Thursday bleeds into Friday. And, as much as we may want the clouds to break--they don’t; in fact things get blacker…darker…more sinister, more evil, more distressing, more hopeless. There was no rest for Jesus that night. He went from praying in the garden to being preyed upon by those who had betrayed, arrested, and falsely accused him.
By Friday morning any other human being would have already been physically broken, emotionally strained, and spiritually distressed. But that is not what we see in Jesus. Instead we see extraordinary strength, sharp wits, and unequalled spiritual fortitude. His demeanor impresses the most powerful and infuriates those who most hated. Mark 15 tells us that “very early in the morning” the entire Sanhedrin (council of 70) reached a decision and bound Jesus over to Pilate, the Roman Prefect in Judea. An irreligious, ruthless, calloused man, Pilate was responsible for keeping the peace in Jerusalem during the Passover Feast that brought so many Jewish pilgrims to the city. Things had seemingly been going fairly well that week… until now. Today we will see the day through three people’s eyes. Will you look to see if you can find yourself in their story…who are you? PILATE—“Not my Deal” I had not had a good night sleep because my wife kept waking me with disturbing dreams, so I awoke and dressed and walked along the patio watching the sunrise. “What is all the commotion!? Oh, great! It’s those with flowing robes and running mouths—the Sanhedrin. What are they doing this early in the morning?” “What do you want!” I asked with a tone of indignation and irritability. Maybe that would be enough to move them along. “Justice! We want justice! This man is a blasphemer!” “Why do these self-righteous people bother me with their issues? Why is this my problem? A few more days and this whole Jewish holiday will be over and things will return to normal. But no! Before the sun is even up good, they’ve come seeking audience and dragging me into this religious issue (which is not under my jurisdiction) and they are trying to contort into a civil one.” Deciding to move the scene along, I yelled, “Send him in!” I knew that the Jews wouldn’t come into the courtyard because it would make them “unclean” and unable to do whatever it is that they do--so I just had Jesus brought to me. “So, they say you are the king of the Jews. What do you say?” [Please just say they’re crazy and you and I will both be free for the day,” he thought.] But no, instead he says: “It is as you say.” It wasn’t just what he said, it was how he said it. He didn’t say with resignation. He said it calmly and confidently. Blood was still dripping from the corner of his eyes and his split lips. He didn’t beg for his release. He didn’t walk through the door to freedom that I opened for him. Instead he stood with his shoulders back and looked me in the eye. He wasn’t defiant. He wasn’t acting as a martyr. There was something else—something that I had never seen before—not even in the best of the Roman guards. He had a presence that made even me want to avert my eyes. Though he was saying he was the king of the Jews I didn’t get the sense that he was planning an overthrow of the government. His words had a different tone; a different meaning; something that I didn’t really grasp. But I liked the guy. I didn’t want him to be guilty of treason. I wanted him to walk, but I had to do something quick. I had one trick up my sleeve that I thought might appease the crowd and get us both out of this mess. It was my tradition that I freed one of their prisoners during the Festival Week. I thought that I would extend that offer to the mob outside who would surely ask for Jesus. They could rationalize that he had been tried and satisfied their need for justice. He would have been humiliated and shamed by the arrest; by the look of his body and clothing, they had already exacted some measure of punitive punishment —that should be enough. I would save face because I wouldn’t be seen as weak and Caesar’s name would be protected—it’s what we in politics call a Win-Win scenario! But when I posed the question the response was violent! I could not believe what I was hearing! My face drained and I felt my head getting light. They didn’t want Jesus…they wanted to release the insurrectionist, Barabbas. At first I thought I may have heard them incorrectly, but when I asked again…do you want me to release Jesus of Nazareth?—there was a frenzied scream of ‘Crucify him!’ Seriously! This early in the morning and you are all that riled up? This was a dangerous situation on the verge of being out of control and if they didn’t get what they wanted, I was going to have a major issue on my hand and then my superiors are going to be coming after me! I was trapped. I really had no choice but to give in to them and I reluctantly turned him over to that…to that…beast of a mob. I wanted to make sure that they knew my hands were clean of his death, and so I had a basin of water brought out and symbolically washed his blood from my hands. This was a Jewish problem…not mine. As the guards led him away he looked back over his shoulder and caught my eye. He saw my soul. I couldn’t watch as they led him away. I dropped my head and returned to my chambers. “He’s not my problem”, I said, trying to convince myself. SIMON OF CYRENE—Reluctant and Changed He saw it. He smelled it. He bore it. The cross beam. He didn’t want to—he was forced to. Was he in the wrong place at the wrong time or was it the right place at the right time? This was not on the itinerary! He was expecting festivities—like the other festivals. But, like a stick being swept downstream he was suddenly swept into history. He was making a death march that was not his own. Jesus, the Nazarene, was on his way out of the city to Golgotha to be crucified and Simon was on his way into the city. Jesus was so badly beaten that he hardly resembled a human life. Flayed shreds of skin hung from his bones and from the wooden beam. Blood, dried and running, covered his body, stung his eyes and blurred his vision. Barbs of thorns were embedded into his scalp. The soldiers showed no mercy. Jesus showed no hatred. As he fell to his knees under the weight of the cross beam he gasped for breath, soldiering every ounce of physical strength to take the next step toward his death. But the soldiers were growing restless and impatient of having to wait and this crucifixion needed to happen before sundown—they were on a timetable. So they grabbed the bystander—Simon of Cyrene to assist the criminal. He walked shoulder to shoulder with the Christ. He carried the cross beam. He smelled the death. He tasted the blood. He heard the gasps for air and fluid. He saw into the eyes of this Jesus—and Jesus saw into his soul. Simon, a God-fearing Jew, had travelled some 900 miles to get to Jerusalem for the festival but none of his footsteps had taken him so great a distance as those of the last few minutes. Step by grueling step they walked the inclined road to the place of crucifixion—a site that could be seen by hundreds. Three crosses with three men splayed and displayed as silhouettes against the bright sky. Because he had become tainted by the blood of Jesus Simon was declared unclean by Jewish law and custom, but as he would soon understand, it was actually the blood of Jesus that made him clean, holy and acceptable in God’s eyes. An hour before he was a nameless face in the crowd; now his is a name to be remembered forever in the gospel. He was there for a reason…plucked from the crowd. It wasn’t coincidence—it was God’s perfect timing. TWO THIEVES—The Last Chance (Pass out Nails) 9 a.m. The next several hours were gruesome, graphic and inhumane. Agonizing screams of pain echoed as the three men were nailed to their crosses. The language of the devil spewed from the mouths of soldiers and morbid gawkers as they hurled insults and taunted Jesus to display his “power” and to “fulfill his own prophecies.” The laughter and catcalls emanating from an evil source—claiming victory—stood in stark contrast to the tears flowing from the swollen eyes of those who loved those sentenced to the most torturous death. Roman soldiers gambling for the robe of Jesus were ignorantly gambling with their own lives. Two convicted insurrectionist hung there with Jesus. There was one thing that the two thieves that hung next to Jesus had going for them—they knew the date of their last day on earth…we rarely do. But there is one difference between the two thieves: One thief dies twice on this day. At some point on that fateful and fatal day he took his death breath and hopelessly crossed over to his eternal death forever separated from The Way, the Truth, and the Life. The other Thief? Dies and is re-born on this day. Same verdict: Guilty. Same sentence: death by crucifixion. Same day, same hill. Different forevers…because this thief recognizes Jesus as the Messiah and asked to be remembered by Jesus and Jesus said: “Today you will be with me in paradise.” A piercing glimmer of grace in the face of evil. At noon darkness fell over the land. The sun (Son) was eclipsed. And, for the next three hours dark got darker. 3 pm—Jesus and the thieves had been on their crosses for six hours. Jesus, mostly silent—then used his final bit of energy to utter these words: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”--bearing the full weight of sin “Father into your hands I commit my spirit.”—in authority “It is finished.”—a proclamation! And at that very moment the earth began to quake and the curtain separating the Most Holy Place was torn in two from top to bottom. A new covenant was cut. And with those words—with that sacrifice of love—the universe was forever changed! Those who would be his inheritance were changed forever
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Tuesday was eventful. There was chatter the entire way back to Bethany from Jerusalem that evening.
