Isn’t suffering at the very center of life? Isn’t each one of us aware of it all too often? Yes, this is certainly true. But here the question is not about us, but about Christ. And is not our affirmation about Christ that he is God? But is it not also a fact that from God, from faith, we demand comfort (if not the complete annihilation of our sufferings)? Do not the adherents as well as the opponents of faith contend in some odd agreement that religion means first of all help, comfort, a certain balm for the soul, as they say? Yet here is the cross, which reappears on Holy Friday, and again we hear the same words: “... he began to be sorrowful and troubled” (Mt 26:37), and he said, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death” (Mt 26:38). Instead of helping his apostles, who are numb with sorrow and despair, he asks help from them: “Remain here, and watch with me” (Mt 26:38). And then, that lonely suffering: first the assault, then the derision, slapping on the face, spitting, the nails in the hands an d feet. And most terrible o f all—abandonment. Everyone abandons him , everyone runs away It is as if the whole sky was hidden, for “about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, ‘my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’” (Mt 27:46). No, if we begin to the truly examine this, if we listen to it carefully, something strange happens here with religion itself. It seems as if nothing familiar remains— no assistance, no support, no guarantee. Put up a candle, offer a service for help or a memorial, and everything in life will be well, God will come to our aid, here as well as there, after a horrible and mysterious death. Is this not the simplified concept of faith that prevails among most believers? Did they not already at the time of Christ follow him in great crowds, hoping for healing, help, and useful teachings? Notice carefully how in the Gospel accounts this crowd gradually diminishes. He is abandoned by that rich young man who thinks that he has observed all the commandments of religion but who in the end is unable to grasp Christs words: “If you would be perfect, go and sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me” (Mt 19:21). On the night of the great supper of love, his disciple leaves in order to betray him. And finally, at the end, they all abandon him and flee. In our life things are exactly reversed: we begin alone, in obscurity, and then come acknowledgment and accolades, a host of admirers. In the Gospel, however, when things end at the Cross, Christ rem ains alone. Furtherm ore, he says about the coming time: “They have persecuted me, they will persecute you” (Jn 15:20), “In the world you have tribulation” (Jn 16:33). And there is only one vocation given to us, only one requirement— to pick up our cross and to carry it, and we already know what this cross is. Indeed, something strange happens here with religion: instead of help, we are given the cross, instead of promises of comfort and well-being, we hear the certainty: “They persecuted me, they will persecute you.” 

And when we hear the Gospel about the Pharisees who derided the crucified Christ— “He saved others, he cannot save himself! He is the king of Israel; let him come down now from the cross and we will believe in him” (Mt 27:42)— are we not immediately reminded of the derision and accusations that are heard today: “So, wasn’t your God able to help you: And indeed, as long as we expect from God only this type of help, only miracles that would eliminate the sufferings from our life, then these accusations will continue. And they will continue because any cheap pill is certainly better able to relieve a headache than prayer and religion. And we will never understand the mystery of the Cross as long as we expect this type of pill from religion— be it for something trivial or important. As long as this is the case, regardless of all the gold or silver with which it is covered, the Cross remains what the apostle Paul said at the dawn of Christianity: “a scandal for the Jews, and folly for the Gentiles” (1 Cor 1:23). In our given situation the “Jews” represent those who seek only help from religion, while the “Gentiles” are those who seek clever and easy explanations. And in this case the Cross is truly a scandal and folly. Again the cross is brought out in procession, and that unique week of weeks approaches when the Church invites us not so much to examine and to discuss, but to silently and intensely follow each step of Christ, to follow his slow and irreversible path to suffering, to crucifixion, and to death. It invites us to pick up this very cross. And something strange happens to us. Suddenly from our own problems, from our own difficulties, and even from our own sufferings we turn our attention to Another, to this silently sorrowful and suffering Person, to this night of horror, betrayal, and loneliness, but also of celebration, of love, and of victory. Something strange happens to us: perhaps without even knowing it one begins to feel how this cheap and egotistical religion, a religion once demanding only something for itself, demanding that even God would be in its service, evaporates! And it becomes clear, spiritually clear, that at its depths religion is entirely about something else. That in the end it is not all about comfort or help, but about joy and victory. 

Fr Alexander Schmemann, 'O Death, Where is Thy Sting?'

Icon: Małgorzata Klockowska, Poland