he goes before us

So many things happened on that Thursday. The day right before Jesus was killed was indeed a busy one.

 

There were feet to wash. There was bread and wine to be given new meaning. There were prayers to pray and anguish to feel. There were hymns to sing and betrayal to be acted on. There was talk of death and promises.

 

In all of it, Jesus goes before us. He leads the way, showing us how to love well—even those who would betray us. He gives high and holy attention to the act of serving one another by serving those who had argued for place and position. He enlightens the disciples about the coming of his death and his willingness to go to it out of obedience. He gives us new traditions to practice so we never forget his body and his blood. He offers hope in the face of apparent tragedy.

 

He goes before us.

 

Jesus even leads the way in exposing our sin and waywardness. Even as he is about to die for us he acknowledges that we really aren’t up to the task of standing by him, remaining faithful, and unashamedly call him our Lord. He knows us.

 

Then Jesus said to them, “You will all fall away because of me this night. For it is written, ‘I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.’ But after I am raised up, I will go before you to Galilee.”      Matthew 26:31-32

 

But he promises, yet again on this Thursday, to go before us.

 

“But after I am raised up, I will go before you to Galilee.”

 

Even though all the disciples are going to fail him, even though they are all going to run when things go wrong, Jesus wants them to know that he’ll go before them. He’ll be ready to meet them. When it comes time for the resurrection reunion, Jesus will be there first.

 

Is there anything that underscores the beauty of the grace of Jesus like his willingness to bring us back to him when we sin? His leads us in our redemption.

 

He goes before us even in this. He died to make us his own and then he rushes ahead of the betrayers, the fear mongers, the embarrassed followers, to claim them as his own with love and the gift of peace.

 

This is Jesus, our Savior.

 

He goes before us in death, before us to defeat sin, before us in resurrection, before us in eternal glory. He is Jesus.

 

Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead.           1 Corinthians 15:20-21

 

the cross

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.            Hebrews 12:1-2

 

“Why would they hang Jesus on something as wonderful as a cross?” 

That’s the question my daughters posed to me the other day as we talked about the death and resurrection of Jesus. 

They were scandalized to discover that the cross was such an instrument of torture. Baffled to find out that it’s only wonderful because of what Jesus did by dying on it. They had a few moments of difficulty getting their minds around the idea that a cross was always—in all cases—a terrible thing meant for terrible purposes. They had only thought of it in the context of what Jesus did on it; how he saved us by it. 

 

They see the cross and know that it was an awful and painful thing Jesus went through to die for us, but they see the cross and are thankful. They are encouraged. It brings to their minds thoughts of heaven and hope for painless days to come. They imagine days of resting on the Father’s lap and times of wrestling with him. “Do you think we could pin him down if we all ganged up on him at once?! I mean all of us—all the people in heaven?! 

They know that these hopes and dreams, these realities of the future, are only possible because of the cross, because of Jesus’ death and resurrection. They think of the cross and they think of all the hope and joy that it brings to us. 

And we know that Jesus endured the cross with joy. He endured this instrument of depravity and destruction, this tool that kills in such a deplorable way, robbing the dying of humanity and dignity even as they lose life. He endured this torturous device with joy. He despised its shame, bringing glory and eternity to bear in the hearts of humankind. 

He changed not only our thoughts of the cross, but also our future, our hope and even our very hearts. He took our shame and gave us his righteousness.  

We should never forget the wickedness of such a device—meant not only to kill, but torture in the dying. It reveals the deep darkness of humanity’s heart. It proves the point the Father has made: we need a Savior. We need redeeming. But we should also see the cross and think of the joy of Jesus, dying to bring us life. The Father took the curse of the cross and made it a hope, a joy, a freeing from the shame. 

Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, “Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree”  Galatians 3:13

 

tears of the King

This is holy week. These are the days that lead up to the death and resurrection of Jesus. There is no more significant time than this. Everything we believe, everything we try to devote our lives to finds purpose and meaning in the events that culminate at the end of this week.

