This year I’m preaching on the three
trees through the triduum of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday.
Last night was about the tree of knowledge, tonight is naturally on the cross,
and Easter Sunday is on the tree of life. However, tonight could also be about
three trees in a different light—the three crosses. In the Gospel of Luke Jesus
has a conversation with the criminals who are hanging on the cross on either
side of him. Three crosses: In the middle you have the son of God, through him
we have eternal life and on one side you have a criminal who mocks Jesus for
not saving them. He is one who has lived his life assuming that the things of
this world are what there is. In a way he is the tree of knowledge personified.
On the other side, you have a criminal who begs for mercy, saying, “Jesus
remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus’ response: “Today you will
be with me in Paradise” hints that these trees are not all there is. Between
both stands the cross that bore Jesus. The more I think about it; I don’t think
any of this is accidental.
John’s Gospel—the one we read
tonight—goes so far out of its way to demonstrate that all of this is planned,
orchestrated, and necessary; that Jesus walked this road willingly because we
could not. The cross is needed to bridge the criminal on the left and the
criminal on the right. They’re all guilty—that’s not the question!—it’s whether
anything can save us, all of us, who are guilty. The cross is the tree that
bridges the divide between what we are and what we can be once more.
From the moment we tasted the fruit
of the tree of knowledge we have sought to become like God. We have set our
stock on that tree, and that tree has given us so many little nuggets to keep
us happy; it’s taught us how the world works, how to accumulate things, how to
make friends. It’s given us just enough of a taste to keep us coming back. It
is our drug, our addiction. Our desire—above all other desires—is to be like
God.
This is why we need the cross. We
need something to rip away our addiction to the fruit of the tree of knowledge
and to return us to the tree of life, which feeds us as only God can—eternally,
perfectly, without the influence of sin. To get from one tree to the other is not
easy; it requires Jesus to go there on our behalf. We need the cross. We need
Good Friday. Something has to help us cross that divide and it is the cross
where Jesus died.
It’s the second tree—it’s not the
final word—but it’s the bridge to get us there. These days we wear the cross
around our necks as a reminder that Easter joy is won with a price; that we can
never be enough like God to save anything. We wear the cross because it is that
transcendent moment between sin and new life. We don’t just celebrate Easter—we
also celebrate Good Friday—because we are a people who live between
places—between death and resurrection—between this life and the next. The cross
is the great symbol of almost but not yet; of what Christ has done for us, so
that someday, some way we will understand, because all our knowledge has only
led us further into sin, but through Christ we are saved.
The second tree bridges the gap and
takes us inevitably toward something new, something better, something waiting
just around the corner.
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