Jesus—the Priest (the High Priest) held court—the temple court. After he had in essence dismissed the scribes and teachers of the law that had greeted us that morning, he took command of the temple. For the remainder of the day he taught authoritatively, with power—with unction. As I lay down to sleep last night I couldn’t help but thank God for the chance to be in on this moment in history. We are so grateful for our friends in Bethany who show us the grace of hospitality. My last thought as I fell asleep was: Is he King? Is he Priest? What will tomorrow hold? Wednesday Judas stared with disdain and disgust at Mary. “Clueless woman,” he may have thought to himself. She just wasted, wasted, a pint of pure nard perfume from India! Has she any idea that she just poured a year’s salary on “her Lord’s” feet? He could hear her voice in his head as she had on numerous occasions referred to Jesus as “her Master.” And here she is again sitting at his feet, except this time she was wiping his feet with her hair and the perfume. Mary often found herself at Jesus’ feet. When she and Martha had first opened their home to this Rabbi and his followers, she was overwhelmed by his strength and simplicity. When he spoke he spoke with authority and with compassion, unlike the religious leaders whom they had all grown accustomed to hearing. He did not boast; he was not proud or self-promoting. He was not angry or self-righteous. No, there was in Jesus a sense of Something beyond. When he spoke truth, it was full of hope in the Father. When Mary listened to Jesus and sat with him she felt that hope and an inexplicable peace. She was drawn to him, not in a romantic sense—but something much deeper, much richer, much more substantial. So when Jesus, the Teacher, came to their home for the first time she couldn’t help but to place herself at his feet to listen. Having chosen (in Jesus’ words) what is better—the one thing that is needed. Willing. Humbly. Worshipfully. A little while later Mary’s brother, Lazarus, died. It was a very confusing time for Mary and Martha. As their brother lay dying, they sent some messengers from their home in Bethany to Jerusalem which was just two miles away to tell Jesus that they needed him to come and heal their brother. They knew that Jesus had the power and authority to heal the sick, and they had heard countless stories of his doing just that for complete strangers. Surely, he would heal his good friend Lazarus. But Jesus did not come. Neither Martha nor Mary understood. Lazarus was dead for four days before Jesus and his disciples make the short journey to Bethany and when he asked for Mary, she came running from the house, weeping and falling again at Jesus’ feet. Empty. Desperate. Thirsty. Now, just days before the Passover, Jesus, the disciples, Martha, Lazarus, and Mary were invited by Simon the Leper, a man whom Jesus had probably healed, to a dinner in Jesus’ honor. Seventeen guests arrived; Martha served; Lazarus reclined at the table with Jesus. The disciples laughed and shared stories of the last several days. Jesus, however, was quiet—not moody, but reflective; he knew that his time was drawing to a close; he knew the evil days that lay ahead of him that week. He had tried to prepare the disciples and those closest to him, but he knew they didn’t understand……yet. (John 12.16) Then, through the cacophony of conversation, they each heard the breaking of the vial; they smelled the sweet fragrance of perfume as it wafted and filled the house of Simon the Leper. There she was again sitting at the feet of Jesus. Quietly. Lovingly. Reverently. What was she doing?! She was silent. She was absorbed in thought, but not with the thought of self-no, she was consumed with the Teacher reclining at the table. She poured the pure nard perfume on Jesus’ feet and taking her hair, began to wipe his feet. Jesus knew that once again that Mary understood what the others did not. Somehow more keenly aware of the impending death of Jesus, Mary gave everything and wasted nothing. She was preparing him for burial. But this custom was typically done as matter of course after a person had died—not before. Perhaps because she had listened more intently and intuitively; perhaps prompted by the Spirit of God, Mary anointed the body of Jesus before his death since his body would never see corruption. “Clueless woman," thought Judas. He was standing off in the shadows of the room. Mumbling. Detached. Over the last several months he had become increasingly negative and withdrawn from the Jesus and the other disciples. He claimed that he had a lot of responsibility taking care of the moneybag. The truth is that he had become sick with greed. Perhaps Judas had come to realize at this point that he was not going to be the Chief of Finance in a political kingdom set up by Jesus—and he was now resigned to getting what he could out of his time so he began to embezzle from the treasury. “Doesn’t he know that we could feed the poor for a year with what we could have sold that bottle of perfume for?” he whispered to those nearest him. Several of the other disciples were sucked into this line of thinking as well and became indignant, pious, self-righteous. “Yeah, why is he letting Mary (extravagant Mary) waste that on him. If she had to perfume him why couldn’t she have just let a little bit do the job and we could have sold the rest if she didn’t want it.” “You foolish woman! Do you not realize that we could have sold that perfume for a laborers annual salary! Why are you so wasteful when those around us have so little? Do you know how much ministry we could have done with the sale of that perfume? We would have a much easier time feeding the next group of 5000 that Jesus asks us to feed. We wouldn’t have to go around begging for hand-outs! Did you not hear what Jesus told the rich, young ruler: Go and sell all your possessions and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven.” “ENOUGH! Leave her alone! Why are you bothering her?! She has done a beautiful thing to me. It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me." Mary’s face brightened. Misunderstood, again, by those around her, understood by the Master. He understood what it was to be misunderstood! Oh how she loved him. He saw in her what others missed. He knew her like no one else. In his presence she felt transparent, yet confident. In his presence she felt weak, yet he strong. In his presence she felt free to be herself and to give her self without inhibition. In his presence she felt like Mary. “I tell you the truth…”, Jesus began. The disciples knew that when he began a sentence with these words that they had better pay attention. It was one of those cues that they good teachers had learned to utilize in order to catch the attention of their students so that they would know “this stuff will be on the test!” “I tell you the truth, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what Mary has done today will also be told, in memory of her.” Mary still sat at his feet. The silence of the moment was broken as Judas turned, left, and the door shut behind him. He criticized Mary for “wasting money” but he wasted his whole life.
