Christians, pray for tomorrow morning.
There are two days a year that non-churchgoers go to church. Tomorrow is one, and for good reason.
Easter Sunday is a celebration of the only hope for humanity. Of the reason that we can have joy. Of the fact that, in the end, it will all be okay.
We fast for the 40 days of Lent because Easter is that big a deal. We need that much time to adequately prepare. Tomorrow is a day worth celebrating, perhaps more than any other.
Tomorrow is a great chance for people to meet Jesus.
Pray that they will.
The name Good Friday bothered me for a while after I learned what it was all about. It offended my sensibilities to call such a horrendous day “good.”
Today, Christians commemorate the death of Jesus on the cross. To be blunt, we remember the day humanity murdered God. And not in a swift, sanitary, humane way, either. Crucifixion is absolutely horrific. It’s a nightmarish way to kill someone. And we inflicted it on the only truly good man ever to live.
For a long time, I was preoccupied by our guilt. I focused on our sins, our actions that sent Jesus to the cross.
Then, I saw something else.
Jesus didn’t want to go to the cross. Not at all. He prayed not to go. But He was ready to do it if it were the only way. Soon after that prayer, armed men came to arrest Him. Peter, one of His closest followers, tried to take of the guys’ heads off with his sword.
Jesus stopped him and healed the man Peter had attacked.
Think about that. He had just begged His Father to let Him skip the cross. One of His followers then attacked His captors. A lesser man would have run. But Jesus apparently had His answer.
He went willingly.
Even when the men who had Him arrested taunted Him, challenging Him to get off the cross and prove that He was the Messiah, He stayed. Mind you, He could have blasted the cross to splinters with his mind and called down lightning on all the unbelievers. He didn’t.
That’s the “good” of Good Friday: that Jesus chose the cross for us.
We live in a culture that avoids discomfort at all costs. We see boredom, inconvenience, and pain as great evils. I don’t want that perspective.
For the past several years, I’ve fasted from the evening of Good Friday until Easter Sunday. This year, I’ll do the same, but I’ll be thinking about it differently. Before, I would think about the weight of our sin every time my stomach growled.
This year, it will be less for guilt and more for worship.
This year, the discomfort will be a reminder to say “thank you” to the God who paid the cost of mercy.
When you think of Christians, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?
Got your answer?
Here are some common responses:
- Those people that hate gays (if we do, we shouldn’t)
- Hypocrites (fair enough, as my friend Broken Hypocrite will tell you)
- People who go to church on Sunday (so close)
- People who believe in Jesus (better)
I ask because it’s Maundy Thursday. Today, Christians commemorate the Last Supper, where Jesus gave His followers communion for the first time. Please note: communion is important to Christians. But the day isn’t called Communion Thursday.
“Maundy” comes from the Latin for “mandate.” Today is named for a command Jesus gave His followers. A command that should define what Christianity looks like to the world.
“A new command I give you,” He said. “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”
There were times in history when Christians were known for their heart-breaking, self-sacrificial love. In ancient Rome, Christians shamed the pagans by caring for not only their own, but the pagans who had been infected with plague, when no one else would. They died to show Christ’s love.
Jesus told us how people would recognize us as His, and it’s not our church attendance. It’s not spouting perfect theology. It’s not waving a protest sign. It’s not even a clever Christian t-shirt.
That’s not an opinion. It’s not a suggestion. It’s not one more cool idea to file away and forget. It’s a mandate. It’s a command.
This needs to be what we’re about, first and foremost. We need to love people unflinchingly. We need to speak the truth firmly and kindly. We need to sacrifice for others readily.
Maybe then we’ll see the day when people think of Christians as “those people that just love you, no matter what.”
Christians, it’s time. It’s past time.
It’s Easter this Sunday. You know what that means: church and chocolate. Probably brunch with the family. Gotta find a clean shirt. Gotta get up early for a weekend.
When I was growing up, Easter seemed like a seriously random holiday. I could get on board with Halloween and Christmas, but I didn’t really get Easter. I was glad for the Cadbury Cream Eggs – oh, so glad! – and the chance to see my cousins, but I couldn’t tell you the point of it.
When I became a Christian, Easter was all new. And it was the best thing ever. It wasn’t just another holiday anymore.
It was a celebration of my reason to live.
The story of Easter is that God came to Earth and sacrificed His life to restore the relationship we broke with Him. Then, He beat up death and came back.
Forget the bunny. If all that is true, it changes everything.
If Jesus was willing to forgive us, even as we killed Him, we don’t have to worry about being loved: we are. If Jesus really is God and really is the one true authority, we don’t have to worry about purpose: it’s to follow Him. If Jesus actually paid for our sins and rose from the dead, we don’t have to worry about eternity: He’s taken care of it.
That’s worth celebrating.
Several people at Crossroads will be celebrating Easter as Christians for the first time. I’m excited for them. It’s a fantastic experience.
