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The Battle's Aftermath

So we do not go into tomorrow--into the Friday we call Good--as to a funeral, to sit and grieve, but we go as to an abandoned battlefield, the signs of its warfare still scarring the landscape, its horizons still smoking from the ruined weapons of war. It is the Gettysburg of our most disastrous loss and our most decisive victory.  The defeated Jesus will not be found there, for it is not to Bad Friday we go, but to the Good One.  Oh yes, we shall still see his scars, and in each Maundy Thursday and in each anticipation (as this is) of the everlasting Easter to come, we shall welcome among us a wounded Jesus, whose wounds are badges of his victory and conquest.  His chair is not to be like the Elijah chair at Seder, an empty one for ever, for Jesus sits enthroned among us at eucharist, presiding as he did that sacred evening centuries ago. This is the sacrament, the mysterion, of Christ's bodily presence, not the bewailing of his physical absence.

He can never be murdered again, and never displaced from the president's chair at the eucharist, so we ourselves can never be defeated, in spite of the Holocaust of Jesus' brothers and sisters in the inferno of Naziism, in spite of the Holocaust of Latin Americans in the "Memory of Fire" torched by the Yanqui invader over the great motherlands of this hemisphere in these centuries of fire. Jesus' return is not to be triumphalist, as the return of a Columbia space shuttle to gringolandia, to glorify military power and its victory over humankind, but it is to be a return to service, not servility. To Maundy, to a new commandment of Love, to be servants to each other as he has been a servant to us all. 

– Grant Gallup on Ecunet, 4/10/01