 

Paul the apostle says that if Jesus is not resurrected from the dead then we Christians should be pitied above all others (1 Cor. 15:19). We have set our hope here. We have set our identity in the resurrected One. This week we stop the regular, monotonous rhythms in favor of a few moments; brief times to reflect and remember. This week holds the key to all the hope: Jesus making his way to the cross; Jesus knowing where he is going; Jesus in reverent submission, sacrificing his holy, prefect self for ragged sinners who neither understand nor care. God in perfect love and ultimate sacrifice, bringing life to the lifeless.

 

In this we hope.

 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

During the days of Jesus’ life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears to the one who could save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered and, once made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him and was designated by God to be high priest in the order of Melchizedek.   Hebrews 5:7-10

 

I have tried to find words for the tears of Jesus. But how do you write about the grief of the Almighty?

I wrote in abstract, and then I wrote in the matter of fact. I wrote a poem, and then I wrote a story. I wrote and deleted, wrote and deleted.

 

The simple fact is, Jesus coming to earth—God in flesh, living among us, living to die—these realties mean Jesus weeps.

 

“…fervent cries and tears…”

 

There are no words for the Creator crying over his creation. Crying not just because it’s gone all wrong. Crying not just because it isn’t as it should be—us living in wicked rebellion and lost-ness. But crying because he loves greatly and fervently and even to the point of death. Crying for the Self-inflicted pain to bring Self-glory and our worship.

 

Putting that to words? They just all end up sounding childish or obscene in the face of such grace and love.

The Son of the Most High learning obedience in suffering. The Almighty Messiah in reverent submission. The grief of perfect love does wild and reckless things—reckless by the standards of earthly wisdom. There are not words because there is not the ability to wrap our minds fully around a love so pure and perfect and full of glory. That God would love us so much that he would not simply find a way for us to reach him, but would give himself to save us. Not a love that says, “I can’t watch you self-destruct so I’ll wipe the slate clean and start again.” But a love that says, “You have no hope in yourself. I will pay the price for you. I will die myself, so that you can live in me.”

 

As we focus on Jesus making his way to the cross this week it is good and right for us to remember that as he walked this earth he did so offering up prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears.

 

How could we be loved this much? That the King of glory, strong and mighty, would weep for the lost? And not just weep, but the Creator enters creation and dies for the sin of those who do not even love him!

 

The source of eternal salvation, the Son of reverent submission, who learned obedience, suffered death—this is our King of glory. Our King of tears.

 

when I see the blood

 

When I see the blood, I will pass over you.             Exodus12:13

 

It’s curious to me how clean and tidy we have tried to make our Christianity here in the United States. It’s happening elsewhere too, but not everywhere. What I mean is that we have this desire to make our faith attractive (as if being forgiven of everything you’ve ever done, being offered this for free, love and acceptance and all the rest isn’t attractive enough!). Somehow the church has bought into the idea that we are selling something instead of living something.

 

Many churches these days shun from using language about sin, our need for God, or holiness. Not too long ago, as we visited several different churches we were astounded at how many hesitated to use the Bible much or talk directly and candidly about Jesus. The culture of church seems to have committed to looking as much like a country club as possible. We wouldn’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable.

 

I’m thinking of this today, not just because I felt like ranting on the church. I love the church. It’s why this reality pains me so much. But I started thinking about this because of reading about the Passover in Exodus 12. It is messy and there are lots if lose ends that appear and lots of justice questions that might arise and lots of blood. In short there are lots of things that might make the Christians today very uncomfortable.

 

Is it right for God to kill innocent first-borns because their parents refuse to follow God’s direction? Is it just to have families suffer these great losses who may have known nothing of the conversations between Pharaoh and Moses? Why all the blood? Couldn’t God just know who the Israelites were and who the Egyptians were?

