Christianity is a faith of tensions being lived out in a world of paradox.  The tragedy in Boston yesterday make this reality inescapable.  The immediate reaction for many Christians is to declare “This world is not my home!“, lock the doors, and hug our loved ones.

On the one hand, this is true.  Our citizenship is in heaven, and as we see evil so clearly present around us, we can’t help but feel very uncomfortable here (at least temporarily).

But, there’s another hand to deal with.  The one that remembers Jesus declaring the Kingdom of Heaven is here; that we are part of it now; that salvation is not purely about escaping the planet later, but engaging it life-giving ways today; and that being light in the dark necessarily implies that darkness be part of the environment.

Christians are the ones who see the brokenness of the world and jump in to be a part of the restoration of it.  We believe that God is over all, and through, all and in all, and while evil is present here, God is more present.  Evil will have its moments, but God can and does work redemptively even in the worst of them.

While this world is not our home finally, it is our home currently (see, tension!).  While we look forward to the blessing of God’s eternal presence in the Kingdom to come, we also hold onto our calling as God’s physical presence in the kingdom as it is now.  We enter boldly into a world that is marred by sin, but is also filled with the presence of God and the potential to flourish, even amidst the thorns and thistles (paradox!).  We do this because we are not just God’s fans we are his agents.  We are the physical presence of good, of love, and of the hope that there is a better story being told and better life to be lived.

This world is my home!

This past week, we started our most recent orbit around the topic of sexuality and relationships with the wonderful teens of NCOC.  It’s my favorite topic to teach and often the students’ favorite to engage in.  It’s awkward, yes.  There are those kids that giggle every time words like “sex” or “porn” are said, but they’re always tuned in – sexuality is universally applicable and intriguing.

We talk sexuality at home too.  We made a commitment from the time our oldest was born that we would use real words and explain sexual topics in actual terms (no “wee-wee’s” or “privates” up in here).  From the moment they first ask, our kids know how babies are made (sans storks) and they know that moms and dads like doing that kind of thing – though they can’t imagine why.  We’ve tried to make sexuality a valued and common topic of conversation.

I’m preparing to write my dissertation.  It will delve into the ways the Christian churches and families pass along their understandings of sexuality to their children.  For that reason, I’ve read articles and books relate to research in sexuality and faith until my eyes have gone crossed.

Why so much sex?

Well, I’ll give you three reasons (there are others, but let’s be real, you wouldn’t read that much):

Before I get to that, let me clarify one thing – when I use the word “sexuality, I am not referring to people having intercourse.  I’m referring the desire for intimate connection that every human feels and must find some way to express (hence, the title of the series I’m teaching in the photo above).  In this sense, the lady with 20 cats, the celibate monk in a monastery  and the hormone-crazed teenage girl are all living out this thing called sexuality – even if none of them are having intercourse.

1. Sexuality is a God-given, God-ordained, God-blessed reality that we all embody.  All of us.  You, me, my 4 year-old son, and your 80 year-old grandmother. God created humanity to be sexual.  It’s crucial to our identity, our mandate to fill the earth, and our flourishing as created beings.

2. Sexuality is universal and inescapable.  Your kids, my kids, and everyone else is in a constant state of negotiating it.  Refusing to talk about it out loud doesn’t change this fact.  Actually, refusal to talk about it makes it worse.  It isolates, confuses, and confounds the process. It also gives all the voice and influence over to the surrounding culture.  Not sure if you’ve noticed, but there are some pretty unhealthy messages about sexuality coming from all cultural directions.

3. Christian people are historically awful at talking sexuality. I’ve had countless parents of youth group kids over the years give me a winking, “Better you than me!” when they heard we were talking sexuality.  The parents that do talk, often aren’t really communicating (according their kids).  Churches aren’t much better.  Yes, there are a multitude of purity-pledge type curriculums, and those can be value (research is very mixed as to how much…another post for another time).  In general though, the voice of Christian parents and churches is shaky, sporadic, and awkward.  Our kids tune us out because we come across as though we know less about sexuality than they’ve already picked up from the internet and the lunchroom.

I think there’s a better story to be told about sexuality!

It’s a story of purpose, beauty, truth, and power.

It’s a story of convenants, blessings, providence and grace.

It’s a story that shapes who we are and who we can be.

I’m telling my kids (at home and church) this story.  I hope you are too.

Note: Since I am in the midst of teaching publicly on this topic right now, I’ll keep updating with useful resources and ideas over the next couple months. 

It’s rather long for a blog post.  If you’d prefer a pdf version, click here: Last Night of Jesus Life.

Leaving

It’s been a good last evening together.  They enjoyed the warm, intimate setting of upper room. Jesus was able to enjoy one last Passover meal  with his closest friends. He taught them. He prayed for them, and for all of us who would come after.

It was a nearly perfect last experience together. Except for one moment. His friend, Judas, after dipping his bread in the olive oil that Jesus offered – got up and headed out into the evening’s darkness to finalize what Jesus knew was his betrayal into the hands of Jewish leaders.

Gethsemane

Leaving that comfort and security of that rented room, Jesus leads his friends out of the south side of Jerusalem to Gethsemane – a garden area at the base of the Mt. of Olives. It is a place with which they are all familiar. They have been here many times before. It is where Jesus comes to pray.  Tonight, he’s come because there is no place else to go. Knowing what the rest of the night will hold, he’s come here desperate to spend time with his Father.

Entering the garden, he pauses a moment, and asks most of his followers to wait there for his return.  Then he takes his best friends, Peter, James, and John along with him and goes a little further. He needs their presence; their camaraderie.  He asks them to keep watch while he goes just a little deeper into the grove of tangled olive trees.

“I’m so overwhelmed with sorrow, I feel like I am going to die,” he says as he leaves them.  

Making his way past the mangled trunks, he collapses to the ground. No more putting on a strong face for his friends. No more keeping it together. He melts into the dark soil…the soil he created.  There’s no comfort in that tonight, though. Tonight, all of creation seems cold and distant to him as he sprawls there alone.