If you want, join us this Sunday and see what it’s all about. We’d be glad to have you there.
Pontius Pilate was a good politician, but a bad philosopher. At least, that’s what I get from his interaction with Jesus.
A crowd of Jews, including some of their religious authorities, shoved a bruised man at him – also a Jew – and demanded the man’s death. He knew something was up when he asked what Jesus had done, and they said, “If he weren’t a criminal, we wouldn’t have brought him to you.”
Given the animosity between the Jews and the Romans? Probably not true in the first place.
Confounded, Pilate questioned Jesus. He couldn’t figure out what the problem was. Jesus hadn’t done anything, but the religious leaders wanted Him dead. The truth was, killing Him would be wrong.
But Pilate was the governor of the region. It was his responsibility to maintain order amidst a people with a history of rebellion. And Jesus was causing a ruckus.
He was torn between what was safe and what was true.
But there was an even deeper truth he didn’t know. He was at a turning point in history. The Author of truth stood before him, on trial. The Source of reality was looking him in the eye. Jesus even gave him a hint. “Everyone on the side of truth,” He said, “listens to me.”
“What is truth?” Pilate asked… and went back outside.
If only he hadn’t asked rhetorically. If only he had stuck around for the answer. He said the right words, but that was all. He was nearer the truth than he’d ever been, and perhaps he would never know it.
We do this all the time.
We argue for the sake of argument. We dodge uncomfortable ideas we can’t refute. We ask high-minded questions without ever waiting for the answer.
All that’s fine. Unless you really are looking for the truth.
If you want to find truth, you have to give up being right all the time. It takes humility. It requires actual listening and consideration. It means letting go of assumptions and opinions as necessary.
It means not taking the easy way out.
Yesterday, the church commemorated one of the oddest, most ironic moments in history.
Around 2,000 years ago, Jesus was on His way to Jerusalem during one of the major Jewish festivals. He’d been teaching for three years, gathering followers and gaining momentum. Some thought He was the Messiah, the conqueror God promised them in ages past.
As He entered the city, the crowds flipped out. They grabbed palm branches and their own cloaks and threw then on the road out of respect. They chanted, “save us!” They hailed Him as their savior.
He accepted their praise, knowing they would soon turn on Him. Through tears, He said, “If only you knew what would bring you peace.”
Somewhere in the following five days, public opinion shifted. The man whom they thought would wage war against their oppressors instead challenged their views. He defied expectation by portraying Himself not as a political authority, but a spiritual one above all others. He called them out for their sins and thereby offended a lot of people.
By Friday, the crowd was chanting for His blood.
Sadly, they had it right the first time. Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah they were waiting for. And though He would prove it, they would kill Him first.
Whenever I look at the story of Palm Sunday, I’m relieved I was born into such an enlightened time. I mean, people today aren’t fickle like that. We don’t just turn on people when they say something we don’t like. No, we weigh the evidence and make sober, reasonable decisions, untainted by emotion.
Especially on the Internet.
Yeah, I think the main difference between us and the crowd back then is that we don’t actually kill people as often.
The contrast between Palm Sunday and Good Friday reminds me to slow down and choose my words carefully. It reminds me to examine what I really believe. It reminds me to breathe deep in moments of intense emotion, before I say or do something dumb.
And it reminds me that even though people make really bad mistakes, God forgives us.
Missed a post! Lapse in discipline. Devotion fail.
Stuff like this usually happens on a day off.
You’d think it would be easier to do Bible reading and journaling and such on a weekend, since there’s so much more time readily available. Ah, but that’s thinking logically.
Historically, days off have been days of extravagant laziness for me. I haven’t wanted to do anything important. I came to expect that after a while of getting away with it.
That has ceased to be practical, but my mind still goes there. I’m fighting it. If I don’t fight it, I’ll neglect basic household chores, Bible reading, and other daily necessities. It’s not pretty. Thankfully, I’m generally winning the fight.
Besides the day-off mentality, I also forget things when my routine gets thrown off. I took a vacation day yesterday so we could go see some family in Yuba City. Apparently, I’m easily distracted by cool people.
So, I forgot. Broke the writing streak. Messed up my Lenten observance.
Nothing to do but pick it right up again.
I’ll write a post tomorrow – partly because I want to catch up, partly because I have something I really wanna talk about.
FAIL isn’t the end.
For the past two years, I’ve done most of my writing for the year in one 46-day span.
In 2009, I was pondering what to give up for Lent, the period leading up to Easter. Some Christians fast in order to get ready for Easter. In the churches I’ve attended, people usually give up something they like as a sacrifice of sorts. That year, there were several things I could have given up: sweets, video games, what have you.
Instead, I decided to take something up. My sacrifice would be my time and effort. I decided to blog every day.
Lent starts today. We’re having a service tonight at my church to kick it off.
Consider this post my virtual ashes.