Forsaken

Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

There's a reason we read scriptures over and over. I've read these words of Christ on the cross probably hundreds of times in my life. I heard them. I've spoken them myself, butchering the Hebrew pronunciation, I'm sure. I've pondered the emotion behind them. I've considered the theological significance of them. I know these words.

But last night at church, they spoke to me again in a new way.

My God . . . my God . . . why . . . why have you forsaken me? Why did you call me here, to this place of horror, and then leave me alone? Why won't you come to me? Why?

The Bible has many troubling descriptions of hell -- fire and brimstone and such. But the one thing that is the heart of the nature of that Other Eternal Place is that it involves complete separation from God. And considering that God is the one and only source of all things good (love, beauty, compassion, peace, joy -- ALL THINGS GOOD . . . let the enormity of that sink in), there is nothing worse. Forget fire and brimstone; there is no hell greater than complete separation from all Goodness that exists.

We all have just a taste of that separation now, in life here on earth. Humanity chose, corporately, to live independent of God, and he obliged us to a certain extent. Because he loved us, though, he (like a good parent) left a door open and a light on for us to come back when we choose to do so.

Jesus on the cross, though. This was a different separation. This was more than the normal human ache of loneliness from the divine. He was bearing the burden of humanity's sin as he died, and the Father actually turned away. A complete separation. Jesus went through hell -- the separation from God, the true essence of hell -- while he hung on that cross. And he did it to open that door so that I would never have to experience that.

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.

Good Friday Meditations, Courtesy of Better Writers Than I

It's Good Friday. Holy Week is a blur this year. We've had company from Iowa this week, and my youngest is leaving with her class for a trip to D.C. on Sunday. It's been very hard to find any mental time to consider the meaning of this week. And I woke up this morning with absolutely nothing in my brain to blog about.

So, what do I do when I need focus and inspiration? I turn to other inspiring people.

Like David Platt, author of the book Radical and pastor who does the "Secret Church" series that you can find online. In his session on "The Cross and Christ", he talks about the Divine Dilemma: how can God be true to his nature -- be unconditionally loving and be absolutely just -- with sinful man?

How can God be just and righteous and yet forgive sins, pass over sins? That's where we see that before the cross is for anyone else's sake, what God is doing on the cross is for God's sake. God is displaying His justice. He is demonstrating His righteousness. Why did Jesus die on the cross? Who did Jesus die for? He died for me? Certainly. Died for you? Certainly, but not ultimately. Ultimately, Christ died for God. The cross is ultimately centered around a demonstration of the character of God. Watchman Nee said, "If I would appreciate the blood of Christ I must accept God's valuation of it, for the blood is not primarily for me but for God.” We need to hear this.

Yes.

And people like J.S. Bach. In my husband's hometown, Bach's "Passion of St. Matthew" is performed every Good Friday. I attended last year, and even though I've performed in it before, I was particularly moved this time. I kept the program with the lyrics printed in it and used them as devotional reading for several nights. Wonderful words . . . like these, responding to the disciples falling asleep in the Garden:

I would beside my Lord be watching
That evil draw me not astray

The sweet melody adds a lot. But yes, oh, Lord, would that I could be always watching beside You that evil draw me not astray.

And people like A.W. Tozer. In his amazing book, The Radical Cross, he describes how the church has watered down the cross from a thing of death to a thing of beauty:

When men made of it a symbol, hung it around their necks as an ornament or made its outline before their faces as a magic sign to ward off evil, then it became at best a weak emblem, at worst a positive fetish. As such it is revered today by millions who know absolutely nothing about its power.

The cross effects its ends by destroying one established pattern, the victim's, and creating another pattern, its own. . . It never compromises, never dickers nor confers, never surrenders a point for the sake of peace. . . So the cross not only brings Christ's life to an end, it ends also the first life, the old life, of every one of His true followers. It destroys the old pattern, the Adam pattern, in the believer's life, and brings it to an end. Then the God who raised Christ from the dead raises the believer and a new life begins.

This, and nothing less, is true Christianity . . .

Amen. I wish I could write like this.

Have a blessed Good Friday everyone, remembering the true meaning of the cross -- and a blessed Easter celebrating the new life He rose to bring us!

Thinking About Pontius

Pontius Pilate was a Roman Governor. A tough guy: no pushover. His job was to keep peace in Palestine, period. He had no qualms about having someone killed -- anyone -- in the course of his job. All sorts of Judeans got the axe (so to speak) just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time when trouble was happening and Pilate needed to make a point.

And he hated the Jews. He didn't even live in Jerusalem, the "power seat" of the locals; the only reason he was in Jerusalem this week was because of this huge Jewish festival, Passover, when messianic hopes tended to get riled up and passionate Jewish folks tended to get out of hand. He was there to keep a lid on trouble, and that was his ONLY reason for being in town.

So, when Caiaphas and the other Jewish religious leaders threw this man Jesus of Nazareth into his courtyard calling him a troublemaker, this should have been a no-brainer for him. Troublemaker: get rid of him. Crucifixions are already scheduled for today. Sentence delivered. Go to breakfast.

But that's not what happened. Pontius Pilate spent all morning trying to let this man go, or at the very least to wash his own hands of him. First, he sent him to Herod, the "king" of the region Jesus was from, hoping Herod would take care of the issue. No such luck. Herod had some fun with him and sent him back.

He did the offer thing. It's Passover; I'll release one prisoner to you filthy Jews out of the goodness of my heart. Here -- you can have this beaten, weak, useless crazy man who claims to be your king . . . or you can have a violent, murdering insurrectionist. You want crazy man, right? Right? Wrong. They wanted the murderer. That plan was foiled.

He had the Nazarene beaten and scourged. Do you know what's involved in a Roman scourging? Look it up; it's gruesome. He had him dressed up in a purple robe and a crown of thorns put on his head. See? He's a joke, right? I get it -- I'm laughing with you. Ha, ha! So, he's clearly no threat . . . half-dead already . . . shall I just let him go now? Nope. Crucify him, the crowd shouted.

Why in the world did this powerful Roman ruler spend his time and energy trying to figure out what to do with this man from Galilee? Why didn't he just kill him already?

It could be because his wife urged him to not kill an innocent man today after the nightmare she had about it the night before. But powerful Roman rulers aren't known to bend to their wives' silly dreams (witness Calpurnia's fruitless pleading to Julius Caesar not to go to the Senate).

It could be because of his hatred for the Jewish religious leaders who he could clearly see were just envious of Jesus. But again, the man avoided these dirty Judeans like the plague whenever he could. It doesn't seem logical that he'd go to this much trouble just to thumb his nose in the face of some men he already had under that thumb.

I can't help but think that he struggled with this man Jesus because this man Jesus was clearly no ordinary man. He didn't act like other men. He didn't talk like other men. Pilate was amazed by him, scripture tells us several times. Something was different here, and he couldn't bring himself to throw the guy under the bus. He had no peace about it all. I find no basis for a charge in him, he said over and over. That didn't matter with other people he'd had killed. Why did it matter now?

In the end, he did sentence Jesus to death. What was the final straw? "If you set him free, you are no friend of the Emperor!" the Jewish leaders shouted. "Anyone who claims to be a king is an enemy of the Emperor!" Well, crap. Can't get on Caesar's bad side -- I'll lose my job. Maybe my head.

He came face to face with God in the flesh . . . he knew there was something going on here, something that made him afraid to be his usual hard Roman self . . . but in the end, he let his fear of man conquer his fear of God.

Lord, grant us the grace to never let the fear of man -- fear of his limited power and his foolish opinions -- keep us from doing business with God-in-the-flesh.