertson was in a wheel-chair and they wheeled her in that morning and she testified. “This would have been my daughter Carole’s thirtieth birthday.” And she told that courtroom the story of her loss and sadness.

Later Spike Lee interviewed her for the movie, “Four Little Girls.” which tells the story of that awful morning. At the end of the movie Mrs. Robertson speaks. She was asked, “Can you forgive the men that did this?” 

In her gravelley voice she said, “I forgave them a long time ago.It was hard but I have learned that if you don’t forgive that stuff will choke you to death. Life is just too short to hang on to that. “

That first word that Jesus spoke from the cross is for us all. “Forgive them…” Whatever it is we have done or not done. We can be forgiven. And the message he left was that whatever is broken or wounded or killed or burned out—like our Lord we must all work hard to forgive. For you see Mrs. Robertson was right. Life is just too hard to hold on to that stuff. It will choke us to death.This is the first word that came down from the cross. We are forgiven! We are forgiven! Wed are forgiven! No wonder Mark called it good news.

(This sermon was preached at the First Presbyterian Church, Pendleton, SC, 2-18-18

--Roger Lovette / roger lovette.blogspot.com