Silence. Darkness.

Here in this place, he looks like the least likely of all possible people to lead creation back into its rightful state of shalom.

Angels watch from faraway perches.  Longing to help.  Aching to help. But tonight, they are kept at bay by the command of God himself. For now, Jesus is on his own.

He begins to speak. Not the rote prayers of ancient Judaism. Not the beautiful, confident prayers that his followers are used to hearing. Not really even prayers at all. More like the sound of a heart slowly, painfully shattering into a thousand tiny shards.  Broken, crying face contorted like the trees sheltering him, he wrestles with God; with himself.

“Dad – please find another way! I’ll do it if I have to. You know I will, but if there’s any other option…please!”

This goes on for some time.  His body begins to shake in exhaustion.  Finally, he pushes himself off the ground and returns to his three friends. He needs their comfort. Their strength. The strength of their prayers.  But they are asleep. Has it really been that long? He wakes them and reminds them of a truth that he is experiencing so painfully…

“Flesh is weak. Stay alert.”

Turning, he returns to his spot a little distance off, walking as one who has already been through a battle. More pain. More fear. More anguish. The same prayer. It’s the only one to be prayed tonight.

“Dad, I beg you…find another way. Take this cup from me…I don’t know how to drink it. But, you know I will if I have to. I’ll do it if you need me to.”

His words are barely audible through the sobs.  His body begins to falter.   He is sweating profusely.  Again, needing strength from his best friends he returns to them. But, they have none to offer. They are asleep again. Embarrassed, they try to apologize, but only stumble over their words.

Feeling evermore alone in this battle, he returns to his prayers, his heart beating out of his chest. Sweat pours from his brow as he lays prostrate before the Father.  As it drips to the ground, he sees that there is a hint of blood mixed in.  He knows what this means. His blood vessels are busting under the stress of his pounding heart.  This body of clay has born almost all it can bear.  It was never intended to carry the weight of the world on its shoulders in such a real way.

“Abba…help me! Save me from this. Don’t make me drink this cup. Don’t turn your back on me.”

The Father’s heart is breaking along with Jesus’. He wants so badly to hold his one and only son.  To comfort him.  To bring him home where he can rest and be refreshed.  But he knows that can’t be. The only way out of the mess that creation is in is through this dark, dark night. So he watches, tears flowing freely from his own eyes.

Finally, Jesus knows he has his answer.  It comes in the Father’s silence. There are no words of comfort. There is no plan B. This has to happen.  He raises his hands heavenward one last time.  He’s no longer looking for help or for some good gift that the Father has always given so well.  Now he’s reaching for the cup. The one he dreads so desperately.  The one brimming over with the wrath of God and ferment of sin from centuries past and centuries yet to come.  He reaches to take hold of that cup now, because the only thing more powerful than his fear of the cup is his love for his Father, who asks him to drink it.

The Father, so proud of his son, allows an angel the privilege of ministering to Jesus – strengthening his spirit for what is to come.

The agony in his heart now replaced with resolve to finish his task, Jesus marches confidently back to his friends. They are sleeping again. It doesn’t matter though. their part here is done. He wakes them saying,

“Get up. It’s time. My betrayer is here.”

Arrest

Even as the words linger on his tongue, Jesus and his followers can make out the muffled sounds of hushed voices coming up the path to the garden. Through the thick branches of the olive trees, they can see the occasional flicker of torch-light.

His followers begin to whisper, question, and panic. But Jesus knows exactly how this is going to play out. This was always the plan. Even when he extended the call to Judas to follow him…to take on his rabbinical yoke….to do what he does and be who he is…even from that first moment, Jesus knew this day was coming.  He doesn’t hate Judas. He’s not even angry with him.  He hurts for him.  He misses him even now.

Around the bend, a detachment of soldiers emerges. These are temple guards, sent by the religious leaders.  How ironic that the religious leaders – claiming to lead God’s people, Jesus’ own people – would be the ones to lead this unholy task.  How ironic that they’ve sent armed men. As though Jesus was going to fight back.  As though he couldn’t, without even speaking a word, employ Michael and the host of heaven to come to his aid at any moment.  But, this is how it has to be.  Men in power so often seem to think that their power is really theirs and not a gift from the Father.  Even the events that are about to unfold won’t change that.  That flaw will only be undone at the very end.

They’ve come in the darkness of night.  They’ve come to arrest the Light of the World by the light of meager torches.  It’s a strategic move.  Jerusalem is filed with pilgrims, in town to celebrate Passover.  There’s no telling how many may revolt if Jesus were arrested in broad daylight.

The disciples fidget nervously. Counting soldiers – there are many. Looking for exits. there are none.  Peter clutches the hilt of his sword. Yes, that’s right. The impetuous fisherman has recently taken to carrying a sword around.

“That’s the last thing the world needs!” his friends have jokingly teased. Now they wonder if Peter may have been the wisest among them.

Jesus comes forward. There’s no quiver in his voice; no fear in his step.

“Who are you looking for?”

The authoritative reply of the captain is crisp and loud in the night air. “Jesus the Nazarene.”

Without hesitation Jesus proclaims, “I am he.”

Literally, his words are “I AM.” The same words the Father used to identify Himself to Moses. The same Jesus himself had employed earlier in his ministry.  The power and purpose of those two little words are not lost on the religious leaders present. They cringe. They scowl. They even draw back and fall to the ground.  In confusion.  In anger.  In fear.

With this simple phrase, Jesus makes it obvious who is in charge here. He also silently claims the words of Isaiah…”Like a silent lamb, led to the slaughter.”  He won’t be fighting.  He won’t be running.  This is his decision.  His doing.

Again, he asks them who they’re looking for. Recovering, the answer comes back the same as before, “Jesus of Nazareth.”

“I am he,” Jesus again responds. “Let these others go.”  Like a shepherd, always looking after the well-being of his sheep.

