Good Friday reflection by Jim Thomas (April 15, 2022)
Theologian Leonardo Boff once wrote, “Jesus continues to be crucified in all those who are crucified in history.” “Jesus continues to be crucified:” in the hungry, people mutilated by war, the marginalized, people persecuted for their thirst for justice.
Each Good Friday is an invitation for us to get closer to Jesus as the suffering servant, to better comprehend his nonviolent love, to reflect on the nails of today that are piercing his hands and feet. The nails of nuclear weapons. The nails of climate destruction. The nails of racial injustice, war, hunger, and on and on.
Every time we celebrate the Eucharist, we commemorate Jesus’ passion and death, the sacrificial offering of his body and blood. When Jesus asks us, “Do this in memory of me,” he calls us to surrender our own bodies and blood, even to the point of having the nails of today pierce our flesh.
One of the chief ways Jesus has called me to surrender is working to abolish nuclear weapons.
Forty years ago today, I stood near Archbishop Raymond Hunthausen at the ammunition gate of the Bangor Trident base. I was one of twenty members of the Bethlehem Peace Pilgrimage. On Good Friday 1982, 500 supporters joined us to walk the first six miles. Archbishop Hunthausen blessed us as we set out on a twenty-month journey for peace and nuclear disarmament.
We turned our backs on the mega-death of the Trident nuclear weapons system and walked to Bethlehem, the birthplace of the Prince of Peace. Those were some of the darkest days of the Cold War—the fear of nuclear war was palpable.
The pilgrimage was an opportunity to empty ourselves, surrender to poverty, and rely on the hospitality of strangers. Along the way, we walked through areas of violence in Northern Ireland and the Occupied West Bank. We encountered hatred and opposition when we vigiled in front of nuclear weapons factories.
Across 7,000 miles, we suffered blisters, drenching rain, and scorching sun, as well as the exhaustion of being constantly on the go and the lack of privacy. With every step, we confronted the specter of nuclear war.
While there has been a significant reduction in nuclear arsenals over the last four decades, there are still thousands of missiles. As Russia’s war on Ukraine has shown, the prospect of nuclear war is still with us. The Trident subs at Bangor, less than twenty miles west of this church, are armed with more than 1,000 nuclear warheads.
To achieve disarmament, I believe we must be willing to risk our security. To address the climate crisis, we must cut our use of fossil fuels, simplify our lifestyles, and accept more vulnerability.
In offering his body and blood on the cross, Jesus surrendered and embraced radical vulnerability. He beckons to us, “Do this in memory of me.” He calls us to sacrifice ourselves for others.
Certainly, this entails discomfort, even pain. There is a part of us that recoils from such an invitation. Forty years ago, I initially dismissed the suggestion of trekking to Bethlehem. But after walking those first six miles and getting my body involved in praying for peace, something changed deep inside. My heart was flooded with joy. In putting my body and blood on the road to the Holy Land, I became part of the solution instead of part of the problem. Such is the mystery of the cross. It is through dying to ourselves and engaging with the wounded of the world that we are born to new life. The pain does not go away but it is transformed in some mysterious way.
I am sure this has been the experience of our own parishioners who have made the sacrifice and embraced vulnerability to visit our sister parish of Nueva Trinidad. Those who reach out to people in poverty with Sacred Encounters and St. Vincent De Paul know this, too.
When we seem to be at the limit of our endurance, when we want to quit, Jesus beckons us to remain faithful—to keep carrying our crosses, “Do this in memory of me.”
For us, such an invitation seems like an impenetrable mystery. We cannot see the other side. Jesus, being fully human, could not see the other side either. Nearing death, Jesus felt totally abandoned by God. In giving our all, we fear losing our identity. There seems to be no other way but to surrender and embrace vulnerability.
This Good Friday, many of us at St. Pat’s feel the nails of injustice piercing our faith community as the Archdiocese plans to close our parish. We peer into the darkness. We struggle to know which way to go.
Wherever we find ourselves in a year’s time, let us remember our connectedness in the one body, the one blood of Jesus and all of those crucified for life, justice, and peace. “Do this in memory of me.” As we accompany Jesus in his passion, let us pray for him to remain with us in our suffering.