A Meditation on Christ’s Passion

Martin Luther on the transforming power of Christ's suffering and death

Image by Thomas from Pixabay

(A five-minute read.)

A few weeks back, as a part of my morning meditation time, I started going through Martin Luther’s basic theological writings. As I’ve shared in the past, I have a great admiration and love for Luther, but I hadn’t spent a lot of time in his original materials myself.

Reading Luther’s extended reflections (though even this book is an abridgment of some of his works) has been really enjoyable—way more enjoyable than reading Calvin’s Institutes. Whereas Calvin is very systematic, scholastic, and Aristotelian, Luther is very pastoral and filled with pathos.

Of course, I don’t agree with everything Luther wrote or believed—and, since I’m going through his works chronologically, I know that the older Luther himself didn’t agree with some of the early Luther I’m reading right now (though, unfortunately, sometimes his evolution in thinking was a bad thing).

But of note, I just read a sermon he delivered in 1519 entitled, “A Meditation on Christ’s Passion.” In the sermon, he takes the typical Good Friday custom, practiced widely during his day, of meditating on Christ’s suffering and death, and shares some reflections on how such a practice can form and shape one’s faith.

What he encouraged was regularly spending time going over the scenes of Christ’s suffering and death, believing it would act as a sort of elixir for the soul. Indeed, in one place, he explained that

without hesitation he who contemplates God’s sufferings for a day, an hour, yes, only a quarter of an hour, does better than to fast a whole year, pray a psalm daily, yes, better than to hear a hundred masses. This meditation changes man’s being and, almost like baptism, gives him a new birth. Here the passion of Christ performs its natural and noble work, strangling the old Adam and banishing all joy, delight, and confidence which man could derive from other creatures, even as Christ was forsaken, by all, even God.

In this contemplation, Luther wanted people to recognize that when they saw “the nails piercing Christ’s hands, you can be certain that it is your work,” that when they behold “his crown of thorns, you may rest assured that these are your evil thoughts, etc.”

Further,

For every nail that pierces Christ, more than one hundred thousand should in justice pierce you, yes they should prick you forever and ever more painfully! When Christ is tortured by nails penetrating his hands and feet, you should eternally suffer the pain they inflict and the pain of even more cruel nails, which will in truth be the lot of those who do not avail themselves of Christ’s passion.

This type of meditation may seem troubling, gruesome, and gory—perhaps scandalizing our modern sensibilities. This is especially true for those of us who have a sensitive conscience and who aren’t signing up to watch “R” rated movies that feature a lot of blood and violence.

We feel a sense of injustice, of scandal, of wondering why it was that this is the method that, according to Christian theology, God chose to use to redeem the world! We’d rather not think about it.

But that is part of Luther’s point. We should be scandalized by Christ’s sufferings. We should be outraged and incensed.

It’s not really an option for followers of Jesus to opt out of the central part of his story (to the point, as has been noted by many, that almost half of the Gospel narratives are focused solely on the last week—what many have labeled the “passion week”—of Christ’s life).

I don’t think what the Gospel writers are trying to do is use a little “emotional blackmail” on us. I don’t think they’re trying to shame us into conformity, so overwhelmed with a sense of guilt about the gruesome, gory sufferings of Jesus that we snap ourselves into blind obedience.

But they are trying to reveal the depths to which God went in order to rescue us. They are trying to point us to the self-emptying nature of God and the upside-down methods of his kingdom.

They are also, I do believe (as Luther sought to do), trying to impress upon our minds the depth of our dilemma and the heinous and tragic results of choosing hate over love.

Again, it may really challenge our modern ears, but in Luther’s words, “The nails piercing Christ’s hands, you can be certain that it is your work.”

That’s a confrontational idea!

But it seems like the world would be a much more loving and empathic place if we spent more time contemplating the implications of our decisions before rushing into them, recognizing how our exploitative and abusive behaviors pierced the pure heart of the perfect Jesus (who was, according to Christian theology, God himself).

I don’t know exactly how it worked. I don’t know exactly how, in the words of the Apostle Paul, Christ, “who knew no sin,” became “sin for us” (2 Corinthians 5:21). Or how exactly Christ “poured out his soul unto death” (Isaiah 53:12).

I just trust, by faith, that somehow regularly grounding myself in that part of God’s story draws me into a place of surrender, gratitude, humility, and love.

Indeed, in Luther’s words, it somehow “changes [my] being” and “gives [me] a new birth.”

Those who come from my particular faith community probably recognize an echo of Luther’s invitation in the words of Ellen White, one of the founders of Adventism and my favorite theologian. As she wrote in her classic work, The Desire of Ages, published in 1898 and focusing on the life of Christ:

It would be well for us to spend a thoughtful hour each day in contemplation of the life of Christ. We should take it point by point, and let the imagination grasp each scene, especially the closing ones. As we thus dwell upon His great sacrifice for us, our confidence in Him will be more constant, our love will be quickened, and we shall be more deeply imbued with His spirit. If we would be saved at last, we must learn the lesson of penitence and humiliation at the foot of the cross.

I don’t know if I will successfully spend a “thoughtful hour,” or even 15 minutes, every day meditating on or contemplating the passion of Jesus. But I do want to take Martin Luther’s and Ellen White’s invitation to be more reflective on his suffering and death.

Again, I don’t know exactly how it works. And I don’t completely understand all the theological intricacies of Christ’s sacrifice.

But in a world full of political, social, moral, financial, and religious upheaval, I know there are certainly worse—and less productive—things that I could spend my time meditating on.

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Shawn is a pastor and church planter in Portland, Maine, whose life, ministry, and writing focus on incarnational and embodied expressions of faith. The author of four books and a columnist for Adventist Review, he is also a DPhil (PhD) candidate at the University of Oxford, focusing on nineteenth-century American Christianity. You can follow him on Instagram, and listen to his podcast Mission Lab.