At this, Judas steps from the shadows and approaches Jesus. He’s nervous.  He keeps his gaze to the ground, avoiding eye-contact with Jesus and the rest of his now former friends.  The disciples are shocked, sickened, and enraged to see one of their own leading this procession.  If they could, they’d kill him themselves.

As he steps up to Jesus, the Savior simply says, “Friend, do what you came for.”

His voice carries no malice or bitterness.  It’s as though he really still thinks of Judas a friend.  There’s sadness there, though – knowing that his friend has chosen the path of destruction and there’s no turning back now.

As the servant of the high priest advances to take Jesus into custody,  Peter finally can take no more.  His sword flashes in an arc, illuminated by the flickering torch-light.  But, Peter is a fisherman, not a warrior. He manages only to nip off a portion of the man’s ear as he jerks his head aside.   As Peter draws his sword back to take another swipe at the man who is now bent over assessing the damage, Jesus steps between them, holding Peter at bay.

“Put your sword away,” Peter. “I will drink the cup my Father has given me.”

With that, Jesus performs his smallest and final miracle, healing the man’s ear.  It didn’t have to be done.  The injury was likely only cosmetic.  Even now, loving his enemies as he’s always taught his followers to do.  To the very end, being gracious to those who stand against him.

On Trial

They lead Jesus to the house of Caiaphas, the high priest.  Not surprisingly, Jesus sees that all the elders and religious leaders have been assembled there in the middle of this dark night.  There’s going to be a trial – at least the show of one.  They parade a string of “witnesses” through the room, all of whom have been paid or coerced into producing lying accusations.  Even this fails to produce any real evidence against Jesus though.   They need something more. Something they can execute him for.  Finally, someone gets the idea to accuse him of planning to destroy the temple.  Indeed, Jesus had made the statement not too long ago:

“Destroy this temple and I will rebuild it in three days.”

He wasn’t talking about the bricks and stones that made up the actual building, of course, he was talking about his own body. But, this was an accusation that could stick.

Jesus simply remains silent.

In the distance, a rooster crows, announcing that dawn is soon to come. No one in the room pays any attention to the sound.  No one but Jesus.  His gaze goes immediately to the courtyard outside where, it’s met by his friend, Peter.  Time stands still as the two lock eyes.  Peter’s immediately fill with tears.  Did that really just happen?  Did he really just launch into a tirade of profanities, trying to convince his fellow onlookers that he had no association with Jesus?  No association with his best friend?  His teacher?  His Messiah?

The moment is too much for Peter. His face contorts in sorrow and terror as he runs weeping from fire where he’d been warming himself.  He disappears into the shadows of the night as Jesus looks on, aching for him.  He wants to run after Peter and comfort him. Restore their friendship. Remind him that the Father has big plans for Peter. But, that will have to wait.

Jesus snaps his attention back to the room as the screaming voice of the high priest enters his ears.  Caiphas demands Jesus explain his teachings.

“I have no secret teachings. Everything I’ve said, I said in public. Ask those who heard me, they’ll tell you what I’ve taught.”

At this, one of the officials nearby strikes Jesus in the face, bringing a trickle of blood. The first hand ever to strike the Son of God belongs to a religious leader. The first blow Jesus ever absorbs comes from the people who claim to know God best.

Losing his patience, Caiaphas screams, “Enough! Tell us now, are you the Messiah of God?”

“You have said so,” he responds, turning Caiaphas’ own words back on him.

Knowing it’s time to end this, he continues, saying, “From now on, you’ll see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One, and coming on the clouds of heaven.”

As the words form in his mouth, Jesus can’t help but smile.  How he longs for that moment to arrive.  How desperately he desires to be back at the side of his Father.  It is the anticipation of this moment that gives Jesus the courage he now relies on.

The religious leaders are screaming now, “Blasphemy!”  They’re yanking at their hair and tearing their expensive clothes.  The hornet’s nest has been stirred.  They’re calling for his death.

The next step of the process annoys even the religious leaders. They know they are not allowed to execute anyone themselves, so they drag Jesus to the home of Pilate, the Roman governor over Judea.  From their perspective, Pilate is like all Romans.  Godless.  Brutal.  Self-seeking.  Power-grabbing.  As despicable as they find him, he is also predictable.  He will do whatever is most likely to keep him in power and keep Rome off of his back.  They’ve had run-ins with him in the past.  There have been uprisings.  The first, when Pilate siphoned money from the temple treasury to install an aqueduct system.  Another, when he brought images of Caesar into the temple.  They know that Pilate fears them, or at least fears what may happen to him if they staged a flat-out revolt.  This fear will be the tool they use to manipulate him.

As the sun is just starting to light up the morning sky, Pilate comes out to see what the crowd wants of him so early in the day.  Their demand is immediate crucifixion. Pilate hesitates.  He doesn’t get it.  He sees through the fuzzy logic and lies and knows they have nothing to really accuse this man of, so he takes Jesus back into his palace to talk to him in private.  The conversation goes nothing like he expects it to.  This man is not afraid.  He is not intimidated.  Neither is he guilty – Pilate can tell that just looking into his disarming eyes.  He immediately knows that there is much more to this man than what the irate Jewish leaders are telling him.

Maybe he is royalty of some kind.  Maybe he does have a Kingdom of his own.  He seems to have a grasp of reality that eludes even Pilate.

Returning to the mob of Jews outside his palace, Pilate tells them he can find no guilt in Jesus.  This doesn’t set well.  They get loud.  Their numbers are increasing as the sun rises.  He knows they are about to get violent.  In a move of political desperation, he reminds them that the custom in this peculiar little state is to have one prisoner released each year at Passover.  He’s hoping they’ll let him off the hook and he can let Jesus walk.  No such luck.  Immediately, the crowd demands the release of Barabbas. “Now that guy really is a scoundrel,” Pilate thinks to himself.  He’s backed into a corner.  He’s about to release a known rebel and keep an innocent man locked up.  Or worse, kill him.  He decides to take one last shot at appeasing the crowd and calls for his guards to flog Jesus, hoping that will satiate their lust for blood.

