Oh, how I love Jesus ...

April 10, 2020

Oh how I love Jesus …

It’s Good Friday and there is stillness in the air.  In the silence of early morning, a fresh unwrapping of Jesus trek to the Cross gripped my soul.  All based on one chapter of Scripture – Matthew 27 – and one song. The immensity of Jesus’ human experience has rolled over me like new depths of a mighty ocean. I don’t know how I will ever capture the thoughts and feelings in my mind and heart but I must try.

Betrayal 

Funny how you can read something a hundred times and then suddenly it is brand new.  That’s how my reading of Matthew 27 began today.  I got startled in verse 3. “When Judas who had betrayed him, saw that Jesus was condemned, he was seized with remorse.”  Have I not read those words before? So what was this fresh dawning, this ray of light parting the curtains in my window?   I could not shake the agony I suddenly thought Judas felt as I pondered those three words “seized with remorse.” When Judas saw Jesus being unjustly condemned, the act of his treason appears to rivet his soul.  “How could I have done this? What grief have I caused the One who washed the dirt from between my toes? Utter contempt clings to the fibres of my being like an unmovable bandaid glued to my skin.  I have betrayed innocent blood with an act of petty greed. I will never forgive myself for the deliberate and deceitful treachery of my callous actions. I can live with myself no more…”

Is there any human sore which takes longer to heal than the rawness of open-wounded betrayal? How could Judas live with this infidelity? He couldn’t.  With the desperation of regret filling every cell of his being, Judas takes his life. Is it possible he knew no other way to respond to the sting of guilt than to ensure he would never again cause pain to the One who loved him desperately? Was this an act of repentance?  If so, would he not have received mercy?

Betrayal is brutal.  It was the agony I saw in Susan’s eyes (not her real name) many years ago when she came to our office a few weeks after a joyous 25^th wedding anniversary celebration to tell us that her husband was leaving her. “I just don’t love you anymore” was what he said. Betrayal was what she felt.  

                                             

When she was a teenager, the abuse of alcohol in Diane’s home (not her real name) left her struggling with self-worth. One Friday night, the innocent ruse of friends playing a trick on her caused her to spiral further down as the bite of frivolous deception crushed her already bruised sense of esteem. Fun was what they meant. Betrayal was what she felt.  

None of us are immune to the possibility of betrayal. We lie. We cheat. We deceive. I confess my own human faults and turn to Christ’s invitation to repent and be forgiven. On the road to the Cross, Jesus would bear myriad forms of betrayal – the scattering of those to whom he had invested his life and love, the mockery of bystanders, and the fraud of an inept legal system.  As the weight of the wooden beam marked his wounded body, Jesus bore the disloyalty of those around him and that of the entire human race.

Injustice

He was innocent and falsely accused. The guilty was set free by the tide of public opinion. “Which of the two do you want me to release to you,” asked the governor. “Barabbas,” they answered. “What shall I do with Jesus?” Pilate asked. They all answered, “Crucify him!” In a moment of leadership exasperation, Pilate conceded and, seemingly, washed his hands of the virus of prejudice.  “I am innocent of this man’s blood,” he said. “It is your responsibility!” And with that, he released Barabbas and had Jesus flogged.

The moments that followed were inhumane and unfair. The cruel torture of physical abuse as Jesus was stripped and beaten was pitiless. The mockery of donning a ‘royal robe’, the anguish of razor-sharp thorns piercing his skull, and the ridiculing haunts of “Hail, king of the Jews!” exposed the worst of humanity’s ability to torment another.  The spitting and striking with his own stick again and again - it barely seems possible that someone would survive such immense mistreatment.  Yet, he did and others have too. Survivors of genocide, the Holocaust, and war prison camps leave us spellbound with stories of outliving similar vicious and heartless exploits of atrocious injustice. While these actions are among the most evil and extreme forms of discrimination, there are countless other injustices every day which are often accepted, overlooked or even considered normal.   

I am so drawn to Jesus, not only for his untamable and unmatched love but for his willingness to bear the fullness of every possible earthly experience.  Our Lord was truly and properly human and divine. He lived humanity at its best and saw it at its worst.  My faith in Christ is fortified as I ponder the invitation to follow One who “took on flesh and moved into our neighbourhood” (John 1:14, The Message), even when He knew what that meant.

As Jesus bears the bigotry of his undeserved suffering, he embodies the unwarranted treatment of all people whose vulnerability leaves them unprotected simply because of their gender, race, social status, or personal identity.  As people suffer perpetual forms of humanitarian drought – economic hardship, unequal access to health and education, domestic violence, and the unfair distribution of global wealth and resources – I am convinced that not only is Jesus still aware of this, He calls us to remain engaged in his battle of good over evil.  I celebrate the places and people where this happens and long to see it visible more and more.

Faith and love

In the events of Jesus’ crucifixion, there were moments of incredible frankness between the Son and the Father that depict a relationship of unusual honesty and unshakeable trust. On the night before the crucifixion, Jesus retreats to a familiar garden (Matthew 26). He confronts his Father almost like an angry or, if nothing else, a deeply tormented son who in truest human form pleads with his daddy to find another way to accomplish his plan.  The anxiety is real.  His sweat became like drops of blood.  Despite multiple attempts to be consoled by his companions, he bears the anguish alone as he cries “Is there another way?”

More brutal honesty would be heard again during the hours he hung on the cross. When darkness wrapped itself around Golgatha like a seamless cloak with nails piercing Jesus’ hands and feet as blood oozed from his body, in a mega loud voice Jesus screams “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me!?” This isolated moment of felt separation between Jesus and the Father is almost unbearable.  He had shared eternal intimacy and inseparable unity with the Father. He had leaned into His Father’s presence regularly.   Even those who mocked him declared “He trusts in God.” Physical and emotional proximity surely is what we need most in our toughest moments. Haven’t our hearts been broken over the past few weeks when we have seen people dying alone?

So here is Jesus again, living humanity. And as he does, his trust is not in vain. His faith is not futile so ours does not need to be either.  Hear the chords of love return in His perpetual offer of mercy that Luke captures: “Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing.”  Picture Jesus’ head bowed in calm surrender as his shout is replaced by a gentle whisper: “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”  And join the celebration with the word John seizes:  “Tetelestai!” – It is finished! Has there ever been such love and grace? 

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride. 

See from His head, His hands, His feet
Sorrow and love flow mingled down
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

Were the whole realm of nature mine
That were a present far too small
Love so amazing, so divine
Demands my soul, my life, my all. 

Amen