Lenten Humility: Falling to the Ground Before the Cross

We are delighted that Bobby Gross, author of Living the Christian Year and who has contributed previous series during Lent and Advent, has agreed to write this new series of Lenten reflections on the theme of humility.

These weeks of Lent have brought us to Good Friday and the foot of the cross, where Jesus hangs in bleeding torment, where he cries out in uncomprehending desolation, where he finally exhales his final breath. Jesus experiences this utter humiliation because he had chosen to humble himself utterly before God and for us. He had chosen in the desert when seduced by the Tempter, and he had chosen in the garden when weighed down by fearful grief: “Not my will, but yours.” He submitted to his Father, and he submitted to his executioners. He did all this out of love.

We do well to contemplate this scene and imagine ourselves into it.[1] We will become acutely aware of Jesus’ humanity—pain, thirst, nakedness, shame, ache of abandonment, helplessness—and perhaps our own as well. We might imagine ourselves sinking to the ground at Golgotha, looking up in dismay and disbelief, sensing our own vulnerability in such a dark world. Kneeling in the dirt, maybe weeping or shaking our head in stunned silence, feeling so small, we keep vigil before the cross.

But remember: God gives grace to the humble.

God raised Jesus from the darkest grave and exalted him to the highest place.

And God will lift us up “in due time,” bathing us in grace and clothing us in glory.[2]

We have reflected in these Lenten blog posts on the human condition and the humility appropriate to it. We remembered our mortality as finite creatures subject to injury, disease, aging and death, and asked how we might live our unknown number of days with gratitude and compassion. We admitted before a holy God our propensity to think and say and do what is wrong (or to fail to do what is right), at the same time resting in his mercy and forgiveness. We recognized our vulnerability to life’s vicissitudes and circumstantial blows, reaffirming our reliance on the Shepherd who provides and protects, and abides with us in our times of trial. We depend on God in body, soul, and circumstance.

The two most recent posts dealt with additional aspects of our finitude. We acknowledged the fallibility of our intellectual faculties[3] and the limitations of our ability to change the world.[4] We rightly seek to know what is true and to do what is right, but our convictions and commitments must be tempered by humility (“I could be wrong”) and by love (“Mercy triumphs over judgement”). How do we follow the way of Jesus as we seek to embody his kingdom in our own lives and through our collective witness? We depend on God as we use mind, heart, and hand.

Holy Week, especially the Paschal Triduum (Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Easter Sunday), invites us to look deeply into the way of Jesus, the way of humility and love.

Isaiah wrote of a messianic suffering servant:

He had no form or majesty that we should look at him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. He was despised and rejected by others; a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity; and as one from whom others hide their faces he was despised, and we held him of no account. Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases; yet we accounted him stricken, struck down by God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed. . . . He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth. By a perversion of justice he was taken away. (Is. 53:2-8)

The New Testament writers connected Jesus’ passion with Isaiah’s prophecy. Jesus emptied himself in the incarnation and offered himself in the crucifixion. This is the way of self-giving and suffering.

Jesus had journeyed to Jerusalem with other pilgrims for the Passover festival, which commemorated the rescue of God’s people from slavery in Egypt, not by armed rebellion but by the hand of God. When Jesus entered the city to shouts of hopeful acclamation, it was not on a warhorse but a lowly donkey. As he shared the Passover meal with his disciples, he offered not a political strategy but an act of humble service (foot washing), a ritual for future remembrance (bread as his body, wine as his blood), and a subversive mandate (love as I have loved you). In the darkened garden, in agonizing prayer, he sought release from what lay ahead, yet in the end aligned his will with God’s. When arrested, he did not resist; when accused he did not defend; when beaten, he did not protest. Even during his excruciating ordeal at the Place of the Skull, he interceded for God to forgive his executioners. After the hours of pain and desolation,  he “bowed his head and gave up his spirit.”

All of this should surface in our minds on Good Friday. We recall Jesus’ words: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Jesus asks us to emulate him in self-emptying and self-giving, in willingness to serve and, if necessary, to suffer for the sake of others. But this way is not grim self-erasure. No, we walk in the joy of resurrection and the empowerment of the Spirit and the fellowship of the beloved. Together we seek to be faithful presences in the places where we live and work. We bring the light and life and love of Christ to the world. And he walks with us.

Here is our Lenten litany:

I cannot escape death; but Jesus opens for me the way to eternal life.

I cannot free myself from Sin; but Jesus freely offers me forgiveness.

I cannot control what happens to me; but Jesus always, always accompanies me.

I cannot know everything; but Jesus patiently helps me in my unknowing.

I cannot fix everything; but Jesus enables me to bear fruit even as I endure.

On Friday, we fall to the ground at the foot of the cross. On Saturday, we sit in somber contemplation. On Sunday, we leap to our feet at news of the empty tomb.  

Our Lenten humility is swallowed up by Easter grace!

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[1]All four gospels describe the crucifixion in detail. The Revised Common Lectionary has us in John 18-19 this year.

[2] 1 Peter 5:6

[3] For a fascinating exploration of how people can see reality so differently and be completely convinced they are right, and others are wrong, see David McRaney, How Minds Change: The Surprising Science of Belief, Opinion, and Persuasion (Portfolio/Penguin, 2023).

[4] For additional insight into how to engage the world in this politically fraught time in a way that comports with scripture, see N. T. Wright and Michael F. Bird, Jesus and the Powers: Christian Political Witness in an Age of Totalitarian Terror and Dysfunctional Democracies (Zondervan, 2024).

Previous articles in this series:

Ash Wednesday and the Gift of Lent

Lenten Humility: Remembering our Creaturely Mortality

Lenten Humility: Admitting our Moral Culpability

Lenten Humility: Recognizing our Circumstantial Vulnerability

Lenten Humility: Acknowledging our Intellectual Fallibility

Lenten Humility: Accepting our World-changing Inability