The guards drag Jesus away.  These are not temple guards; these are Romans. They’re brutal men raised in a brutal land who have brutal intentions.  They find sport in torture. They are good at it. Very good.  They strip Jesus’ of his clothing and throw him down before a three-foot pillar with iron rings embedded on each side.  Large, calloused hands strap his wrists to the rings.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the massive guard that will be meting out the torture. His muscles bulge. His lips sneer. He enjoys his job. From his hand, the nine strands of a whip protrude like so many vipers.  The head of each of the nine vipers is a piece of rock, glass, or stone. All jagged. All blood-stained. All waiting to sink their fangs into his body and shred his flesh.

He knows this won’t be the end. He knows he’ll wish it could be.

The crowd of soldiers gathers around.  Without prompting, they fall silent silent. The first strike comes.  Pain shoots through every nerve of Jesus’ body.  His lips quiver, but he remains silent.   Another strike.  He can feel the skin on his back, arms, and ribs being torn away as the whip returns to its master.  Another.  Another.  The skin opening up now, exposing muscle and even bone. Blood pooling on the ground beneath him as the lashes keep coming.  Tears mixing with the blood.  Still, he does not cry out.

When the guard finally finishes the cruel work that he seems to enjoy so much, no skin remains on the back of the Savior. His arms, neck, head all bear the tracks of the nine serpents’ strikes. Jesus cannot stand. He can barely breathe. He fades in and out of consciousness.

Guards drag him to his feet. Their assignment has been carried out, but they still have a little time on their hands. Pilate has been detained in conference with Herod, so the guards decide to have a little more fun with this man. They know little about him, other than what they’ve picked up from the screaming mob outside. They’re saying he claims to be some kind of king.

Someone grabs one of the red robes the guards wear and puts it around his shredded shoulders.  The fabric immediately clings to the ribbons of torn flesh and the exposed muscle.  Even the slightest movement sends fresh rivers of pain through Jesus’ body.

The guards surround Jesus like a pack of wolves, hungry to make sport of his life.  They put a reed in his hand, telling him it’s his scepter.  One leaves the circle, only to return a moment later with a crown he’s woven out of thorns, each of the needles protruding two or three inches from the base.  He’s cut himself many times in the process, but wears a sneer of wicked delight as he approaches Jesus.  He mockingly bows, then pushes the crown onto Jesus’ head, jamming the thorns deep into the flesh.  Fresh streams of red immediately flow down his face, filling his eyes, and making him almost unrecognizable beneath the mask of blood.

They curse him. Spit on him. Strike him repeatedly.  Weakened by lack of sleep and loss of blood, Jesus falls down with each blow, finding momentary comfort in the cold stones of the floor.  He’s immediately yanked back up though, so that he can receive more blows, more jeers, more spit from the mouths of these wolves.  Finally, the commanding officer yells out, “All hail, King of the Jews!”  The entire assembly bows before him with hatred and murder in their eyes.

Pilate has called for Jesus’ return, so the guards lead his barely recognizable body back into Pilate’s chambers. The horrific condition of the man now before makes Pilate recoil at first.  Thinking this may be enough, Pilate leads him out front to show him to the Jews. He’s hoping their violent desires will be satisfied when they see what the guards have done to Jesus.  He parades Jesus before them, showing off every bloody angle of the handiwork of Rome.

“Here is the man!” he declares, hoping to shock them into relenting.

The crowd does not back down.  They become all the more rabid.  They growl like rabid animals, demanding crucifixion.

“You want me to crucify your king?” PIlate asks.

“We have no king but Caesar!” the crowd roars back.  The irony of this sentiment is not lost on Pilate.  He knows these Jews abhor Caesar and Rome. He knows they find Caesar’s claims to be the son of the gods abhorrent.  He also knows he can’t[NCOC1]  with this. It’s gone too far now.  In a politically astute display, he dips his hands into a nearby basin, signifying to the crowd that this man’s death was on their hands, not his.

Sensing victory, the crowd grows even louder, spewing hatred into the air with every breath.

The order is given. Death on a cross. Immediately.

Golgotha

Just outside of Jerusalem sits a hill, elevated just enough that everyone can see it – so it cannot be missed.  This is “The Place of the Skull”.  It’s the place of execution. Standing up on the hill this day, there are three vertical beams already in place.  They await their present assignment of two thieves and religious zealot.  Unperceived by any human present, there is a figure among the beams.  A dark figure.  Having failed in his temptation of Jesus a few years earlier, at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, Satan left him, waiting for an opportune time.  This is that time!

Jesus’ body is in shreds.  His mind swimming with pain and exhaustion.  There will never be another opportunity like this.  One slip.  One misuse of power.  One display of pride.  That’s all it would take to destroy whatever God and this son of his are up to.  He has to be more subtle this time though.  He’ll stay in the background.  He’ll work through other humans – so weak and pathetic; so easily enlisted into the service of his schemes.

Satan looks down and sees the three victims now making their way up the hill.  He recognizes the two thieves – they’ve been in his back pocket for years.  He sees Jesus trailing behind them, not even carrying his own cross-beam anymore.  Still, he is more pushed along by soldiers than walking.  The corners of Satan’s mouth turn slightly upward.  This is it!  This is the moment he’s been waiting for.

Buzzards look on, perched atop the waiting beams, knowing that they’ll get their shot at these men before long.

The first thief is muscled to the ground, his arms stretched across the beam he’s been carrying.  A handful of soldiers subdue him, holding his arms in place and pinning his body to the ground.  Though he’s exhausted from his own beatings, adrenaline surges through the man’s veins and he begins twisting and screaming with all his might.  It’s no use though.  The soldiers know what they’re doing.  They’re too strong.  Swiftly, the spiker goes to his work.  He centers the man’s right hand on the beam.  The hammer falls.  Once to pierce the wrist.  Once more to drive the spike into the beam.  The man screams until his voice fails.  They repeat the process on his left hand.  It’s swift. Brutal.

