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Good Friday, April 7 - The Bells

 This sermon was preached for Good Friday, April 7, 2023 at St. Mark's Episcopal Church in East Longmeadow, Massachusetts. The texts for this sermon were: John 18:1-19:42 and Psalm 22.

Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd, Berkeley, California

The rector of Good Shepherd Episcopal Church in Berkeley, California told me once that there is an unusual noise ordinance in the city of Berkeley restricting the use of church bells. Not long ago, the parish had elected to ring their bells each time the State of California put someone to death. But the bell ringing was so frequent and so annoying that the church’s neighbors banded together to do something about it once and for all. They worked together to silence the bells. 

For Good Shepherd Parish, the ringing of the bells was their witness to the sorrowful truth that Good Friday is happening all around us, still. Terrible deaths, cruel deaths, state-sanctioned deaths, homicides, casualties of war, overdoses and suicide are happening each and every day. 

Our hymn tonight asks us, “Were you there? Were you there when they crucified my Lord?”

The bells of Good Shepherd Berkeley answer yes. Yes, we are there right now because we are still putting each other to death. Human beings made in the image of God are still dying at the hands of other human beings. 

We rang the bells at my first Episcopal church Grace Church in Medford for every school shooting and mass shooting that made the news. Setting up the bells to ring, one toll for every death, was part of my job as an intern. But then came the Las Vegas massacre and we knew, we knew we could not bear to ring that bell 61 times for the 60 victims and the shooter. It was all too much. 

John Donne, the great English poet, wrote:

"Each person's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in humankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee."

Every untimely death is a tragedy. Every violent death is an echo of the cross. 

When we gather on Ash Wednesday, we look death, all death, in the face.

When we gather on Good Friday, we face the harsh truth that we, collectively, are the reason for unjust deaths, deaths from brutality, neglect, ignorance, and complacency. 

When we gather on Good Friday, we face the harsh trust that we, humanity - when we were confronted with God's love, God incarnate - we put him to death. We could not bear what love asked of us. So we silenced him.

On Good Friday, we listen for the bells and we do not look away.

And, and. In the midst of the sorrow, in the silence and darkness, God still has something left to say. When it is all too much for us Jesus says, Give it to me, I can bear it all.

Jesus takes it all onto himself. All this pain. 

Jesus, pain-bearer, we will not look away. 


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