It’s Monday.
You are awakened by the slightest stir in the house where you have all slept. You see his silhouette in the moonlight as he slips out of the doorway and into the early morning. You’re the only one awake and as you lay there you replay the day before…the walk to Jerusalem, finding the colt and it’s mother just as Jesus had said, the ceremonial entry into the city with cloaks and palm branches being waved and laid before the procession. It felt like we were a part of something big yesterday, didn’t it? There were huge crowds in the city and we were in the middle of the attention. But when we got to the temple late in the day the tone of the day changed. Jesus seemed quiet. Sad. Angry? Disappointed. He walked all around the temple area. He looked into the eyes of those there in the temple courts. He watched their dealings. He didn’t speak; he just walked. What does all of this mean? There are so many questions. It seems as though there is a different feel about this week. Jesus is…, there’s a look in his eye that…his touch seems…I don’t know how to put this, except that something big is happening. He’s always focused but if possible there is an increased intensity. “Everybody ready? Let’s go", smiles Jesus gently. We leave Bethany, which means “house of figs” and we’re headed back to the city. We’ll take the same road as yesterday. It should take us about 45 minutes or so to get there. It’s a nice morning. The sky is blue and there is a gentle breeze. “I love this time of year!” Everything’s budding and on the verge of blooming—creation’s whispered promise of new life. Jesus is still quiet. He’s in the front of the group today; a few steps in front of everyone else, leading the way and setting the pace. As you lift up your head from watching your own feet you notice that Jesus has stepped off the path and is walking toward a fig tree. Though he had gotten up earlier than anyone else he probably didn’t eat, which isn’t unusual for him. Maybe he spotted some early fruit on one of the trees, since its not really the time for figs to be ready. He pulls back the leaves but there is no fruit to pluck, and what you hear surprises you. He cursed the fig tree…he’s actually speaking to the tree: “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.” He turns and without a word sets his face toward Jerusalem. He just cursed a fig tree because it didn’t have any fruit! You're confused. What’s going on with him? He knows that figs aren’t typically ripe and ready at this time of year, doesn’t he? This is going to be a strange day. Thaddeus drops back to join you: “Why don’t you ask the Teacher what that was all about?” You give him a look that says, there is no way that I’m going there right now. Thaddeus grins. Jesus picks up the pace. When we get to the city we don’t stroll through the streets. We don’t stop and talk with anyone along the way. Jesus heads straight to the temple. His gait is determined and his gaze is fixed. What happened next? Well, you should have been there! It was the most amazing display of confidence, strength, truth and justice—in a word: Authority. Jesus began to overturn carts and tables. Pigeons flew free; coins were rolling and clanging all over the temple courts. The vendors were yelling threats and curses as Jesus left no stone unturned. He stood with his whip at the place that people on business had begun to irreverently and habitually use as a shortcut to the other side of the city. His glare alone caused them to circumnavigate the temple court. He was not out of control. He was in complete control. He was in control of the temple. He was in control of the people. He was in complete control of himself. He was not a raging lunatic. He was in total control of his righteous anger. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Jesus had seen it all the evening before. The corruption. Vendors of sacrificial goods you have made it a den of robbers.” What a day! We stayed there in the temple courts all day. Word of what had happened spread all over the city. The religious leaders were furious. The crowds were curious. So this is Jesus; this is the man everyone has been talking about. They had never seen or heard anyone like him. He spoke with such power and authority. All day long we noticed small gatherings of the scribes, priests and other religious leaders huddling in pockets of whispered conversations. Their brows were furrowed in anger. Their fists unconsciously clenched in hatred. Their eyes squinted and teeth gnashed. You could feel the tension growing in the city. “Something has to be done to put this troublemaker in his place—he’s dangerous; but it is going to be tricky. He’s clearly won the favor of the crowds and to do anything drastic could backfire and incite a riot. We need a plan.” Jesus saw them. He was unmoved. He seemed to know what they were whispering and plotting. He was unyielding. We stayed there all day. It was if he was saying—“This is my house. This is my place. I will set all things right.” As evening approached we returned to Bethany for the night. Exhausted, sleep comes quickly for all of us. |
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