Watching this, the other prisoner struggles desperately, begging for mercy.  Then it’s his turn.  Two raps for the right arm.  Two for the left.  The struggle is over.

They’ve saved Jesus for last.  They stretch his arms across the coarse-grained wood. The pain in his back is slightly less now as shock has set in.  He doesn’t resist.  He doesn’t speak.  Even the hardened crucifixion squad finds this a little odd.  Very odd, actually.  Everyone fights it.  They pile on Jesus, just like the other two, expecting that he will eventually start to resist, but he never does.

With the first swing of the spiker’s hammer, every nerve in Jesus’ body kicks immediately back into gear as pain shoots through his wrist and surges through the rest of his body. Quickly, the job is done.  He’s nailed to the beam.  Muscles stretched out, the pain shoots even more easily across his worn-out form.

One by one, the crossbeams, dragging their victims along with them, are lifted to their waiting uprights.  The bored holes in each beam are aligned and a peg is driven through, attaching them in the infamous form of a Roman cross.  The spikes in their wrists begin to tear through flesh and scrape against bone, sending fresh courses of pain through the men.

Jesus’ right leg is pulled over the top of his left.  The spiker quickly and efficiently drives a single nail through both feet and into the waiting timber below.  As even more agony wracks his body, the Savior looks down at the soldiers milling around below him and finally opens his mouth.

“Father, forgive them. They have no idea what they’re doing.”

The guards turn silently to look at Jesus.  Just another lunatic on a cross.  Just another enemy of the state.  Or, is he?  They’ve heard many men make many statements from the top of their crosses, but this is the first time they’ve ever been offered forgiveness and accused of ignorance.  After a moment, they shrug it off and go about their business.  They’ve gathered around to look at his tunic.  It’s one piece.  Impressive work, probably a gift from his mother or some other woman that loves him.  They decide to gamble for it, not wanting to tear the fabric and decrease the value.

In the shadows, Satan decides that his opportunity is now at hand.  He knows it’s a long shot.  He remembers all too well God’s warning that the day was coming when a man, presumable this man, would crush his skull.  Still, he has to try.  He uses the voice of one of the religious leaders first.  One of these men that claim to be so very loyal to God, but in reality have been putty in Satan’s own hands for longer than they could ever imagine.

“He saved others; let him save himself, if he is the Christ of God, the Chosen One.”

The words cut into Jesus’ heart. The temptation is real.  Of course he could save himself.  He could show the religious establishment that he really was the Messiah.  The promised seed of Eve that would overturn the curse of Eden.  The prophesied heir of Abram through whom the whole world would be saved.  So many promises, prophesies, and hopes converge on the cross, waiting for Jesus to fulfill them.  But not that way. That’s not the cup the Father has for him.  So, he absorbs the temptation, answering only with silence, as Satan looks on from the shadows.

Later, the soldiers come to scrub the men’s bodies down. Plopping a bucket of sour wine vinegar down to the ground, the dip a sponge in it and begin mopping their wounds. Jesus’ body writhes in new pain as the sting of the alcohol sinks into his flesh. The soldiers find this pretty amusing and repeat the process for sheer entertainment.  With a wave of his hand, Satan opens the mouth of one of the guards who hisses a challenge: “if you are the king of the Jews, save yourself!”

Through swollen eyes, Jesus looks at the men mocking him from below. Again, the temptation strikes his heart.  What if?  What if he did save himself?  Wouldn’t these men spread word throughout all of Rome?  Couldn’t God use that as a catalyst to spread his message?  Couldn’t the Kingdom of God flourish under the banner of Rome – filling the known world almost overnight?  Perhaps. But, that’s not the cup the Father has given him either. Knowing this, he closes his eyes once more in silence.

The soldiers move on, but Satan stays nearby, getting desperate now.  One more idea.  One more hope to capture the son of God off guard.  Even as he thinks through his strategy, he knows deep inside it won’t work.  Jesus is too strong. Unbreakable even as his body is torn to pieces. Still, Satan knows it’s now or never.

He opens the mouth of one of the thieves next to Jesus.  “Aren’t you the Christ? Save yourself and us!” the man demands through the pain of raising himself up to speak.

Jesus turns to look at him.  The man’s eyes burn with hatred, anger, pain.  How easily Jesus could ease that pain; melt away that hatred; heal that anger. He’d done it many times before.  The demon at the lake.  The woman at the well.  He could put out the fire in this man’s soul too.  But Jesus knows in the depths of his soul that this is a one-or-the-other proposition.  He could save this himself and this man, or he can save all of us. He cannot do both.  He has to choose.  He chooses us.

The other thief makes the agonizing effort to push himself up by his feet. He looks into the eyes of Jesus and knows he’s staring into the soul of a dying God. Something comes to life in the depths of his own soul, and he cries out to Jesus, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom!”

It’s the only genuine acknowledgment of Jesus‘ status as the son of God during his last hours. It comes not from his friends, nor from his mother, nor from the religious leaders, but from a common thief.

Smiling at the change he sees in this man’s heart, Jesus softly replies, “Today, you’ll be with me in paradise.”  With one sentence, the man’s fate is changed.  His salvation is secured.  His death is given meaning.  The Father now awaits his arrival.

Satan slinks away, knowing his own fate is sealed as well.

The end is coming quickly now, Jesus senses. At the foot of the cross, he sees John, his dearly loved friend.  He’s the only one besides Peter to follow after Jesus since his arrest.  Next to John is Jesus’ mother, Mary.  He sees the incredible pain in her eyes. It’s the pain every mother fears – watching her child die.  He can read her thoughts behind the tears.  Deep down, she knew this day was coming.  Simeon predicted it when she presented Jesus at the temple.  The prophets predicted it, calling him the “Suffering Servant.” She had walked through life with this boy of hers, knowing that death was always just a few steps behind.  But in this moment, she is not watching the Messiah die.  In this moment, she is watching her baby boy be torn apart, the life slowly draining from his body.

