Have you ever been leaving the grocery store with a hefty sackful of goodies, praying it stays together just long enough for you to get to the car? But maybe it’s damp outside and your paper bag rips just enough so that your tender veggies and un-crunched bag of chips can no longer be saved. Or maybe the bag-boy with the un-finished high school education (God bless him) filled that thin, plastic sack to capacity and it just wouldn’t hold. I’ve been there! And of course, the groceries don’t spill out inconspicuously. It’s usually in the middle of the parking lot, where drivers must stop to wait on you, and it’s raining, and the milk jug bursts open, and I’m in my best Sunday dress or something like that! (Maybe it’s not actually that bad, but it certainly feels like that much distress and humiliation.)

As you scramble to save what’s left and get out of the way, while trying to avoid further embarrassment, a stranger comes along to save the day! And it’s usually one of two people:

1. “The Inconvenienced Helper” – You know this guy… probably well-dressed with a sense of entitlement. He stands above you for a moment, hands on his hips, shaking his head at you, sighs and thinks to himself, “I guess I better help this poor person.” And he probably says something condescending and not very helpful like, “You know if you don’t pack the bags so full this won’t happen.” But before you come back with an equally smart alec remark, you remember he IS helping you after all. So you politely say “Thank you” and go on with the rest of your stressful day.
2. “The Hands & Knees Helper” – He’s probably nowhere near you, but just within earshot and he hears the bag burst and the eggs hit the ground. Maybe he’s under the entryway – almost inside where it’s nice and dry. But he turns and jogs eagerly back into the rain to assist you. He doesn’t waste any time. He gets down on his hands and knees – no agenda or advice – grabbing and saving whatever he can. He may even help you to your car if he’s an outstanding citizen. He smiles at you with rain drops falling down his face and goes on with the rest of his day.

I was recently visiting a few churches that taught the idea of an angry Jesus – that not only does he hate our sin, but he looks at the “saved” in disappointment  when they fall away from him YET AGAIN. As if Jesus has his hands on his hips, sighing and shaking his head thinking, “Guess I better get them out of this mess again.”

But my personal understanding of Jesus is so different! It was hard for me to sit back and let these congregations be fed an idea of an angry, un-loving Jesus! Yes, Jesus had his more abrasive moments, but overall do we really think he lived and died for us out of only duty and obligation??? Or was love his driving force?

I believe our God is a god on his hands and knees… desperately wanting the best for us and meeting us in the dirtiest, most humiliating places to give us his best. I certainly don’t believe he removes sin from our lives and trades it for shame on our shoulders. I don’t believe he heals a wound only to create another. He removes it all. And he WANTS to do it. And that sure  does help me to love and forgive myself and others a whole lot more. I think that’s what He’d want.

I believe in a hands and knees kind of Jesus.

I like to get up on Sunday morning’s and watch the political television shows.  All cards on the table, I prefer “Meet The Press” to “This Week.” This past Sunday on “This Week” they wrapped the show with a  Twitter q&a to the host.  They asked him if he were to be offered the White House Press Secretary job vs. his current job, which would he prefer? His answer was that he would prefer his current job because a reporter’s job is to un-cover truths as opposed to the press secretary whose job it is to set truths in motion.

This statement has stuck with me.  When applied to a personal faith I feel like we should ask ourselves the question – “Is it our job to uncover truths or to set truths into motion?”

As a lay person who sits in the pew (or padded chair as the case may be) I am wondering if it is our responsibility to expect a pulpit dweller (see Pastor, Evangelist, Preacher) to tell us what the truth is.

This past week I lost a car.  It’s certainly not as sad as losing a pet but when you invest $2000 into repairs only to be told by your mechanic that he needs $6000 more to really fix your car – you have a lot of distrust because you got taken.  I ended us trading the car in but that’s not the point.  In the relationship I have with this mechanic, he holds all the cards because I don’t know anything about cars.

I could do a lot of work to learn about cars but I don’t feel it is worth the cost.  However when it comes to my faith or anyone’s faith, I think the end goal is the work.  It is worth it!

I believe it is our responsibility as pew dwellers to uncover truths and not just trust a pulpit dweller.  I like the idea of pastoral involvement but the job of all Christians as declared in scripture is to go be and to make disciples.  All Christian’s are called to be reporters and not press secretaries.  We are called to uncover truths and report to the world at large our findings.  If our faith is to be impactful, we have to do the work of personally uncovering truths and helping people do that in their lives as well.

