Who has the last word in the account of Jesus’s passion? Is it Jesus’s dying words on the cross? Is it literally the last spoken words in Luke’s passion story, on the lips of the centurion who professes Jesus’s innocence? Is it the unspoken words of the women watching from a distance but who will discover the empty tomb in a few days’ time? In the drama of this story, it’s not clear where the final word lies.
The traditional seven last words of Christ are themselves a conglomeration from all the Gospels: Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.
Verily I say unto thee, today shalt thou be with me in paradise.
Woman, behold thy son.
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
I thirst.
It is finished.
Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.
Three of these traditional last words are from Luke. So, which is the last word?
Are any of these really the last word? But there is another last word that seems to speak with a finality transcending musical settings that are brought out of the library each Holy Week. There is a last word from Jesus that comes not in his dying moments but early in his final steps towards the cross.
You can certainly be forgiven for not noticing it. There is so much happening in the Passion Gospel. But hidden in this overwhelming drama is a last word from Jesus that has little power of eloquence but rather speaks a profound truth that lies at the heart of his death on the cross.
Jesus’s final hours bring to the fore the grating dissonance of a world oriented towards retribution and violence. If it were not so, he would not have been put to death. When the status quo is threatened and earthly power is questioned, the voice that turns over tables must be silenced, and in the semantics of such a broken world, only violence, both literal and spiritual, will do.
Violence, anger, hate, and meanness seem to be the lingua franca of not just first-century Palestine but of our own day. It is sometimes even the language of the Church. Governments know of no other formula to settle disputes than force or threatening words. People know of no other response to a biting comment or hurtful action than reciprocating the same. Institutions know of no other means of ensuring conformity than heavy-handedness.
The disciples show themselves to be as inept as we in learning this new language of Jesus, the language that is the source of that profound final word of his earthly life. When Jesus warns them of the danger of discipleship to come, they mistakenly think he wants them to buy real swords for their mission. They simply don’t understand. Nor do we. After years of speaking a language where words are used as swords, how can we so quickly learn another that is vastly different?
Which is why perhaps the truest final word of Jesus is buried in today’s long Passion story. Our minds and hearts may have settled for a moment on what Jesus said and did, but I imagine, we quickly moved on to other gorier scenes.
Did you catch it? It’s early in the Passion Gospel. Judas has entered the scene to do his dirty work of betrayal with a kiss, and suddenly, those around Jesus now understand what is taking place. They know of no other language to speak in response to this wicked deed than to use a sword to cut off the ear of the high priest’s slave. It might elicit within us the satisfying response of the bad guy in a movie getting his comeuppance. It’s the delight of schadenfreude when a sworn enemy hits rock bottom. We all know this language deeply.
But into this horrible language of human sin, Jesus speaks a last word of truth which expresses most vividly the meaning of his passion, death, and resurrection. This word will not be remembered for elegance or lyricism. It matters not what English translation you use. This word goes beyond mere speech and moves into the realm of action, the apex of which is the Lamb of God sacrificed for the salvation of the world.
No more of this!, says Jesus, when the slave’s ear is severed. This is the last word. It is a command both for that gruesome moment in the first century and for ages to come. It is also a statement of what Jesus accomplished for us in his life, passion, death, and resurrection. And it is emblemized in Jesus’ next action, where he touches the ear of the wounded slave and heals him.
This is it. In this we can begin to see the meaning of this holiest of weeks. In this we catch a glimpse of the mysterious heart of salvation. This is how God’s power manifests itself, which is so incomprehensible in the language we usually speak. This is the last word, the final word, the word that exchanges healing for violence.
But it seems quite the opposite, doesn’t it? How can this have been the final word when it was followed by so much evil? How can that have been the final word in the face of war? How can that have been the final word when suffering, like the poor and oppressed, is always with us? How can that have been the final word when so much is left unhealed?
It is this perplexing question itself that paradoxically attests to the truth of Jesus’s final word. For this word’s finality comes not through heavy-handed power but through quiet confidence and persistence. This last word doesn’t assert its strength by yelling down other words. This last word reveals its power in the silence of Jesus’s own submission to his Father’s will. It reveals itself in Jesus’s healing of a severed ear. It reveals itself in Jesus’ forgiveness of those who put him to death. It reveals itself in Jesus’ dying words on the cross, by which he surrenders everything, including his own life, for the sake of the world. It reveals itself in the Eucharistic feast in which the disparate members of Christ’s Body are made whole again. It reveals itself in Jesus’s kiss of peace given to us, which is the opposite of Judas’s kiss of betrayal.
This is the final word that dispels the cycle of retribution. This is the final word that conquers death by breaking the cycle of violence which is death’s only weapon. This is the final word that still speaks, albeit in a different language, after death has killed the body. This is the final word for us, as we enter this holiest of weeks.
It is the only word that can bring us from death into life. It is the only word that offers true freedom. It is, at its heart, the only word that matters. And in the midst of the world’s incoherent babbling, it speaks the only language that can have the last word.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday
April 10, 2022