 

Like I said, it’s very messy. But as I read it I was struck by how necessary it was. How important. Isn’t it ironic that we are comfortable with saying God would stop at nothing to bring us to him so long as that nothing just means him sacrificing his own divine son? As soon as we suspect that some person on earth, some sinful person, may have suffered a tragedy in order to bring all of humanity face to face with Jesus we find it awkward and possibly unjust?

 

These are the Israelites who are the people out of whom the Son of God will be born into the world in order to bring all of humanity the offer of salvation. And God will stop at nothing to make sure they are freed to become that people. So that Christ may come. This is a messy reality, but it is also a loving reality.

 

And the blood. Why are they spreading blood on their door frames? Why must each family kill an animal? Because even free gifts aren’t free. Sure, this Passover, this rescue is free to the Israelites, but it did cost. Many Egyptians families that night knew very well the cost. The same is true with us. Forgiveness is free and salvation, eternity, relationship with the Father—it’s all free for us. But it cost God dearly. It’s important to know this. To see this. To be reminded of this. So the Israelites kill an animal and wipe its blood on their doorframes. And they were expected to remember this always. To keep it before them as a reminder of the bloody cost of redemption.

 

This is a day to remember. Each year, from generation to generation, you must celebrate it as a special festival to the Lord .   Exodus 12:14

 

For us today, we should keep sight of the blood too. The blood of Christ. We as his followers should talk about it, remember it, embrace its messy truth. Without the blood and injustice of Jesus’ sacrifice we have nothing.

 

But now you have been united with Christ Jesus. Once you were far away from God, but now you have been brought near to him through the blood of Christ. Ephesians 2:13

 

Instead of attempting to clean things up and make our faith more palatable to the world, we should embrace it in all its messy truth. Embrace it in all its reckless love that will stop at nothing to draw us to God and his life.

 

Today our church celebrates baptisms which will be an awesome experience and celebration for us. Certainly we’ll be singing some celebratory songs. Kool & the Gang’s Celebration anyone? But I would be surprised if we weren’t also singing something like Only Your Blood simply because, like it or not, this is about blood. And we should embrace it.

 

somtimes i wonder

Sometimes I wonder at how much Jesus endured for us. And some times I wonder if it feels worth it to him. I look at us—I look at me—and I think of all that Jesus has given, all he has endured, and I cannot help but wonder.

 

And they said many other insulting things to him. Luke 22:65    

 

How was it that he said nothing? How was it that he stood his ground in those closing hours, but never defended it? How was it that he did not simply strike them all dead for abusing and torturing and degrading him while he was coming to save them?

 

Then they spit in his face and struck him with their fists. Others slapped him and said, “Prophesy to us, Christ. Who hit you?”          Matthew 26:67-68

 

Sometimes I sit and think on all that Jesus went through, and there simply are not words. And yet there are too many words.

 

they stripped him

 

crown of thorns

 

spit

 

mocked

 

struck him on the head again and again

 

And of course there are his own haunting words. Finally he speaks. And yet the words are so raw; too real. They carry such weight and pain that I guiltily realize I preferred his silence.

 

About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”–which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”       Matthew 27:46

 

Some days it feels like I can hardly take it: all the not speaking and then the speaking; all the horror of humanity raging against the only one who ever truly loved it. And I wonder at whether or not it feels worth it to the Father, Son, and Spirit.

 

And then I wonder at those last words. I love the last words. They are the best words and as last words go, they are more first and beginning than they are truly last.

 

Jesus said, “It is finished.” With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.           John 19:30

 

There is a love for the unlovely that comes from our Father and it makes me wonder. I wonder at its unwavering nature. I wonder at the finish that becomes a starting point. I wonder at the power that brings life from death. I wonder at a God of perfection, a God who has all and is somehow also a God who wants us. This act of love and sacrifice, this gift of a priceless life for worthless lives, this makes me stop and stand and gawk in wonder.

 

In the truest and most genuine sense of the word, this Jesus and his gift of sacrifice is wonderful. And it leaves me full of wonder.

never like this

When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

 

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. 

