The King

The dead man whose body we contemplate on the end of Good Friday has finished a day of extraordinary kingship.
    Pilate, in the middle of his interrogation, had him scourged; when he came back, in that ghastly beaten shape with thorns and purple upon him, still he was master of himself. Where are you from? Pilate asked, adding Do you not know that I have power to release you? His voice remained sure: You would have no power over me unless it had been given you from above.
    He remained strong to the end. Saint John says he carried his own cross—even scourged and beaten as he was. And with that strength of body there was strength of character. He knew what was happening all the way through. In fact, even though he was the victim, he seemed somehow to be in charge—as if, even though they were killing him, he was choosing to allow himself to die. Did he not end it all by saying, It is finished?
    He was calm and strong to the end, and although many of us ran away, not all of us did. He had said to Pilate, Every one who is of the truth hears my voice. Even there, nailed and hanging in the torture of drawn-out capital punishment, he was taking care of his mother and his friends. He made a new family, right there, right at the foot of the cross: Woman, behold, your son! And to the disciple: Behold, your mother! We had thought of his dying as isolation and abandonment, but now it seems quite the contrary: as he was dying, he created new community.
    His self-possession to the end, his strength, his loving provision for his friends: all this shows us that what we experience on this day is the effectuation of kingship. When they nailed him to the cross, they put him upon his throne. There he did what from the beginning he had been prepared to do: he became the ruler of the universe. Lifted on high, he became king, drawing to himself all who hear his voice.

Posted by The Rev. Canon Dr. Victor Lee Austin with

Suddenly

 The fern plants were blackened by the snow and the freezing days that began Lent in Dallas this year. Already they are green again, new growth pushing up from the ground in artistic contrast with the still-present darkened leaves.
    Vegetation lives longer here, often surviving the few freezing hours we have on a few winter days in a normal year. Many trees seem never to lose their leaves, although there are lots of leaves on the ground. One hears leaf-blowers, somewhere, almost any day of any month. Our leaves fall from October to March: our trees are courteous not to dump everything on the ground at once.
    Blossoms have arrived and many are already gone, replaced by baby leaves. Pollen freshens the air; sweet scents waft over fences and down alleys.
    Along the trail the recently planted trees have come through the harsh winter: no longer upright broomsticks, they are already marked with buds and their bare geometry speckled in green. Beneath them, in the 6 a.m. dark, the white tails of rabbits frolic.
    The birds are singing earlier, and there are more of them. Some say Hoo-hoo; others, a pitch repeated in staccato; others ask “who’s there” on a declining third. I think it’s G-to-E-flat, but my pitch isn’t perfect.
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    A 20th century Easter hymn paired with a 15th century tune: “Now the green blade riseth from the buried grain, wheat that in dark earth many days has lain; love lives again, that with the dead has been: Love is come again like wheat that springeth green.”
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    It seemed he would be with us for still a long time to come. Yet before we knew it, events accelerated. There was that disturbance in the temple, the police action at night, and within 24 hours all we had was his corpse.
    And then there was an earthquake. The curtains fell. The scattered people came together. Suddenly, unexpected, springing joy.

Posted by The Rev. Canon Dr. Victor Lee Austin with

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The Rev. Canon Victor Lee Austin. Ph.D., is the Theologian-in-Residence for the diocese and is the author of several books including, "Friendship: The Heart of Being Human" and "A Post-Covid Catechesis.: 

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