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Good Friday and Why I’m Over It

Good Friday and Why I’m Over It

Last updated on: March 22, 2016 at 11:07 am by Gerard A. Murphy

Good Friday and Why I’m Over It 2016-03-22T11:07:58-04:00 Gerard A. Murphy

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Here’s the thing: we’re all familiar with the brutality and violence of Mel Gibson’s The Passion of The Christ from 2004. Some are still reeling and traumatized by the bloody flick. Thank God there’s been nothing quite like it since. My take: It’s Good Friday; bring out the hot cross buns and let’s party! Not to celebrate death but a life authentically lived out of Love.

The Christ Consciousness Spiritual Master I believe in, who spent a stint in Palestine to wake us up, was no “Suffering Servant” of Good Friday’s First Reading from Isaiah 52:13 – 53:12.

He was spurned and avoided by people,
a man of suffering, accustomed to infirmity,
one of those from whom people hide their faces,
spurned, and we held him in no esteem.

Yet it was our infirmities that he bore,
our sufferings that he endured . .

But he was pierced for our offenses,
crushed for our sins;
upon him was the chastisement that makes us whole,
by his stripes we were healed . .

like a lamb led to the slaughter
or a sheep before the shearers,
he was silent and opened not his mouth . .

though he had done no wrong
nor spoken any falsehood . .
the LORD was pleased
to crush him in infirmity.

OMG! To the above passage – one that I’ve passionately proclaimed many times over the years on Good Friday – I now resoundingly say:

These eloquent, poetic, and pathos-filled verses are the most MISLEADING and UNREPRESENTATIVE words ever proclaimed in reference to the prophetic teacher, Jesus the Christ.

And Here’s Why

Imagine you are standing outside a burning building where your child (the only occupant of the house) is asleep in an upstairs room. What do you do? You bolt like blazes (sorry for the pun) into the intensifying inferno, scale the crumbling stairway, choking and getting scorched as you go, and find your way into her smoke-engulfed room; and once there you grab your barely conscious child from the floor and jump out the nearest window, hoping for a reasonably soft landing.

Fortunately by the time you’ve accomplished all this, the fire department has arrived and catches your fall in their extended life net.

This is essentially (metaphorically speaking) the story of Jesus’ short life and mission. No, he’s not a savior who has come to rescue his blundering sheep from the flames of damnation. No, he’s not a scapegoat symbolically weighed down with the sins of humanity and banished by the chief priest into the wilderness. No, he’s not an obsequious suffering servant/son of God who takes a major hit for “team humanity” on a grizzly gibbet.

He was/is the prophetic, authentic teacher of life, love, compassion, forgiveness, and supreme enlightenment that he lived and died for. He did not die to propitiate a merciless God or to save or redeem us. His death was a CONSEQUENCE (albeit costly and brutal) of his inexhaustible, unconditional LOVE for us, and his unstinting dedication to the fulfillment of his mission as teacher, prophet, and revealer of the truth and meaning of our existence.

We simply didn’t “get him” so we terminated him. He didn’t have to die. He freely allowed it to happen. Just like it may have happened to the parent above who risked all to save their child. Out of love, out of love, OUT of LOVE.

Put the Crucifixes and Passion Plays Away

Jesus was crucified like a common felon. The manner of his death was brutal, ignoble, and shameful. Yes, it was an all-consuming, self-emptying, sacrificial gesture on his part, but it does not warrant the histrionics and sentimentality Christianity has foisted on it down the centuries.

The teacher died. Period. It was a tremendous release for him. His legacy: the profound moral and spiritual tenets of Christ consciousness we are barely scratching the surface of today.

Jesus Was a Big Boy and Knew What He Was Doing

In the recorded life of Jesus of Palestine, there are many examples of his knowingly breaking with and subverting the conventional codes of his culture. His relationship with women, lepers, outcasts, and ‘sinners,’ all speak to the nobility of his spirit and the courage of his convictions. He invariably knew what he was doing and did it anyway in fulfillment of the mission he felt called to fulfill.

This willfulness is drawn into sharp relief when, in the closing scenes of his life, he whipped and drove the moneylenders out of the temple, and severely disparaged the scribes and Pharisees to their faces. Not for the first time he allowed his guard to drop and his self-mastery to capitulate to indignation and righteous anger. He was pissed and he had no inhibitions in letting this be known.

That said, I believe that Jesus, particularly in the temple incident, deliberately precipitated his impending death by crucifixion. He knew his number was up; had known it for some time, and was ready, in a word, to get on with it. Not letting loose at the temple may have bought him a modicum of more time on earth, but he let loose anyway because human weariness had already set in, and his fate was sealed.

He had taught all that he could have taught, spoken all that he could have spoken, and healed all that he had healed in fulfillment of his singular mission on earth. And in his light/glorified essence he would continue to guide and direct those who called on him after his passing from this dimension. In spite of rejection, misunderstanding, and misrepresentation, his spiritual legacy has endured and will endure eternally in the ever-expanding Christ consciousness of this ascended master.

So Bring Out the Hot Cross Buns!

In other words, remember (as Christians do every time they celebrate the Eucharist) the life, authentic teachings–not the misinterpreted, gerrymandered, diluted or politicized versions many like to proclaim; but the heart of what this singular prophet of God actually said and meant. And if we do that well, there is no need or place for mourning, penance, fasting, or self-recrimination.

And there is every reason to celebrate a life deliberately, compassionately, and authentically lived to the end. Fixation on the manner or type of his death was not, I believe, how the Master wanted us to remember him. He hoped, I believe, that we would be “living memorials” of his life, love, and depth wisdom; not actors in a passion play he could care less about. So why should we?

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