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"For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God..." 1 Peter 3:18 The word difficult doesn't even begin to do justice to the last hours of Jesus' pre-resurrection life. First, there was the shocking (to everyone but Jesus) betrayal by one of his closest followers and subsequent abandonment by the rest, highlighted by Peter (not once, not twice, but three times) denying that he even knew who Jesus was. Then, there was a sham of a midnight trial, complete with trumped-up charges, lying witnesses, and physical abuse. Following that, a back-and-forth parade between Pilate and Herod, interspersed with mostly one-sided conversations and punctuated with a beating so severe that those with the misfortune of experiencing the like often didn’t survive long enough to make it to the main event. Jesus did. That forementioned main event involved a method of execution so agonizing that entire words were birthed to describe the pain endured by those unfortunate enough to experience it.
Crucifixion. Excruciating. For Jesus, it was a purple robe, a crown of thorns, mockery, spittle, and finally, a winding procession out of town to the place of death, a walk that had to feel both entirely too long and not nearly long enough all at the same time. But eventually, Jesus, His executioners, His conscripted cross-bearer and their audience reached the intended destination, and then the end began in earnest. Matthew’s Gospel almost seems to gloss over the unimaginable horror of the process that would have been required to secure Jesus to the wooden cross, opting simply for “and when they had crucified Him” instead of something adequately descriptive like “they held Him down against the wooden beam and pounded metal spikes through each of His wrists and His one-on-top-of-the-other feet before He was hoisted to hang on a pole so He could begin the slow, painful process of suffocation.” That’s what death by crucifixion entailed. Suffocation combined with loss of bodily fluids and multiple organ failure. That’s just a fancy way of saying that for the crucified, every breath became a mini conundrum of sorts, an impossible decision that had to be made over and over again, milliseconds at a time, somewhere in the deep recesses of the brain where logic and the will to live wrestled furiously against one another. Endure the pain of pushing and pulling against the seven-inch spikes in your hands and feet so that your diaphragm can contract or give up and hang there and beg death to take you. If simply breathing was such a monumental struggle, then surely speaking was worse. Yet speak from the cross Jesus did - a total of seven times according to the combined records of the four Gospel accounts. To His Father, on behalf of those hating and mocking and beating and nailing and killing Him: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing." To the thief being executed beside Him: "Today, you will be with me in paradise." To His mother and John, His disciple: "Woman, behold your son...behold, your mother." To His Father, for the benefit of those standing around and for posterity, a recitation of the opening line of Psalm 22: "My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?" To His executioners: "I thirst." To His Father: "Into your hands, I commit my spirit." And finally, to all humanity, all of creation, everyone, everywhere for all of time: "It is finished!" It is finished. Three words in English, one word in Greek - "tetelestai." That word was the word of an artist proclaiming a painting perfectly complete. It was the word of a judge declaring justice fully served. It was the word of a merchant announcing a debt fully satisfied, of a master pronouncing his servant's work complete. It was the word of a soldier standing victorious with his foot on the neck of his fallen, defeated foe. When Jesus declared "It is finished," He wasn't just announcing the end of the agony of His suffering or the cessation of His physical life. With His dying breath, Jesus was declaring that the work given to Him by His Father was complete. Payment for the sins of all who would believe had been made in full. Salvation had been delivered, once and for all, to the glory of God the Father and for the rescue and eternal reconciliation of sinful man. And so, in our rush to celebrate the empty tomb this Sunday, let’s not forget the cross. There, Jesus suffered in agony, paying the debt that we owed so that all who believe might be declared righteous in the sight of the Father through faith. It really was finished over 2,000 years ago on the cross, and I'm so thankful that it was!
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"Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6-7 The last two weeks have been difficult (to say the least) for many in our country, in our state, and even in our community. By all accounts, the next two weeks will be worse. Maybe even much worse. The fact that a never-ending stream of grim news is always only a click or swipe away means that fear and anxiety are also always within reach. Who can help but be afraid? Today, the U.N. is warning of “global instability and conflict” as a result of COVID-19. Global virus cases have topped 860,000. The United States is still in the “acceleration phase” of its battle with the Coronavirus, which simply means that as bad as things have been in some places, the worst is yet to come. Images of make-shift morgues and rows of coffins beamed in from the far corners of the globe only serve to fuel the fires of our dread. What if the unthinkable really does happen in our community? In my neighborhood? In my home?
In the face of this global health crisis, the like of which has never been seen by anyone alive today, the Apostle Paul’s words from Philippians 4:6 read like some sort of bad joke: “Be anxious for nothing.” The New Living Translation of the Bible phrases Paul's words like this: "Don't worry about anything." Really, Paul? Don’t worry about anything? If only he had lived to see these times, we think, maybe Paul's tune would have been a little different. Surely Paul's calm assurance would have evaporated in the face of the Coronavirus's steady, relentless, ruthless advance. Maybe, but probably not. I say that because, though admittedly, the only things that I know about Paul’s life and times are what I have read in books, I believe that it would be fairly accurate to say that Paul knew a little something about uncertainty, instability, hard times and trouble. In fact, Paul probably penned his words to the believers in Philippi contained in the book of Philippians while under house arrest in Rome – not for two weeks like our dreaded “quarantine” experiences thus far – but for two years. And Paul's imprisonment was no isolated, out-of-the-ordinary experience. The truth is, Paul's post-conversion existence was nothing but a journey from one mind-burdening, body-breaking, life-threatening, moment to the next. Imprisonments, public beatings, attempted executions, angry mobs, shipwrecks, difficult travels, economic uncertainty – these things were staples in Paul’s existence. They were his constant companions. And yet, from prison, Paul encouraged other believers with these words: “Be anxious for nothing.” How could someone with a life like Paul's write those words with a straight face, from a sincere heart, expecting others to not only receive them but to also live by them? The answer to that question is found in the simple truth expressed at the end of verse 5, the verse immediately preceding Paul’s anti-worrying admonition. What was that truth? “The Lord is near.” You see, anxiety imagines a future where God is absent. A future where He is far off, unaware, unmoved by our struggles, indifferent to our pain. Paul could imagine no such future. And why should he? After all, one of the defining characteristics of our God has always been His nearness to His children. In the Old Testament, God came near in the tabernacle, and later the temple, meeting with His people through intermediaries, and sometimes face-to-face. In the Gospels, God came near in the second person of the trinity, Jesus Christ, who walked our dirt, breathed our air, touched our sick, died for our sins. From the time of Jesus' ascension until now, God is near in the person of the Holy Spirit, abiding in the hearts of believers, convicting of sin, giving assurance of salvation, revealing the Father's will, effectually working to bring what is dead to life through the power of the Gospel. Our God is a God who is near! That truth was enough for Paul, and it can be enough for us, if we will believe it and rest in it. The Lord is near. Right now. There is no such thing as a future where He will be absent or indifferent to our plight. So, what is the only answer to the fear that churns in our stomachs and threatens to crawl into our throats and choke us every time we read more grim predictions about the future? First, we must remember and rest in this great truth that the Lord is near. And then, armed with that assurance, we can kneel humbly and let our requests be made known to the sovereign God who created you and me and the world and who sustains all things by His power. When we do that, Paul's concluding thought reminds us, the peace of God will “guard [our] hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” |
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