Remember this name: Vyacheslav Abroskin.
Over the last several hundred years, it’s gotten harder and harder for people to see what good it does anyone for Jesus to die on the Cross. Everyone knows what a crucifix is, but almost no one knows what it is for.
We remember that there was something about a scape goat in Leviticus, over which Aaron prayed, confessing “over it all the iniquities of the people of Israel, and all their transgressions, all their sins, putting them on the head of the goat, and sending it away into the wilderness.” And we remember that there was a lamb that was sacrificed for the Passover, when the Israelites were trying to escape from their captivity in Egypt, so that God would “pass over” their homes, and no plague would destroy them when God struck their Egyptian captors. And, thematically, these ancient memories seem to be connected somehow to the Cross. So there’s something about sin, and there’s something about sacrifice, something about rescue. And there’s something about the mystery of God’s love.
And maybe we aren’t meant to see things any more clearly than that. Maybe just looking up at the Crucifix and remembering the scape goat who bore the sins of the people, and remembering the Passover lamb whose blood was the promise of the deliverance of God’s people… maybe linking these two memories to the memory of Jesus’ sacrifice is close enough. But if you are going to take the time to come here to church on Good Friday, I think we should try to get a bit closer to the heart of this mystery of God’s love.
Yes, it’s OK to remember the scape goat. Yes, it’s important to remember the Passover lamb. But today I want to ask you to consider Vyacheslav Abroskin, who might be able to help us see what the Crucifix is for: what Jesus’ death on the Cross is for.
It was on the Feast of the Annunciation, just a few weeks ago, when, amongst the torrent of stories coming out of the war in Ukraine, I came across news of the proposal made by Vyacheslav Abroskin. The Times described Abroskin as a “high-profile police commander” in Ukraine. If the Russians keep a list of names of people they would like to get rid of, we can presume his name is on the list.
On March 25, word began to spread of a deal that Abroskin was offering to the invading Russian forces in order to rescue the children of Mariupol - the besieged Ukrainian city in which many thousands of citizens have been attacked, bombarded, and trapped with no hope of escape, for weeks, now. Writing on Facebook the day before, Abroskin said this:
“There are many children left in a completely destroyed city today, who, if not saved now, will die in the coming days, time is running out.
“I appeal to the Russian occupants - give me the opportunity to get children out of Mariupol, instead of living children, I offer myself.
“Yes, I ask you to let me in Mariupol to collect children and organize their export. I need three days in the city. At the last checkpoint, while returning with the children, I surrender myself to captivity.”
In his message, Abroskin points out that he is surely a desirable target for the Russians, since, as a police commander, he organized active resistance to the Russians in their campaigns against Ukraine in 2014 and 2018. “I’m included in your sanction list,” he wrote. “I’m in your search. He knows that his offer would be meaningless if he was of no significance to his enemies. He makes his offer precisely because he believes he might just be a sufficiently high-value target.
“This is my personal initiative,” Abroskin wrote. “My life belongs to me alone and I offer it in exchange for the lives of children who still remain in Mariupol.”
“My life belongs to me alone, and I offer it in exchange for the lives of the children who still remain.” I don’t doubt for a moment the sincerity or authenticity of Vyacheslav Abroskin. Nor do I doubt that he may be a high-value target whom the Russians would gladly eliminate. To my knowledge, however, no one has taken him up on his offer.
The comparison has its faults, to be sure, but you can see, can’t you, how plainly the spirit of Jesus is expressed in the offer of Vyacheslav Abroskin?
Death looms for the children of Mariupol. Death has surely already taken many of those children. Others have been forced into exile, others may be hanging on until the fate of the city is sealed one way or another. There are no good outcomes to be had.
Three days is what their would-be savior says he needs to accomplish his work. Reason won’t accomplish anything for the children of Mariupol; the situation there is long past reason. Force hasn’t saved the children of Mariupol; not for lack of trying. Mercy has been shut off from the city: the Red Cross has been unable to reach the children of Mariupol. So what’s left? The demise of the children of Mariupol (and of course, everyone else there) seems almost inevitable. The headline this morning tells me that, “Russian forces appear close to taking Mariupol.”
There is a man who is willing to give his life for the children of that city. “My life belongs to me alone,” he said, “and I offer it in exchange for the lives of the children.”
The deal proposed by Vyacheslav Abroskin, is, it has to be said, offered to no one in particular. It is not entirely clear to whom such an offer could be made, or if anyone would take it seriously. He just put it out there - on Facebook - to anyone and to no one. This aspect of Abroskin’s proposal is important in the comparison to Jesus; it helps me avoid all kinds of theological pitfalls that arise when you try to figure out whose terms are being met in the offering of Christ on the Cross - the terms of the enemy? the terms of the Almighty? It’s all problematic. But maybe, as in the case of Vyacheslav Abroskin, the terms aren’t anyone’s but his own. It’s not really a negotiation, after all; it’s just an offering, just a gift, if you will.
“My life belongs to me alone, and I offer it in exchange for the lives of the children who still remain.” Or, as Jesus said, “I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again.” (John 10:18)
My heart breaks for the children of Mariupol, and for children all over the world for whom neither reason, nor force, nor mercy have provided much hope. And I am moved deeply to know that there is a man who is willing to give his life for the children of that city, even though his offer has been rejected, since it was never even clear if there was anyone who could accept the offer, anyway.
Here, today, we stand in the valley of the shadow of death. Neither reason, nor force, nor mercy has much to say to us in the face of death - death as real for Jesus as it is for the children of Mariupol. My only hope is this: that there is a man who has already given his life for the children of Mariupol, and for every child whom neither reason, nor force, nor mercy could save, and for all of us, too.
And because his work is finished, his offering is complete, there is hope for the children of Mariupol and for all of us. It’s the hope that was given to us when he gave himself up for us: a kind of hope that could never be accomplished by any other offering, not even the offer made by Vyacheslav Abroskin.
In the shadow of the Cross, I hear his words, the words of Vyacheslav Abroskin, and I begin to see: My life belongs to me alone, and I offer it in exchange for the lives of the children who still remain. At the last checkpoint, while returning with the children, I surrender myself.
And I think, yes, that’s what the Crucifix is for.
Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
Good Friday 2022
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia
An armored vehicle in the streets of Mariopal during Holy Week, 2022. Photo by Alexander Ermochenko for Reuters, from the NY Times