Holy Saturday: Life from Death

There was nothing especially uncommon about that week in Jerusalem. Jesus was not the first messiah to appear and gather followers. Jesus was not the first man to threaten the establishment of the Temple. Jesus was not the first rabble-rouser to be arrested by the Roman occupying force. Jesus was not the first man to be crucified, nor was he the last. Jesus was not the first person to die.

But sometime Saturday night, something extraordinary occurs.

Behind the heavy stone sealing the tomb, the Spirit is at work. When morning comes, the body of Jesus will be gone and his burial shroud neatly folded. What exactly occurs in the dark of the borrowed tomb we may never know or comprehend, but the result changes everything.

Death — once the end of everything — is no longer a barrier.
Death is vanquished.
Death is meaningless.

During the night, a spiritual calculus is performed. A single sacrifice pays for the accumulated sin of all humanity for all time and the slate is wiped clean. As Paul would later write to the Romans, "...We have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life."

Jesus overcomes the grave and death itself to free us from sin. I don't know how that math works. I don't know how the sacrifice of one man can liberate an entire species, but I am humbled to think that my soul is worth dying for. The mystery of that depth of love will forever captivate me with its beauty.

Good Friday: Forsaken

"Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani? My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" - Mark 15:34

Humans are strange creatures. We are petty, we are cowardly and we are untrustworthy. We lie, cheat, steal and kill our brothers and sisters. But the thing that truly defines us is our mortality. No matter who you are or how much money or power you might have, you cannot escape the inevitable. Our whole lives are spent outrunning death...until we grow weary or are caught off guard.

I don't know about you, but I'm terrified of death. I don't understand it. I don't understand why we lose the people we care about, one by one. I don't know if anything lies beyond the final breath or the last flicker of electricity in the brain. I don't even like to think about it.

Tonight, I have to think about it. Tonight, Jesus died. He was tortured and nailed to a cross where he hung for hours, bleeding his life out from the wounds in his hands and his side. He was sent here for this; to die. I know this story, but it is still painful to be reminded of it.

Over the past week, death has hung over every aspect of my life. One of my professors, a man I considered a friend and mentor, died suddenly in his sleep eight days ago. The anniversary of another friend's death is next week and I know other friends have suffered similar losses. It feels like the whole world is dying.

And I'm supposed to believe in a resurrection?

I don't know if I can.

Like the disciples at dusk on Friday evening, I'm lost. I'm forsaken. I'm not sure how to function anymore. The idea that all this death could have some purpose seems trite. This night, I must wrestle with the grave; struggle with its meaning. Tonight, my savior lies in a tomb, betrayed by his friends and savagely cut down by the same people who praised his entrance Sunday morning.

"Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?"

Easter Sunday: Our Resurrection

Your friend's body is missing. His burial clothes are neatly folded in the empty tomb, but there is no corpse. You run to tell your friends, who are in hiding, petrified with fear that they will be the next ones to hang from a cross. Everyone runs back to the tomb, where two luminous beings in white are sitting where the body had been laid. "Why are you weeping?" they ask.

According to the Gospel of John, the disciples did not yet understand the Scriptures saying that Jesus must rise from the dead on Sunday morning. They thought someone had stolen the body and I imagine they were crushed. One last defeat in a terrible week that had turned everything on its head.

Imagine then, your surprise when one of the men in white softly calls your name. It's Jesus. Alive and well after you saw him suffer and die. He's alive!

Everything changes this day. Easter is not merely a celebration of a miracle from 2,000 years ago. The Resurrection has implications across the universe in all times and all places. For through Jesus' death and return from the grave, we are forgiven from all of the sins which had previously condemned us. All of our debts are settled forever. Jesus died for you, so that everyday, we might be resurrected.

We die and if it wasn't for this sacrifice of love, we would never come back. By all reasonable arguments, we don't deserve it. But God isn't bound by rules. God breaks the rules. Death is no longer a one-way street. We can return, even when we are dead to the world. Through Jesus' crucifixion, he has bought us new life.

The fate of everyone changes today, because of a sacrifice that we can't even begin to wrap our heads around. He died so that we could live. And that changes everything.

Good Friday: A Scared Disciple Flees

"I left everything to follow him. I left my mother and father. I abandoned my way of life and the town where I've spent my entire life. He told to me to follow him and I just did. It was like God himself was parting the heavens and nudging me in Jesus' direction. It just felt right.


"Things were great for a long time. I traveled all over witnessing miracles — Jesus restoring sight to the blind, healing the sick, and feeding five thousand people with just a few fish and a couple loaves of bread. I have seen things I can't even begin to describe.


"But it wasn't all spectacle. There were quiet nights in sleepy towns where we would gather around a small fire and Jesus would talk for hours. Sometimes he would argue with Peter or Judas. Sometimes he would tell us beautiful things about the kingdom that was to come. Sometimes, he would just joke around.


"I really thought he was going to be the Messiah. I thought that final push into Jerusalem would signal the start of the rebellion; the glorious beginning of a new kingdom here on Earth, with Jesus on the throne as our king and the Romans cowering in fear.


"When we came into town on Sunday, it sure felt like we were about to do something great. People flocked to see Jesus come into town. They threw their cloaks and palm branches down before him and praised his name. Then, he threw the hypocrites out of the temple. It seemed like a new era was at hand.


"But I guess we were wrong. I guess it just wasn't in the cards. It's still so fresh that I'm not even sure where we went wrong. Things were going great and then all this talk of death and carrying on the message. Like Jesus was just giving up.


