These are two homilies I offered at the Hermitage on Wednesday of Holy Week, one for Mass and the other for the Penitential Service that evening. They felt like two parts of one homily anyway.
We had an event at the Gregorian University in Rome this last October in honor of the 60th anniversary of Nostra Aetate, the Church’s Declaration on Non-Christian Religions, mainly scholars speaking about the various traditions, alternating between someone from that tradition followed by a Catholic scholar speaking about that tradition. There was one tense moment during the session on Judaism, when some criticism of the State of Israel’s policies in Palestine got brought up by a Catholic professor using language that shocked everybody. He compared Israel’s actions in Gaza to the Shoah, said something about false messianism and his interpretation of the Suffering Servant of Isaiah, and even a mention of something being “satanic.” Several of the rabbis present were, rightly, greatly offended by it, as were some of the other non-Jews. But one other moment stayed with me. One rabbi very calmly intervened saying something like: “Your argument is based on an assumption: we Jews do not agree with the Christological interpretation of the Suffering Servant.” It was a interesting moment for me, to hear that said in public. How often we are oblivious of the fact that we use the Jewish scriptures in a way that doesn’t align with how Jews understand them?
One of the things that goes by this week, that is so full of amazing elements, without getting much notice is this beautiful series of readings from Deutero-Isaiah, the so-called Songs of the Suffering Servant that we heard Monday, Tuesday and again today (Isaiah 42, 49, 50) and then culminating on Good Friday with the most beautiful one of all from Chapter 52–53, just before we read the Passion. Who would believe what we have heard? To whom has God’s power been revealed? The Suffering Servant is a mysterious figure that is chosen by God to bring justice and salvation, often through suffering. In Jewish interpretation, the Songs of the Suffering Servant are generally understood to be about the whole nation of Israel as a collective, that endures persecution at the hands of gentile nations while remaining faithful to God. So, you will find Jewish commentators arguing that the “servant” refers to the Jewish people in general, suffering for the sake of God’s name.
For the Christian, of course, these canticles are a kind of portrait of obedience and what we call “substitutionary atonement,” one man dying for the sake of the people (as we heard the chief priest Caiaphas say in Jn 11:50), and they are understood as prophetic depictions of Jesus. I couldn’t help but think too of St. Paul’s phrase from 1 Corinthians 1:23, the message of “Christ crucified” that he said was a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Greeks, because the cross conflicted with demands for signs of power and desires for philosophical wisdom. The cross certainly challenges cultural expectations of a conquering Messiah. It’s also a stumbling block for our Muslim brothers and sisters, by the way, who cannot imagine Allah allowing his servant to suffer such a humiliating end. And therefore, the Qur’an teaches that it was only made to appear as if Jesus was killed or even crucified.*
So, a stumbling block to Jews and Muslims, foolishness to Greeks and other wise ones. While the rest of the world, on the other hand, simply rejects perfect love and puts it on the cross. For example, during a recent press conference in Jerusalem, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu cited the historian Will Durant saying that, “History proves that, unfortunately and unhappily, Jesus Christ has no advantage over Genghis Khan. Because if you are strong enough, ruthless enough, powerful enough, evil will overcome good.” He clarified later that that was a reflection on the harsh realities of history and not an attack on Christianity; that simply really reveals the current mindset. And I must say, he’s kind of right about the harsh realities of history and even in terms of the current state of the world at war. I don’t want to just pick on Benjamin Netanyahu; I think many Christians have the same mind set and have given up on the way of Jesus, the way of the suffering servant. “In the real world” we hear world leaders say: “We live in a world in which you can talk all you want about international niceties and everything else, but we live in a world, in the real world … that is governed by strength, that is governed by force, that is governed by power … These are the iron laws of the world since the beginning of time.”**
With all due respect to our Jewish and Muslim friends, this touches the very heart of the Christian message. You are right: the cross does not look like victory. It does not look like the triumphs of conquerors. Jesus does not defeat his enemies: instead, he allows himself to be defeated, handed over, mocked and crucified––without putting up any kind of defense! And yet, we believe, as Paul says, that “The weakness of God is stronger than human strength.” That’s the strange center of the Christian mystery into which we enter these days. What appears as weakness we believe is, in fact, divine power. What appears as defeat we believe is the decisive victory over sin and death.
In his homily on Palm Sunday Pope Leo kept referring to Jesus as the “King of Peace.”
We turn our gaze to Jesus, who reveals himself as King of Peace,
even as war looms around him.
He remains steadfast in meekness, while others are stirring up violence.
He offers himself to embrace humanity, even as others raise swords and clubs.
He is the light of the world, [even] though darkness is about to engulf the earth.
He came to bring life, even as plans unfold to condemn him to death.