Random Fact learned during the writing of this post:

Squirrel’s eat Peeps

Items that informed this post:

Book: “The Heart Of Christianity”  by Marcus Borg

Music: “Lantern” by Josh Ritter

Music: “Oh My God” by Jars Of Clay

Photo by Christopher JL - Flickr Creative Commons

In Greek and Latin, the two international languages of the time, and in Hebrew, the language of the Chosen People, a sign stood above the Cross of Jesus, indicating who he was: the King of the Jews, the promised Son of David. Pilate, the unjust judge, became a prophet despite himself. The kingship of Jesus was proclaimed before all the world. Jesus himself had not accepted the title “Messiah”, because it would have suggested a mistaken, human idea of power and deliverance. Yet now the title can remain publicly displayed above the Crucified Christ. He is indeed the king of the world. Now he is truly “lifted up”. In sinking to the depths he rose to the heights. Now he has radically fulfilled the commandment of love, he has completed the offering of himself, and in this way he is now the revelation of the true God, the God who is love. Now we know who God is. Now we know what true kingship is. Jesus prays Psalm 22, which begins with the words:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Ps 22:2).

He takes to himself the whole suffering people of Israel, all of suffering humanity, the drama of God’s darkness, and he makes God present in the very place where he seems definitively vanquished and absent. The Cross of Jesus is a cosmic event. The world is darkened, when the Son of God is given up to death. The earth trembles. And on the Cross, the Church of the Gentiles is born. The Roman centurion understands this, and acknowledges Jesus as the Son of God. From the Cross he triumphs ever anew.

Lord Jesus Christ, at the hour of your death the sun was darkened. Ever anew you are being nailed to the Cross. At this present hour of history we are living in God’s darkness. Through your great sufferings and the wickedness of men, the face of God, your face, seems obscured, unrecognizable. And yet, on the Cross, you have revealed yourself. Precisely by being the one who suffers and loves, you are exalted. From the Cross on high you have triumphed. Help us to recognize your face at this hour of darkness and tribulation. Help us to believe in you and to follow you in our hour of darkness and need. Show yourself once more to the world at this hour. Reveal to us your salvation.

Photo by Entrer Dans La Rave - Flickr Creative Commons

A significant part of the human experience is having, and being a part of, a family.  In Christ, God fully lived a human life. Throughout the gospel accounts of His life it is clear the heavy toll His Divine identity took on His family.  The ridicule and suffering He faced was shared by those closest to Him. When His mother brought him, as a baby, to the temple for dedication, the priest gave her this ominous word:

“The sword that pierces His side will pierce your side also.”

What parent doesn’t understand those words?

At the height of His suffering and not far from His death, Jesus turned to His beloved disciple, John, for help.  The help He needed was the care of His mother, Mary.  At the height of His Passion, in the throes of His redemptive dying, Jesus did not lose sight of His family, of His earthly responsibilities.  Neither the macro nor the micro trumped the other; they stood side by side.  Dying for the universe and taking care of His mother, Jesus reminds us of the things that matter.

Photo by LZ Creations - Flickr Creative Commons

Lord, I thank You for the relationships You have given to me. Forgive me for the times I have been so focused on the task at hand, even when the endeavor will have a potent impact on others, that I have forgotten those closest to me. Help me to find the balance, and the perspective, in the example You have given us. I pray that, like John, You will open my heart to care for those You place in my path. I pray that I will always see others as if they were Your own mother, given to me for care. I pray that I will aid my own family the way you cared for Your mother, while You were dying for the world – dying for me, you still met her human needs. Thank you again for the opportunity to serve, care for, and love others, in such a profound, and practical way.

Jesus Cares for His Mother

The Shroud of Turin

Jesus is nailed to the Cross. The shroud of Turin gives us an idea of the unbelievable cruelty of this procedure. Jesus does not drink the numbing gall offered to him: he deliberately takes upon himself all the pain of the Crucifixion. His whole body is racked; the words of the Psalm have come to pass: “But I am a worm and no man, scorned by men, rejected by the people” (Ps 22:7). “As one from whom men hide their faces, he was despised… surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows” (Is 53:3f.). Let us halt before this image of pain, before the suffering Son of God. Let us look upon him at times of presumptuousness and pleasure, in order to learn to respect limits and to see the superficiality of all merely material goods. Let us look upon him at times of trial and tribulation, and realize that it is then that we are closest to God. Let us try to see his face in the people we might look down upon. As we stand before the condemned Lord, who did not use his power to come down from the Cross, but endured its suffering to the end, another thought comes to mind. Ignatius of Antioch, a prisoner in chains for his faith in the Lord, praised the Christians of Smyrna for their invincible faith: he says that they were, so to speak, nailed with flesh and blood to the Cross of the Lord Jesus Christ (1:1). Let us nail ourselves to him, resisting the temptation to stand apart, or to join others in mocking him.