 

“Where have you laid him?” he asked. “Come and see, Lord,” they replied. 

 

Jesus wept.     John 11:32-35

Why is Jesus crying? Is he unsure if he can bring Lazarus back? Did he not expect this? Did he think he had more time?

 

No. that’s just not it. But then what? Why?

 

This is all wrong. That’s why.

 

It was never meant to be like this. They created, they made, they brought it all into existence. All the tress, the flowers, the creatures, the people—especially the people. Made with image, made with soul, but not for this. Never for this. This just isn’t what they had in mind when creating. Separation is never what they have in mind. They made to be with. They made to have life.

 

All this ruin, this loss, this ending. No, this was never meant to be.

 

And so he cries. Cries for their loss. Cries for their pain. Cries in spite of the fact that he will bring Lazarus back. He cries because he knows—he knows they will all need to be brought back. Death is a ruiner, a separator, an ender. And yes, yes they had created, but it was not for this. This was never meant to be; never like this.

 

And he cries because this is why he came. To stop this madness; to put an end to the ending. Death must go down, it must be stopped. All this sorrow, all this pain of people losing people—it moves him deeply; troubles him in the soul.

 

He cries because he is dying to stop the dying.

 

Everything else he has seen: the legs that won’t walk, the eyes that no longer see, the skin that isn’t as it should be, all the healing he must do and has been doing. He knows that all of it is just this in disguise. It’s just this hinting at the corners of life. The ruin of death is the problem, because it was never meant to be like this.

 

And when it’s done—the crying and the rising; when it’s done Jesus says the words.

 

“Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”          John 11:44

 

These are the words we live for. These are the words our souls need. And this is why he came. To bring us all back; we all need bringing back. This was never meant to be—this dying and separation. But this is what is. So he comes. He comes to cry with those who lose what never was meant to be lost. He comes to take off grave clothes and let us go.

 

And that is what was meant to be.

 

silent

 

 

He is dead.

All is silent.

what kind of man

I offered my back to those who beat me,
my cheeks to those who pulled out my beard;
I did not hide my face
from mocking and spitting.

                                                          Isaiah 50:6

 

What kind of man gives his life without objection? What kind of man give his life to those who do not ask for it or even care that it is being given? What kind of man gives—not because he does not have the power to take—but because he has too much love?

The man who is God.

But what kind of God subjects Himself to His creation? What kind of God limits Himself and sacrifices Himself to the evil whims of those things He made? What kind of God looks upon His corrupted creatures and instead of destroying and starting again, rips Himself apart to save them?

The God who stooped down and became man.

From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land. About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”—which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

 

And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit. At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook and the rocks split.                      Matthew 27:45-46; 50-51

 

The world has seen no other man like this, for only God could be man as beautifully and lovingly as Jesus.

 

*photo by Kriss Szkurlatowski

judas

I deserve what is coming,

If the truth be told.

The Savior’s for sale,

And I’ve rendered Him sold

- Griffin House, Judas

 

 

Then Judas Iscariot, one of the Twelve, went to the chief priests to betray Jesus to them. They were delighted to hear this and promised to give him money. So he watched for an opportunity to hand him over.       Mark 14:10-11

 

Judas. If ever there as villain, this is the guy. Betrayal, dishonesty, greed—these are the words that we think of when we think of Judas. Or maybe those are too mild. Maybe the words we think of are words like despise, disgust, hate.

But not Jesus. Jesus does not despise, or hate, or treat him poorly. On the Thursday before the cross, the very night he would be betrayed, Jesus washes Judas’ feet. It’s easy to forget the fact that Judas was in the room when Jesus washed the disciple’s feet. (Maybe because it’s easier to think of him already off doing his deeds of darkness.)

Jesus never treats Judas poorly; he never completely calls him out. He does let Judas know that he knows and he does let the disciples know, in somewhat veiled terms, that he knows of a betrayer. But Jesus never treats him as we probably would. He treats him with love. He treats him with respect, acceptance and service—right to the very end. When Jesus told us to love our enemies, he apparently intended to practice what he preached.

