James puts it well about what pure and undefiled religion is: ”To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.”
This Good Friday morning, this is the call of Calvary. It is about a love so compelling that it pushes you to live beyond yourself to touch the lives of others.
And it is quite ironic that early this week, we witness the all-consuming fire of a historical and iconic landmark of nearly a thousand years old, Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. It is ironic because the unfortunate destruction of a holy site dedicated to Virgin Mary in 1160 brought out the religiosity spirit in the many who are superrich in this world.
Within hours, the donors and donations swept in like a wild fire. It was reminiscent of a Luke 6 out-giving exercise where the scripture reads with some relevant tweak of mine here: -
“Give, and the billionaires shall give. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, the close to a billion dollars within hours poured into the lap of the broken church. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you, possibly either through fame gained or tax deducted, or both.”
Indeed, those who can afford richly afforded with hearts moved to save the church.
Just to name a few of these donors in a largely secular and atheistic France is a pledge of €100 million from France’s second-richest man, Mr Francois-Henri Pinault.
Then, not to be outdone, another wealthy scion Mr Bernard Arnault, a fierce rival of Mr Pinault and his father, “upped the ante with €200 million gifts a few hours later.”
And another rich donor, global cosmetics giant L’Oreal, also gave a pledge of €200 million to add to the bonfire of giving.
As the fire reached beyond the skyline and can be seen from miles away, the donations from these wealthy folks also reached beyond the skyline and can be seen from miles away. All of which, that is, the fire and the donations, were well published for all to watch in trepidation and admiration.
If you detect a tone of sarcasm in my description above with verses interspersed, pardon me, but that’s not my full intention.
My full intention is to give credit where credit is due. The billionaires are no doubt doing their part to put their money to good and godly use. That part is where credit is due to some extent.
But there is a far more ironic part about the religiosity of generosity in this case. And it is not without my sympathies and understanding.
With such money flushing in like the dousing of the flame in the cathedral, mind you, last count was close to a billion, thereby relieving the government of digging into its coffers if the pledges are made good, some people are however protesting that “the wildly rich were trying to wash their reputation during a time of national tragedy.”
And mind you again, this comes quite untimely at the heels of the “yellow vest” movement, first ignited with fiery rage over income and social inequality in the country.
“Can you imagine, 100 million, 200 million in one click! It shows the inequalities in this country,” Philippe Martinez, head of the militant CGT labour union, protested. “If they’re able to give dozens of millions to rebuild Notre-Dame, they should stop telling us that there is no money to pay for social inequalities.”
Ms Manon Aubry, a senior figure in France’s left party, called the funding an “exercise in public relations” and said that the donors’ list “looks like the rankings of companies and people located in tax havens.”
And last but not least, here’s a clever take from French philosopher and novelist, Oliver Pourriol.
Considering that it was Victor Hugo’s hunchback of Notre Dame that revived national interest in the rebuilding of the Cathedral, philosopher Oliver said: “Victor Hugo thanks all the generous donors ready to save Notre-Dame and proposes that they do the same thing with Les Miserables.”
Lesson? Well, on a Good Friday morning, my lesson cannot be anything but Calvary-directed. And I return to James about pure and undefiled religion that God recognises, empowers and rewards, that is, “To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.”
Yesterday, I was having dinner with two young leaders of my church. Towards the end of it, one of them asked me this: “What does Good Friday mean to me?”
I thought for a while and said, “The heart of the Gospel is this, you can’t experience resurrection without the grave. You can’t have life without death. And you can’t overcome the world, without first dying to it”
That about sums up a living and true religion for me. It still returns to the heart of the matter, that is, my heart.
And I would be the dumbest Christian ever lived on this earth if I for one second think that the one who offered Himself at the Cross sacrificed Himself so that I can claim that victory when he proclaimed “it is finished”, and conveniently forget how hard it was for Him to arrive at that last-breath of life.
I therefore do not pick and choose to have the cup removed at will, and ignore the part about “not my will but yours be done.”
So, Good Friday is as much about my Saviour as it is about me, the one He came to save. For it is about how I am changed by the message that makes not the day special, but His death and my life count beyond the superficialities of this world.
And the purest religion I know from His teaching is from the gospel. I shall extract it in full as I end this post.
“One day, Jesus was sitting with His disciples near the temple treasury watching people depositing money into the offering receptacles. The court of women held thirteen such receptacles, and people could cast their money in as they walked by. Jesus watched as the rich were contributing large sums of money, but then along came a widow with two small coins in her hand. The ESV calls them “two small copper coins, which make a penny” (Mark 12:41). The KJV calls the coins “mites.” These were the smallest denomination of coins. The widow put her coins into the box, and Jesus called His disciples to Him and pointed out her action: “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on”
At the end of the day, after the dust has settled, the millions offered to save the Church in Notre Dame makes a difference no doubt. But that is not even half the story of Calvary.
Indeed, it is not about how much we give that matters, whether in mite, might or moments. But how much we are transformed to give that is the central message of the Cross.
And a heart transformed by that message is one that always keeps itself undefiled by the world, as the latter grows strangely dim. Amen.
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