The Mind of Christ

The Passion Gospel we just heard is so, so very, long, chances are it knocked the Epistle right out of your short-term memory. On Good Friday, we will spend time meditating on Jesus’ body when we hear again the account of his arrest, trial and torture. This morning, I want to look back at our oft-neglected Epistle reading. Here, St. Paul gives us insight into the mind of Christ. But more importantly, he is asking us to develop the Christ-mind. He says,

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death -- even death on a cross.

Jesus had prepared for his journey to Jerusalem, the journey we enacted this morning. The events in Jerusalem and throughout Holy Week were not unexpected, at least not for Jesus. He spent his public life emptying himself and humbling himself. He had no desire for self-glorification. In the mind of Christ, serving and building up others, trumps self-preservation.  

It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around the concept of becoming obedient to the point of death though. I don’t believe this means that Jesus was obedient to a God who wanted him to die. But I do believe Jesus was obedient to humanity. His total surrender to becoming fully human included succumbing to a human death.  

The time will come when every one of us will be asked to be obedient to death.  Until that time, we must decide how to live – self-preservation or self-emptying; we can spend our energy saving ourselves or serving others.

My dad was the picture of health. In fact he had no medical history, until he was 80 years old when he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He never talked about death. He talked about treatment. 

Over a span of 18 months he tried surgery, radiation, drug A, drug B, drug C, 
a combo of A and B, B and C, and when nothing worked, he started all over again with drug A. But by then the cancer had spread to his lungs and lymph nodes. The base of his tongue – the primary site of the tumor – was so huge that he couldn’t eat, talking and swallowing caused excruciating pain. The doctor sheepishly told my dad that his anemic, malnourished body couldn’t handle another assault by chemo, and referred him to hospice. 

After the treatment stopped, about three weeks before he died, my mom and dad and I were sitting at the dining room table, when my dad abruptly said,

When I expire I want you to let Bernice 

(the standard poodle you've seen with me in church), 

smell my body. 

I want Bernice to see me,

and to smell me before they take me away, 

so she doesn’t wait for me by the door.

This was the first time my dad talked about dying.

The last two days of his life were spent in the San Diego Hospice; my mom and I, and Bernice, stayed with him. A few minutes after dad died, I called Bernice over. Immediately but gently she jumped onto his bed and rested herself on his skeletal chest. They were heart–to–heart. Bernice sniffed his neck, and face, and forehead.  She was so focused and careful I thought I was watching a movie in slow motion. Then, like a mother dog with her newborn pups, Bernice started to lick. She licked and licked his chest and face until she had tended to every bit of his exposed skin.  This was nothing less than an anointment before burial. 

As I watched, I fell in love with a part of my dad I had never known; the man who loved his dog so completely that he was willing to acknowledge the unmentionable – his own death – in order to protect her.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus. The Christ-mind is within our reach. On Palm Sunday, we aren’t just remembering the humility and self-emptying death of Jesus. We witness today the Christ-mind, the self-emptying that is possible for all of God’s children, each one of us, to grow into.

I’d like you to look at St. Paul’s words carefully. I mean really, right now, look at your bulletin and find the Epistle reading. It is tempting to fast-forward through this reading to Therefore, God highly exalted him, and interpret this to mean if we humble ourselves, then we will be exalted. But listen to it this way:

And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death -- even death on a cross.  

Period. Full stop. Silence. No heartbeat, no breath. No light, just a big old boulder sealing the tomb.

In his commentary on St. Paul’s letter to the Philippians, Fred Craddock explains, “The grave of Christ was a cave, not a tunnel. Christ acted on our behalf without view of gain. That is exactly what God has exalted and vindicated: self-denying service for others to the point of death with no claim of return, no eye upon a reward.”[1]

To read today’s Epistle without including the dark space of death is as tempting as jumping from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday. I urge you to slow down. Please don’t make the jump. At the forum after the service, Fr. Richard will talk about the importance of the space between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday. Today begins the long journey through Holy Week to the cross – a journey that includes rough roads, blind intersections, and falling rock. The yellow warning signs, covered in graffiti, faded and warped by the sun, are largely passed by. But slow down and look closely; in the right light you can still decipher the words: Taking Short Cut May Turn Heart To Stone.

Amen.

Palm Sunday, Year C

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[1] Fred Craddock, Philippians, Interpretation series (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1985), 42; qtd. in David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 2, 175.