"They arrested him. They beat him senseless, until he could barely stand. I'm sure they must have broken something, they hit him so hard. They stripped off his clothes and divided them among the guards. People screamed and spat. There was nothing any of us could do, except watch in shock as the last three years came crashing down.


"They tortured him on that cross. I could see from where I was standing that he was suffering more than any man had ever suffered before. My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?


"He died. He should have been the new King of Israel, the Messiah, and there he hung, lifeless, from a cross. They killed my friend; my teacher; my God. And I ran. I ran without looking back. I ran until my lungs burned and my knees gave out and I fell into the dusty road. I wept and screamed. He's dead. And we're probably all next. The talk of love, of eternal life, and of fulfilling the Scriptures was all just a beautiful dream and this is reality.


"Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani? My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

Maundy Thursday: Foot Washing

I have never had my feet washed. Not outside of a shower, that is. And while I had a dim memory about a story involving Jesus and foot washing, I had never given it serious thought before last night.

Last night was Maundy Thursday, the traditional observance of the night before Christ was crucified. In one of his final acts before his arrest, Jesus poured water into a basin and washed his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel wrapped around his waist.

Simon Peter initially resists. "No, you shall never wash my feet," he says in John 13:8. Washing feet was the work of servants. The feet were — and in my case, are — the smelliest, dirtiest part of the body. To wash someone's feet was to acknowledge that they were inferior. But Jesus, as he always does, turns conventional wisdom on its head.

"Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet," Jesus says to his astonished disciples. "I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them."

No servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. It must have been powerful, being in that room and hearing these words from the man you had given up your livelihood to follow. Once again, Jesus redefines what it is to be a child of God. Like the disciples, we are called to wash one another's feet — to be humble.


A hush fell over the sanctuary as warm water was poured from a pitcher into a large bowl last night. After a moment of hesitation, we all started to remove our shoes. I slipped off my sneakers and socks and rolled my blue jeans up above my calves. Ambient music filled the space like some ethereal orchestra. One by one, people went up to have their feet washed and then to wash the next person's feet.


I remember that I winced for a moment when the water first hit my feet. It was uncomfortable at first, having someone touching my feet and lightly rubbing away the dirt my soul had tracked in. But then, the meaning hit me. I had to submit and be cleansed. I had to be truly clean before my fellow travelers and before my God. 

When I stepped up, smiled at Kristi (who had kindly washed my feet) and took the towel from her, I felt clean. Not without blemish, but certainly more spiritually presentable than I've been in a long time. I knelt and waited for the next person to come, so that I could wash their feet.


As someone who is often prideful to the point of arrogance, kneeling there before the bowl of water — washing Jess' feet in near silence — I saw a glimpse of the man I am called to be. I felt humbled and privileged to be able to offer such a simple, yet profound gesture of humility. The Spirit was in that space with us, surrounding us and penetrating us, inhabiting the living water we were washing in.


In the coming days, as I wait for the good news of the Resurrection, I'm going to reflect on this experience and what it means for me and my path. In his liturgy for Maundy Thursday, Shane Claiborne offers this closing prayer:


Lord Jesus Christ, you knelt to wash from our feet the dirt out of which you made us. Teach us to humbly serve one another so that the world may know we are your disciples. Amen.

Grace to a Sinner

On that dark day at Calvary, Jesus was crucified alongside two criminals. In Luke 23:39-43, one of the criminals is indignant. He yells at Jesus, saying, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!"

The second criminal rebukes him, saying, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? ⁴¹And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong."

There are times when I wonder who I am in this account. Am I the bitter criminal hurling insults at God? Or am I the man who knows that I am rightfully condemned and have no one to blame but myself?

I will admit there are times when I am bitter. I get angry at God. I feel abandoned when things don't go right; when it feels the entire universe is conspiring against me. And so I scream to the heavens and demand an answer and compensation. I feel that God owes me something and is denying me the good that I deserve. After all, how many tests am I supposed to silently suffer through before I can ask when it will all pay off?

It's about this time that I remember how much I am like the second man on the cross that day. When I look at my life, I am often ashamed of what I see. I have the capacity to be a very un-Christian person. I am judgmental, lazy, cruel, selfish, hateful, lustful, and gluttonous. I don't consider others before myself. I put earthly gains over spiritual pursuits. I'm not just a sinner, I'm a repeat offender — taking forgiveness and then slipping back into my old ways. There is evidence to put me away. I'm guilty and I know it.

The criminal understands that he belongs up on a cross, dying slowly and painfully for his crimes. He takes a chance in what he says next: "Jesus, remember me when you come into^* your kingdom."

Surprisingly, Jesus' words to this man are not words of judgment or condemnation. He doesn't call down fire and brimstone, but instead offers words of comfort and grace. "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise."

We don't know what this man did to deserve his punishment. Jesus doesn't ask and it really doesn't matter whether he participated in a rebellion against the Empire or committed a murder — because he's us. Yet, Jesus is merciful to everyone, even those of us who count ourselves among the worst of sinners. That grace is something I don't fully understand. My sentence is just, yet Jesus says that I will be with him in Paradise.

I don't feel like I deserve it. I feel terrible, like I'm taking advantage of the system. But grace is a free gift, given to sinners like me. It's a promise that even when the world appears to be crashing down — when I'm condemned — God is with me, suffering with me. Even when I curse his name, he loves me. His grace truly is amazing.