The Crucified Community: Meditation Two

Larger blog post can be found here.
The artwork  is from Steve Prince 'Urban Stations' 

Transcript

Meditation Two- The Servant who Heals

1 Peter 2:24–25 (ESV):

'He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds, you have been healed. For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls.'

At times, the wounds of crucifixion are physical, with flesh torn apart from multiple 'digs' or flesh bruised, swollen, purple, a result of a fist in the face from an angry punter. Other times, the wounds are emotional and spiritual, infecting the soul with a trauma that lasts a lifetime. Whether physical or emotional, the pain is real.

The physical and emotional are related. Heroin as 'hopium' provides momentary escape from reality, easing the pain. The needle or the crack pipe serves as a warm hug that stabs you in the back.

These hungry ghosts, exiled from mainstream society, find themselves exiled, searching for a home, for comfort and safety. They hunger for home, 'hiraeth.' Those who carry the cross long and yearn for a home they never had, a sense of worth, dignity, and identity which is too often beyond their grasp. Guilt and shame have taken hold in hurting hearts, and these hurting hearts and sad souls become homeless, craving affection, safety, and peace.

In a different time and place, another was crucified, ending his life alone and gasping for breath. Exiled, alone, and seemingly forsaken by his Father. To the untrained eye and passerby, this death may have seemed ordinary, just another tragic death at the hands of evil. But for those with eyes to see and ears to hear, this torturous end, the death of Jesus, is a place of healing and a source of hope.

Peter the fisherman, at first, didn't acknowledge the deeper significance of Jesus' death; he fled the scene and denied Jesus. Later in life, though, Peter was able to see in his own life and articulate in his teaching that the death of Jesus is salvific, a source of forgiveness, a source of healing for wounded souls, and a place of reconciliation.

This change in Peter is rooted in the resurrection of Jesus, the gift of the Holy Spirit, and a fresh reading of the scriptures of Israel. Standing behind our passage of 1 Peter 2:24-25 is the servant song of Isaiah 53.

Isaiah 40-55 is composed of a series of prophetic utterances and poems which speak to the homesick exiles of Babylon. God's people are in Babylon, away from home, 'Hireath,' an exile that has been brought about by both sin and idolatry.

The prophet stirs hopes and imaginations by saying that the time has come when YHWH will deliver his people from sin and exile and lead them on a new exodus victory march back to the promised land. Within this larger context lies what have become known as the servant songs, a collection of poems which speak of a servant whose life and death have salvific significance - Isaiah 53 is the longer of these servant songs.

In these poems, we see the salvific suffering of the servant.

• The servant is cursed so that others may be blessed.
• The servant had violence done to him so that others may have peace.
• The servant is killed like a sacrificial lamb so that those who have gone astray and are exiled can return home.
• The servant suffers so that the wider community can now be healed.

Peter picks up these themes to show that the death of Jesus is the fulfilment of these servant songs. Peter offers what we may say are three interconnected movements which become the symphony of salvation.

1 Peter 2:24–25 (ESV):

(1) He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness.

(2) By his wounds, you have been healed.

(3) For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls.

In the first move, Peter says that Jesus' death, in some holy mysterious way, is an execution with saving significance, an act by which Jesus carries sin so that the covenant community can die to sin and live for righteousness.

Sin, a power and a presence which destroys lives and wounds souls, both as an individual transgression of a divine decree and as a force that descends, overwhelms, and creates desires and impulses in humans that cause us to harm both ourselves and others. Those in addiction identify with this - we do the things we don't want to do and don't do the things we should do.

Humanity, at an individual and corporate level, has opened the door to sin, and it has overwhelmed us. By way of example, humanity at large has opened the door to unrestrained capitalism and consumerism; we are hooked, addicted to these myths, and now the beast overwhelms us and plunges us further into ecological and biodiversity collapse. At an individual level, individuals are seduced and overwhelmed by the sin of hoarded wealth, and then, in their own decision-making, spending habits, and financial practices, they take active steps to hoard resources and build bigger barns.

Moreover, the plight of the addict is exacerbated by the wealth disparity in capitalist societies. As the rich get richer, those who cannot engage in the race sometimes bail out altogether, becoming further marginalised from work and community. This in turn underpins the forces of chaos.

The crucified poor identify with Jesus who bore sin and was sinned against. The innocent sufferer, who didn't deserve what was done to him. But they also recognise that they are not blameless or without sin and are invited, through the fog of guilt and shame, to see that Jesus bears a weight in which the sins of both the world and individuals are crucified with him, nailed to the cross. Jesus carries sin, and in this carrying, the dealing with the problem, presence, and power of sin, a new future is possible.

Peter tells us that in the death of Jesus, a new power is unleashed in which human beings who have been seduced and empowered by sin and have simultaneously actively chosen to walk its path are now given the opportunity to die to sin and instead live for righteousness. The sinner can now be empowered to live a different life. The urban marginalised may also take hope that those who hoard wealth, and thereby oppress the poorest, are not necessarily, despite the counter evidence, permanently locked into this sin. No, Jesus in his death has borne sin, nailed it to the cross, and has unleashed a power that the hoarder of wealth, or say the arms dealer, or slave owner, can die to this sin and embark on a life of righteousness. 

The second movement, providing additional theological tone and texture to our salvific symphony, is that it is through the wounds inflicted on Jesus that the wounds of humanity may be healed. In some holy sense, as the body of the God-Man was smashed by sin, the power of divine love was unleashed throughout the cosmos, a healing balm throughout time for wounded souls. In the cross followed by resurrection, the homesick and wounded find forgiveness, a home for their homesick hearts. All souls, Augustine said, are restless until they find their rest in Him, and in the death of Jesus, the great enemy of intimacy is defeated so that we may embrace and be embraced by the Father's love. Jesus, in His crucifixion, is caught in the crossfire of love & violence, grace & wrath, beauty. & shame. He dies an ugly, hopeless death, but from the ashes of death comes the beauty of resurrection that means that the darkest day is not the final day.

In the third movement, bringing together the carrying of sin and the healing which ensures, Peter reminds his flock that the exile is over and that his community has now returned to the shepherd and the one who watches over their souls. For Peter’s first readers, still living in the world, amidst the power and beasts of domination, a new reality now exists. A community, in the world, but at home in the Father.

Steven bore deep wounds, inflicted by others, by the oppressive structures of the world, and by his own sins. He felt adrift, longing for a true home, a place of love and security. Though he had a roof over his head at times—whether in a children's home, an overnight hostel, a prison cell, or an empty flat—he yearned for a more profound sense of belonging, for a home.

Steven carried a tattoo of a gothic cross on one arm with the words 'no regrets' inked on the other. Paradoxically, he carried many regrets. However, one day, within the walls of a prison chapel, a song about the wondrous cross and a preacher's gospel message stirred something within him. When he returned to his cell, tears flowed. At first, they were tears of sorrow, but as he pondered the song and the sermon, the power of the cross became evident, and tears of joy soon replaced his sorrow.

Sin had held a firm grip on him, but his saviour proved mightier. The burden of sin was lifted, and guilt and shame began to fade away, as his saviour bore the weight of his transgressions. A new, transformative power emerged, causing Steve to shed his old life and walk the path to renewal. Jesus had no regrets.

Over the ensuing weeks and months, Steve underwent a noticeable transformation. His smiles became more frequent, and the pain he once felt lessened. He embarked on a journey of healing. While he didn't fully comprehend the profound mysteries of the cross—and who can claim to do so?—he began to perceive the cross, once a symbol of shame, now held a peculiar attraction. It had become a wondrous cross, drawing him anew into the embrace of the Father's love.