The Tragedy that Turned

A sermon about grace edging out disaster

Today we watch a tragedy unfolding in three acts. Act I, set on a rooftop patio in Jerusalem, around an al fresco dining table. Jesus shares a final foreboding meal with his friends. “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you,” he begins, “before I suffer.” “Before I suffer”—these are strange words to start out a dinner dedicated to God’s eternal strength and victory!

“This is my body,” Jesus goes on, “breaking…this is my blood pouring out”…good God, what is this young rabbi talking about? And then, “One who will betray me is right here at table with us…Woe to him, woe!”

That ominous disclosure sparks frantic accusations and interrogations, but Jesus shuts everyone down by reminding them that they only need to follow the leader, and they’ll be okay. Jesus checks in with Peter—“Are you ready, willing and able to follow me, so that others can follow you?” Peter says he is, and Jesus doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

He glances past Peter at the rest of his friends. “For now, better look out for yourselves,” he warns. And heads out into the night.

Act II, set first in a hillside garden and then a series of courtyards in important Jerusalem residences. As Jesus’ friends nod off to sleep, he prays alone in the dark, in agony as his very forehead beads with blood. Jesus turns back to rouse his friends, hoping for some word of companionship or encouragement, but it’s already too late. Judas and his armed thugs are closing in. Judas seals Jesus’ fate with a kiss.

Now Jesus is rudely shoved onto the narrow street toward city center, shuttled first to the courtyard of the high priest’s home, then to the Roman governor’s palace, next to the corrupt King’s rented quarters, and finally back to the governor’s palace. Again, and again, and again duly constituted authorities declare Jesus innocent of wrongdoing. But it makes no difference… remember, this is a tragedy.

And so begins Act III, played out on a rounded rise locals call “The Skull.” Jesus is crucified between two criminals—all three men consigned to the same grueling fate that awaits anyone who proves inconvenient for the Romans. We certainly don’t want to watch this, and we turn and start to walk away when we’re halted by the eerie sound of Jesus speaking from the cross.

What’s that he’s saying? “Father forgive them,” he whispers, “for they don’t know what they are doing.” Hey, these aren’t the words of a tragic hero—tragic heroes are supposed to damn the fates that are bringing them down. Instead, we hear the words of an obedient Son asking that his tormentors be acquitted. How can this be a tragedy if the victim’s innocent heart goes out to his accusers?

Now Jesus speaks again, turning to one of the criminals hanging alongside him. “Truly I tell you,” he gasps, “today you will join me in Paradise.” Join me in Paradise? How can this be a tragedy if public enemies are repenting of their wicked ways and spending eternity with God…if Jesus himself is returning to his Father already given an empathetic and eternal say about our sorry fate?

At last Jesus speaks once more, this time a sigh to God alone. “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” That’s it! No way does this story end the way tragedies are supposed to end. This last act is riddled with clues about unspeakably good news about to break. Just bide your time through that strange al fresco dinner on a rooftop, and that wrongful death at the place called The Skull, and that eerie, empty Saturday as the sun silently slips from the sky and then, under cover of darkness, fresh fire flares and the ancient cry of victory breaks forth: Rejoice, for the victory of our mighty king! At the finish this tragedy is kept from finishing, and victory is snatched from the jaws of defeat, all for your sake and for mine. Amen. Listen to the Sermon: