A few years ago I received an invitation to prepare a Tre Ore (“Three Hours”) reflection for my parish on one of Jesus’ “seven last words” from the cross. If you are not familiar with this tradition, here is a brief explanation: https://www.catholicculture.org/culture/library/dictionary/index.cfm?id=36926 It was a great, and somewhat terrifying, privilege to be asked to offer a reflection on this solemn occasion.
To maintain sure footing during my preparations, I turned to works by Pope Benedict XVI (Jesus of Nazareth (Part Two), Holy Week: From the Entrance into Jerusalem to the Resurrection (Ignatius Press 2011)); Fr. Richard John Neuhaus (Death on a Friday Afternoon: Meditations on the Last Words of Jesus from the Cross (Basic Books 2008)); and C.S. Lewis (A Grief Observed, reprinted in The Complete C.S. Lewis Signature Classics (Harper One 2002)).
Our Easter Triduum in the year 2020 is certainly unlike any in recent memory, with our churches locked and our communities unable to assemble. If you are unable to find a Tre Ore service to stream, or if you prefer to read and reflect on your own, I offer you this meditation, and I pray that it enriches your Good Friday contemplations.
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The sixth word: “It is finished.”
We read in the 19th chapter of John, verses 29 and 30:
There was a vessel filled with common wine. So they put a sponge soaked in wine on a sprig of hyssop and put it up to his mouth. When Jesus had taken the wine, he said, “It is finished.” And bowing his head, he handed over the spirit.
What “is finished”? From one perspective “it” is indeed finished; from another, “it” will never be finished.
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The catechism tells us Christ’s death on the cross is “the fulfillment of man’s salvation.”
Or, put more simply, in the cross . . . is life.
“It is finished” means that what was proclaimed at the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan – “behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world” – has now come to fruition. In a manner known only to God, “the sin of the world” has been taken away.
Sometimes it’s useful to go back to the source. In this case, it’s the Greek word “tetélestai,” used by the Gospel writer John, and translated into English as, “It is finished.” Examining this word, Pope Benedict XVI has written,
“[Jesus] has truly gone right to the end, to the very limit and even beyond that limit. He has accomplished the utter fullness of love – he has given himself.”
Or, in the words of Fr. Richard John Neuhaus,
“Now humanity can never again be alienated from God. . . . Humanity, our humanity, is eternally one with the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. God has invested his very being in the human project, and therefore it cannot finally fail.”
In this most important sense, then, it is truly finished. God himself took on our flesh, bore our sins, and died for love of us.
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Which brings us to the flip side of this, the sixth word from the cross . . . the sense in which it will never be finished as long as human life endures.
It is difficult to ponder the cross. The temptation is to hurry past the crucifixion, to focus on resurrection . . . and the glory of eternal life in which we hope to share.
There is, however, no Easter without Good Friday. If we profess Jesus as “Lord,” then these words are for us:
“Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.”
How do we “take up” our crosses in imitation of Christ, and not run from them?
For help, we return to St. John, and the Greek word “tetélestai.” Pope Benedict writes:
“[A] further meaning of this same word [is] consecration, bestowal of priestly dignity, in other words, total dedication to God. . . . The Cross of Jesus replaces all other acts of worship as the one true glorification of God[.]”
The death of Christ on the cross is an act of worship.
How do we as disciples take up our crosses as an act of worship? What does that look like?
When the great Christian apologist C.S. Lewis was left shattered by the death of his wife Helen, he did not at first take up his cross willingly. His writings initially expressed rage and estrangement from God. But soon he looked back and wrote this:
“The notes have been about myself, about [Helen] and about God. In that order. The order and proportions exactly what they ought not to have been. And I see that I have nowhere fallen into that mode of thinking about either which we call praising them. Yet that would have been best for me. Praise is the mode of love which always has some element of joy in it. Praise in due order; of Him as the giver, of her as the gift. Don’t we in praise somehow enjoy what we praise, however far we are from it? I must do more of this.”
In other words, he should have worshipped. Praising God, even in affliction. Being still, acknowledging in all humility that God is God, and we are creatures. We are led to say, with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, “yet not my will but Thine be done.”
Ultimately, we are called to trust. We can do nothing else, but thanks to what Jesus finished on Good Friday, we can do this knowing that we are known, that we are loved, and that we are never abandoned.
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