It’s too horrible to watch. She loves him too much to turn away.

Jesus summons the strength to push himself up on the nails in his feet one more time. As his cracked lips begin to form words, John ushers Mary a little closer in order to spare Jesus any strain he can.

“Woman, this is your son,” he says, implying that John now belongs to Mary.  She looks at John, clutching his arm as fresh tears begin to flow from her tired eyes.

“John, here is your mother.”  His dear friend nods, agreeing with that simple gesture to care for Mary for the rest of her life.

It suddenly rings clear and true in Mary’s mind…he is about his Father’s business.

At about noon, the sun is mysteriously shrouded.  The Romans start chattering about the gods being angry.  The religious leaders explain it as God’s judgment against this heretic, Jesus.  Within the heart of every person in Jerusalem, there is deep, foreboding sense that something is happening that far transcends what they understand about the world.

The minutes and hours stretch along at a painfully slow pace as Jesus fades in and out of consciousness.  Even in his death, he gets no special treatment from God.  No hastened exit.  The crowd has thinned and drawn relatively quiet. There is not much else to say as the day drags along.

Breaking the stillness, Jesus suddenly cries out, “Eli, Eli, lema Sabachthani?” “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

The onlookers speculate that he is calling on Elijah to save him. One of them grabs the sponge of vinegar and offers it to him, but he refuses.

With one final gasp of air, the hoarse voice of the Savior quietly declares, “It is finished.”

His body slumps down upon the wooden beams.  His chest ceases to rise.  He’s gone.

The ground begins to shake violently. In the eerie darkness that still hung over the city, the soldiers assigned to Jesus declare in terror, “Surely, this was the son of God!”

Darkness

There, in the unnatural darkness, the Savior’s soul departs. The darkness lingers across the land.

Dark, like the sense of dread in the hearts of all the onlookers, trying to make sense of what just happened.

Dark, like the experience Jesus takes on as he passes from this life, as he finally drinks fully from the cup God has set aside for him alone.  For the only time in history, he’s torn away from his Father; from himself really.  For a period of time, he is lost.  He dies not just physically, but in the most real possible way – in the very depths of his soul.

Dark, like the sins of the world. Sins of the past. Sins of the future. Sins of the present. My sins. Your sins.

If you are like me, the desire right now is to leave behind the gruesome, cruel reality of the darkness and going running into the light.

We will. We do.

But this week, as we move toward the celebration of the resurrection next Sunday, I challenge you not to leave too quickly; not to let yourself off the hook that easily.

God does not desire that we beat ourselves up needlessly over our sins, over our very real part in the death of Jesus. He does desire that we acknowledge sin’s reality. That we acknowledge our own sins were part of the darkness of that day.

Only in facing the darkness full-on, can we truly appreciate what a miracle the light of resurrection really is.

Portions of this manuscript were inspired by Ken Gire’s masterful work in Moments with the Savior.

Every now and then I pause from ministry-related thought to purge my brain of some of the things that bug me the most.  Little bits of pop culture that, at least for me, have over-stayed their welcome.  I’ve done this a couple times before and found it amazingly cathartic.  So, today I offer up four more things that I can’t take any more of.  As of this moment, they are officially dead to me. You may not agree with my list.  You may have other items to add to the burn pile.  Feel free to chime in either way.

1. “It is what it is.”  Ok, so this was kind of clever for a while.  It reminded us that some things have to be accepted for what they are, which is not entirely without merit.  But, this little phrase is on a perpetual downward cultural spiral.  It has become a verbal pause badly disguised as philosophical wit.  It is the domain of athletes who cannot articulate an answer to interview questions, a blanket justification/explanation called upon by musicians and actors who have no real logic or value system to back up their behavior, and the baby-boomer trying to sound hip.  Time to let this one go, team.

2. “Keep Calm and…”  All due respect to her majesty, this phrase drives me bloody crazy!  It was kind of cute during the London Olympics.  For a time, it was kind of clever to see every blessed t-shirt, bumper-sticker, and Facebook image maker put their own little twist on the “Keep calm and carry on.” idea.  That time has passed.  I feel obliged to give props to her majesty however in the sense 200+ years later, she has found away to oppress America once again. Well played your majesty, well played.

3. Just __ being __.  Pick your high-maintenance, socially inappropriate, self-imagined diva and insert their name (twice).  Just Kobe being Kobe.  Just Miley being Miley.  Just Genghis Kahn being Genghis Kahn.  Somehow, we all stopped even trying to hold people to any standard of acceptable behavior and collectively decided to agree that jerky people are allowed to be jerky people because they are jerky people.  The logic is dizzying.

4. The Harlem Shake. I’ll admit it, I drank the Kool-Aid.  I bought into the hype.  I watched a few of the zillion or so viral videos on YouTube.  Our youth group made a version (which actually never entirely made it out of the editing room).  But, the thing with viruses (video or otherwise), is you really only want them to hang around if they’re useful.  The Harlem Shake has outlived its entertainment value already.  I don’t need to see your school band, your co-workers at Denny’s or your nine cats doing it.  The moment has passed.  Find a new dance to have your finger puppets engage in.

That’s it for me.  Anything to add?

P.S. Gangnam Style…you’re next.

I decided to take up the challenge of one of my favorite authors, Margaret Feinberg, to read through the entire Bible during Lent.  It’s a lot of page-turning, but going through Scripture in 40 days offers a fascinating bird’s-eye view of the story God has been writing ever since “Let there be light.”

As I made my way through the first half of the Old Testament, I kept hearing the voices of people I’ve spoken with over the years saying, “What’s up with the OT God?  He’s really violent and mean!”  At first glance, it’s easy to see their point.  You see stories of the fire coming from heaven to incinerate people, the ground opening up and devouring whole families, bears coming out of the woods to maul a bunch of kids, etc. – God does come across a little rough.