 

But Judas is the guy we love to hate. It feels justified. It feels right. But if Jesus didn’t, why should we? I’m not saying we should be fans or admirers, or that we should excuse his behavior. But right to the end Judas found love and service from the Savior he would betray. This is true love for ones enemy—knowing they will do wrong and still treating them right.

Perhaps we love to despise Judas because it helps us feel justified when someone betrays us. Maybe we love to hate Judas because then we can see him as worse than us. Or maybe we just like to have something to hate.

Griffin House, in his song, Judas, paints the picture of Judas as a tortured soul. Obviously, Judas had regrets in the end. Such regrets that he was driven to take his own life. If anything we should have sorrow, not hate for him. We should pity him.

 

Thursday evening: the disciples were sharing a meal—the meal. The one where Jesus would identify himself as the lamb who would take a way the sins of the world. And here Jesus announces the reality of a betrayer.

While they were reclining at the table eating, he said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me—one who is eating with me.”

 

They were saddened, and one by one they said to him, “Surely not I?”

 

“It is one of the Twelve,” he replied, “one who dips bread into the bowl with me.

Mark 14:18-20

 

Surely not I. We should all echo these words of the disciples. Instead of judging the actions of a betrayer like Judas, we should examine the actions of our own lives, with the sentiment of the other disciples: “Surely not I.”

The Savior is still for sale. And we can easily render him sold. It doesn’t take hatred for him, or outward actions that are obviously rebellious and wicked. Remember, Judas betrayed Jesus with an act of affection—with a kiss.

The cross is coming at the hands of the Betrayer. Instead of judging him and hating him, and feeling better than him, may we respond with the true disciples, “Surely not I Lord… surely not I.”

self

Many people did believe in him, however, including some of the Jewish leaders. But they wouldn’t admit it for fear that the Pharisees would expel them from the synagogue. For they loved human praise more than the praise of God       John 12:42-43

 

Jesus is making the final push. He’s trying to explain that he must die; trying to get people to see that he’s doing it for us. And they just aren’t getting it, so they question and challenge. Has anyone ever had to do so much convincing just to save those who were dying? Father and Son go so far as to speak audibly to one another. Miracles are performed and patient explanations given by Jesus and still most do not believe.

But some do believe. Not many, not most, but some. And John’s gospel tells us that they kept it quiet. They didn’t tell anyone for fear of rejection. For fear of exclusion. For fear of those in power. And they kept it quiet for love. For love of human approval. For love of acceptance. For love of what’s secondary and less than.

And still Jesus insists that He must die for us. Still he trudges towards the cross. Even while we seek praise from people over the praise of God.

 

This is the common. This is the theme. From a Betrayer who organizes the arrest to disciples who flee. From crowds who praise to crowds who shout hate. From Pharisees who plot to those of us who look back today and judge their waywardness. In all of them and all of us, in the week that leads to the cross and the years that have followed since, this is the common: we love praise from each other more than praise from God. We crave approval and acceptance from the created and think little about the approval and acceptance of our Creator.

 

Thomas Merton writes, “Instead of worshipping God through his creation we are always trying to worship ourselves by means of creatures.”

Worshipping ourselves. That puts it in a brutally blunt light. God offers life, and acceptance, love and eternity—and he offers it for free. But we will not worship him because we love to worship ourselves. We love the feeling of validation from other created beings and we love their stamp of approval on our activities and ideas. We love our self. That’s really what it comes down to. We love “us” more than anything else.

So with a soul deeply troubled and a people who doubt him, still he moves to the cross. To save those who love themselves more than they love the One who created them—the One who will save them. Still he goes on.

The cross is coming. This is Wednesday—it will be here Friday. It will bring death to our Savior. And it will bring death to our self as well. It’s the only way.

And three days later he will rise; and our new self will rise with him.