We are invited to follow that king these days, the suffering servant, the King of Peace, but let’s be honest about what we are being called to––to be suffering servants like this: To bring God’s justice even if and when it involves sacrifice on our parts. To be steadfast in meekness even when others are stirring up violence. To continue to be light of the world and to hope in that light even when it looks like darkness is about to engulf the earth.
* * *
On another but related topic… Do you ever think about why Jesus had to die? I follow this young fiery Korean Episcopalian priest––Joseph Yoo––and he recently was talking about this. He says that for a lot of us the only answer we’ve ever been given is basically what you might call the “penal substitution atonement theory” ––that Jesus took the punishment that we deserved so that God wouldn’t be angry at us anymore. Some of that derives from those same songs of the Suffering Servant that we are hearing each day this week. (And I am very fond of the Christological interpretation of these canticles, by the way.)
But there is more than one way to understand the cross and Christians throughout history have seen it in different ways, Rev. Yoo explains. Some think that Jesus died on the cross to defeat sin and death. Others say he died on the cross to reveal God’s love. Others teach that he died to restore what was broken. And maybe all those have a little piece of the interpretation of the cross––it’s not just one thing.
Rev. Yoo says that in this season of his life, on the other hand, he understands the cross in this way: “What if Jesus didn’t die because God needed him to. What if he died because we kept and keep choosing violence, power and fear over love, justice and mercy?” I found that very powerful. Let’s keep it simple: What if Jesus died simply because we human beings always keep choosing violence, power and fear over love, justice, and mercy? What if Jesus died because the world keeps rejecting perfect love?
The Holy Father has been saying similar things to this over and over again these days on the world stage, in stronger and stronger tones. In his address to the diplomatic corps back in January, he simply said it this way: “War is back in vogue and a zeal for war is spreading.” And the example he gave was on a global level––mind you, he is speaking here to diplomats, ambassadors: “The principle established after the Second World War, which prohibited nations from using force to violate the borders of others, has been completely undermined.”
War is back in vogue and a zeal for war is spreading.
In his Palm Sunday homily, the pope sort of shocked everybody with how forceful his words were. He said “(Jesus) does not listen to the prayers of those who wage war, but rejects them, saying”––he quotes the prophet Isaiah 1:15 here––“‘Even though you make many prayers, I will not listen: your hands are dripping with blood’.” What if Jesus died simply because we human beings always keep choosing violence, power and fear over love, justice, and mercy? And folks like the late Rene Gerard and Gil Bailey and James Allison convinced me years ago that Jesus came to show us that God is nothing like that, that God has nothing to do with violence, that God is about life not death.
Last week in Morocco the Holy Father gave the other side of it, the positive side, let’s say. How does God convert us? he asks. God converts our hardened hearts by “revealing the true name of his omnipotence: mercy.” This is a theme that Pope Francis certainly highlighted over and over. “It is mercy that saves the world,” Pope Leo said. It’s mercy that “nurtures every human life in all its frailty, from the moment it grows in the womb until it withers away.” And “Liberation from idols is thus deliverance from power understood as dominion,” as well as deliverance “from wealth turned into greed, from vanity masquerading as beauty.”
When I was a kid, we used to hear things like when we committed this or that certain sin we were “nailing Jesus to the cross again.” I was thinking that could apply to violence: every time we act out of violence, we are putting Christ to death again, every bullet is a nail in his hands or his feet, every war scourges him at the pillar.
And so––this is back to Rev. Yoo: What if the cross was simply “Jesus stepping into the worst of human suffering to say, ‘Even here I am with you’, and the resurrection is the moment that evil death and oppression lost their power.” So, what does that mean for us?
It means that salvation isn’t just about what happens when we die. It’s about being set free now––free from fear, free from shame, free to love like Jesus loved. The cross isn’t just about what Jesus did for us. It’s about what Jesus invites us into––a new way to live, a new way to love, a new kind of world, a world where love always wins.
And so, we come asking for forgiveness for at least a two-fold purpose tonight at our penance service. First of all, to repent for the ways we ourselves keep choosing violence, power and fear over love, justice and mercy. We might examine our own consciences and ask “How often do we, do I, wage wars? How often do we, do I, believe in dominion, wealth and vanity?” And secondly, we are here to be set free––free from fear, free from shame, free to love like Jesus loved––set free by God’s mercy that nurtures every human life in all its frailty, from the moment it grows in the womb until it withers away; and to be delivered from power understood as dominion, delivered from wealth turned into greed, and vanity masquerading as beauty.
Jesus steps into the worst of human suffering and says, “Even here I am with you.” Because of the resurrection evil, death and oppression have lost their power. Even though the world crucifies perfect love, the resurrection shows us that love will not stay in the grave.
Let us commend ourselves to the mercy of God.
*Surah An-Nisa 4:157-158.
** Stephen Miller in an interview with Jake Tapper on CNN February 16, 2026.