Now, this blog is not about intense systematic theology, and there are those much better qualified to speak of such things than I am.  But, as I guy reading the Bible and trying to get a sense of what the whole story is about, here’s what I think – God is up to something.  All those stories that seem so intensely violent have a purpose and direction.  To me, it looks something like this:

God chooses a man (Abram) and makes him a promise – that he’s going to bless the whole world and all the people who will ever stroll around down here through this guy.  From that man, there comes a family (Jacob and his 12 sons).  From that family, he creates a nation (Israel).  And, from that nation he creates a movement of people (the church) that he charges with joining him in the restoration of this world until Christ returns and ushers in the next – we’re 2,000 years deep into that movement, by the way.

To put it simply, this is a hefty undertaking.  One that, if it doesn’t start off in the right direction, will end up far off course.  It’s like if you want to roll a ball from point A to point B.  The smallest disruption in the course as it leaves point A turns into missing point B by a lot.

Or, think of it this way.   When you’re raising a child, you discipline them more frequently when they are younger.  We probably all know of parents that let their kids rule the roost when they’re young, then try with tears and screams to right the ship as their kids get older and more destructive.   The story of the Bible could be seen the same way.  God is raising a people.  They are young and immature in the OT – they need a lot of discipline.  They need a lot of rules.  As we move into the NT, Jesus is calling people to transcend the rules and laws – to leave them behind not because they’re obsolete, but because they are for children (see the Sermon on the Mount).

Now, I’m over-simplifying the theology of God by a whole lot here, but maybe it helps you make sense of God better to realize that he is the same in the OT and the NT.  The same grace and love.  The same demands of holiness and loyalty.  The big difference is really his audience.  Like a little girl who sees her parent as an enforcer of rules – one that’s a pretty scary at times.  Twenty years later, that same child is likely to see that same parent as something more like a friend.

God has been up to something in the history of humanity.  He’s raising a people.  He’s moving them from infancy to maturity.  And, he’s doing it all with perfect love and continuous grace.  

1.  Make it about giving stuff up.

For Lenten  practitioners, the 40 days leading up to Easter brings a commitment to give something up or fast in some form.  This is most often related to food or drink although there are any number of other things (technology/social media is a popular choice right now as well).  The key to really hating your Lenten experience is for the thing you give up to become the focus of Lent.  Yes, some folks will treat it as season of repentance and introspection – a disciplined time of coming before God to face their own sins head-on and walk through the cleansing fires of repentance and confession – but who needs that?  It’s much easier to just say you’re not going to eat chocolate and be done with it.  Of course, you’re likely to grow really bitter about giving it up (and you’ll probably cheat here and there along the way), but at least you won’t have to deal with all the soul-searching.

2. Give up something you won’t really miss.

While you’re considering what you’ll give up – try to find that balance of something that you like having in your life but that you really won’t miss all that badly six days a week.  Don’t get too radical.  Don’t make yourself too uncomfortable.  What you’re looking for is something that you can get a little put out about giving up, but can find other crutches to lean on its place – that’s the real key.  If you get too crazy giving things up you’re likely to have to adjust your lifestyle and may even feel compelled to pray for strength and discipline as you go along and who needs that headache?

3. Treat Sundays like any other day

For many, Sundays are celebration days during Lent – kind of mini versions of Easter.  If you really want to throw a wet blanket on your Lenten experience though, don’t get carried away with the Sunday thing.  Certainly you want to make sure you gorge yourself on whatever you’ve given up but otherwise, just do your normal thing.  What you don’t want to do is change your schedule, do any extra reflecting or praying (you’ll check those boxes in your normal Sunday worship service), or go out of your way to celebrate God’s presence and resurrection in your life.  The busier you can be and the less thought you can give to Sundays, the greater your potential to maximize misery over giving up that thing you don’t really even care that much about the rest of the week.

Good luck!

Author note: I’ve learned these through experience.  I’ve also learned that a Lenten season can be salvaged by righting the ship mid-Lent if you find yourself losing your ferver and discipline.  “Lent for man, not man for Lent.”  If you find yourself having a bad Lenten experience, you have the freedom to change that immediately.  Re-evaluate your prayer time, your discipline, your priority, your fasting, your schedule – all of it.   May God sharpen all of us through this season as we move toward the celebration of the greatest moment of history.

I’ve been battling Lyme Disease since last May.  I’m feeling a lot better, but I’m still pretty worn out.  I’m barely getting through each day and keeping up with the demands of normal life, I don’t know if I have 40 days of intense discipline and repentance in me.

I’d rather take a nap.

I’d rather just assume that God will understand if I take a Lent off. It’s not like I’ve been overly sinful the last year – just standard-issue fallen-guy stuff.  No espionage or collusion or embezzling or anything (those are the coolest-sounding crimes to me!).

Unfortunately, I have friends.  Friends like the guys at Sacred Margins, Meryl Herr, and my father-in-law Mike Sublett.  These folks take Lent really seriously (they also write beautifully about in very different ways, so check out their respective sites).  The problem with friends like these is that they remind me of one pesky issue that never seems to go away…

the truth.

The truth is, I need Lent, probably now more than ever.  I need a time of specific focus to purge myself of the baggage of sin that I get so used to carrying around that I don’t even notice it anymore.

The truth is, I need to pour myself out and allow the Spirit to fill me with the presence, counsel, and power of God in fresh ways.

The truth is, I need reminding of my place in the beautiful, ongoing story of God’s redemptive work in the world through the life, death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus.  I need to remember that it happened.  I need to remember that is happening, and I am a part of it through my participation in the gospel.

Maybe in this way, I am more prepared that I have been in previous years.  It still sounds daunting to me, though.  Praise God for Christian community and friends that drag you along to those places you need to go, even when you don’t feel up for it.

A few years ago Christina and I became followers of The Biggest Loser.  Like everyone else who watches the show, we are inspired by the success stories and hurt for the damage done in people’s lives – all those things reality TV is supposed to prey on in suckers like us.  In an episode a couple weeks ago, nutrition specialist, Dr. Joanna Dolgoff, visited the homes of three children that the show has taken under its wing this season in an effort to bring attention to childhood obesity.  She went through each of their kitchens and pantries, pointing out nutritional shortcomings and throwing away massive piles of junk food.  One of the young ladies she visited describes herself as a vegetarian, but while Dr. Dolgoff piled up bag-fulls of junk food she offered a correction to the young lady’s definition of herself.

“You’re not a vegetarian, you’re a carbitarian.”

There was a bit of a pause.  The camera focused on the young lady.  In just a split second, you could see the wheels turning in her head.

“Is this lady right?” ”What does it mean if she is?”

What was Dr. Dolgoff getting at with her statement?  If I could read Dr. Dolgoff’s mind, I would guess that underneath the statement were a whole series of other ideas:

- Being a vegetarian isn’t about what you don’t eat (meat).  It’s about what you do eat.

- We can easily lose track of who we are when we get too concerned with who we aren’t.

- When you accurately describe who really are, you have the freedom and power to decide whether you want to remain that way.

For this young woman to be able to move toward health she needed to stop fooling herself into thinking she is a vegetarian (which carries with it some connotations of being a healthy eater).  She needed face the reality that while she may have started off a true vegetarian, she had evolved into a carb addict who happens to abstain from meat.

The same kind of issue has been a pitfall for Christians throughout time.  They come to the Christ in all sincerity and enter into a genuine, loving relationship with him.  To support their faith, they latch on to religious practices such as going to church on Sunday morning, putting some money in the offering plate, service projects in their community, and a well-defined list of the do’s and dont’s they find most important etc.

Over time, they make the same mistake the girl on the Biggest Loser did – they get so caught up in the things they do (or don’t do) that they start to define themselves by those things.  Soon, they are caught in what might be labeled an obese faith.  It’s suffocating.  It’s unhealthy.  It’s addictive.  Ultimately, it’s fatal to authentic Christianity.

Obese faith is what happens when we develop our own long list of do’s and don’ts and call it Christianity.  We can practice all those things perfectly without Jesus – we often do.

This isn’t Chrsitianity – it’s religianity.  It isn’t about filling ourselves with Jesus, it’s about filling our lives with activity that we use to defend our claims to being “good people”.

Like that young woman, we all need the occasional reality check.  If you claim to be a Christian, what defines that for you?  My hope and prayer is that is a life-giving, life-changing relationship with Jesus Christ.  

NOTE: Yes, I made up the word “religianity”.  I did that because the concept of religion is getting a bad rap – much of it deserved.  However, religion has its place and purpose.  It exists to serve as a scaffolding on which we hold up the true object of faith – Jesus Christ.

NCOC is a Church of Christ (I’m going to refer to the Church of Christ as COC…it’s not authorized and some may even take offense, but my fingers demand it).  As I know many of my northern friends are less familiar with the COC, I will give a very brief, very inadequate run-down of what that means.  COC’s are a branch of the American Restoration Movement of the 19th century, which also produced the Disciples of Christ and Christian Church movements.  We are evangelicals, but have roots in fundamentalism that often run much deeper than we’d like, or even realize (personally, and institutionally).  Of particular significance is the fact that COC’s are completely autonomous.  There is no denominational structure, meeting, or oversight whatsoever.  That being the case, COC’s can vary widely in their practices and interpretive stances.

Widely.

Really, very widely.

As one of the larger COC’s in our area, we have a lot of people here specifically because we are a COC.  Many of them grew up in COC’s and would have a difficult time going other places.  We also have a sizable number of members that come from other church traditions, as well as a few for whom NCOC is their first real church home.

The 1/3 Rule

This diversity of church backgrounds gives rise to a particular tension in planning worship services.  Over the years, we have developed what we now affectionately refer to as, “The 1/3 Rule”.  We assume that whatever we do, 1/3 of the church will embrace it,  1/3 will find it disagreeable, and the other 1/3 will have no opinion.  This is increasingly the case when we inject non-traditional or creative elements in.  Whenever we have ideas for worship, we weigh and measure them to decide whether they’re worth both the discomfort it may cause 1/3 of our folks, and the less-than-supportive conversations that are likely to ensue.

Believe it or not, this is where I see reflections of the Kingdom.  I would like to do a lot of things in worship here that will likely never see the light of day, at least in my tenure.  I would like to re-imagine some of our traditions and infuse what I believe would be new life into the way we do things.  In my worst of times, this plays out in my mind as a dramatic battle scene in which I am part of a small, embattled group that is trying to push forward in the face of a staunch and well-entrenched enemy force.

Then, I slap myself for allowing Satan to convince me that my brothers and sisters are in any way, my enemies.

After the slapping (sometimes it takes multiple go-rounds), I remember that this tension has always been part of the church.  Paul’s writings to the New Testament churches are bubbling over with conflicting views of church members.  In Corinth, they argued over whose spiritual gifts were most important.  In Philippi, there seemed was an old-fashioned popularity contest amongst the members.  In Galatia, Jews and non-Jews were trying to figure how to bring their traditions and ideas together under one roof.  Paul’s continual message to all of them goes something like this, “Can you please just remember that you are one in Christ and that the goal of the church is to embody the grace, mercy, and love of Jesus?  Everything, everything else is subsumed in the gospel of Jesus.”

The Kingdom was made for diversity.  It was made for the tension of bringing people of wide-ranging backgrounds together to prove to the world that gospel has room for everyone.

In my best moments, I remember that the frustrations of trying to negotiate The 1/3 Rule keep me from thinking that my version of Jesus is the version of Jesus, that my taste in worship style is the taste.   To me, there is something very sacred about having to live in that kind of tension.