Photo by Wiedmaier - Flickr Creative Commons

Lord Jesus Christ, you let yourself be nailed to the Cross, accepting the terrible cruelty of this suffering, the destruction of your body and your dignity. You allowed yourself to be nailed fast; you did not try to escape or to lessen your suffering. May we never flee from what we are called to do. Help us to remain faithful to you. Help us to unmask the false freedom which would distance us from you. Help us to accept your “binding” freedom, and, “bound” fast to you, to discover true freedom.

Photo by Ron Ashore - Flickr Creative Commons

Lord Jesus, you were stripped of your garments, exposed to shame, cast out of society. You took upon yourself the shame of Adam, and you healed it. You also take upon yourself the sufferings and the needs of the poor, the outcasts of our world. And in this very way you fulfill the words of the prophets. This is how you bring meaning into apparent meaninglessness. This is how you make us realize that your Father holds you, us, and the whole world in his hands.

If I was stripped of everything that protected me, would I find myself still trusting in you? When and how have I left others naked — stripped others of their privacy and their dignity? In words or deeds, how have I embarrassed or insulted others, and made light of their suffering? We can be so cruel, both purposefully and unknowingly exposing others to insult and injury, because of our own pride or jealousy or anger. What words have we said, and deeds have we done, to insult the body of Christ in other people? And what can we do to right our wrongs, and restore them to dignity?

Lord, Give us a profound respect for humanity at every stage of its existence, and in all the situations in which we encounter one another. Clothe us in the light of your grace.

Jesusis Stripped of His Garments

Photo by D Sharon Pruitt - Flickr Creative Commons

Jesus, as you struggle along the road toward that awful place of death, you see a group of women among the crowd following you, already grieving at your impending death. You have heard this wailing many times before at funerals and tragic events. But now, they mourn for you.

You have always shown equal compassion to women you have encountered across the years. You have always seemed to understand the unique burdens that women bear in a world and a culture that pushes them to the margins of society. So here, as you bear the most unimaginable pain of body and heart, you stop to speak to them. You are about to die, and yet you are more concerned with others than with your own suffering and death.

But your words are strange and seem out of place on this road of sorrow. They have a prophetic ring to them as if you were still trying to tell people something important that they cannot quite grasp, or that perhaps they do not really want to hear. You speak of even darker days, of far worse things to come upon the people. Yet, how can things get worse?

I do remember that you often spoke of repentance, calling the people to turn from their wicked ways and accept the coming of the Kingdom of God. Sometimes you sounded like Isaiah or Jeremiah as they warned the people to return to God in the face of impending catastrophe. Many times you criticized the religious leaders and those who thought themselves righteous, warning that they would bring destruction upon the people and the land. I remember that once you even spoke of the destruction of the temple. But no one really believes that is going to happen. God had always been with us, and surely he will not let such a terrible thing happen to his people.

And yet, no one thought the exile would happen. And here you are on the path of sorrow stumbling toward your death. No one thought that would happen either. Maybe you understand more than we have realized. Maybe you see something that we have refused to believe. Maybe we are not as righteous as we have thought. Maybe we have rejected repentance, not because we did not need it but because we needed it more than we dared admit.

Is that what you mean by these strange words? Is it possible that your death is only the beginning of things for which to weep? Is it possible that our refusal to repent and change the way we live is causing these beginnings of sorrow? Is our own sin and our refusal to confess it really the reason you are on this path?

I would like to think that I have repented, that I have confessed my sins and stand righteous before God. I would rather play the part of the righteous follower. I would rather weep for you, Jesus. I do not want to weep for myself and the pain I bring to others because of my failures and sin. Yet, how long has it been since I have shed tears for my own failures, for my own sins? Have I really been honest enough with God about who I am?

O Lord, forgive my unwillingness to repent, to confess all that I am before you. Help me go beyond the repentance mouthed in words of false piety, to sweep away all the facades of who I try so hard to be before others, and recall who I really am inside. Help me once again stand before God with a bare and open heart. Help me not just to repent in words, but to put that repentance into action in everything I am and do. O Lord, give me the gift of tears to weep for my own failures, for my sins, for the pain I bring to others, and to live the fruits of repentance.

Jesus, I can only imagine the awful weight of that cross you carry. It is not just the weight of beams of wood that presses down on you. It is also the weight of the burden you carry for those whom you have loved. You came to offer them life, and yet they return only death.

Photo by Jose Téllez - Flickr Creative Commons

So I see you fall from the crushing weight of pain and grief. I don’t know how many times you have fallen. But I know that your physical strength is failing. The soldiers must recognize this as well, because they force a man from the crowd to help you carry the cross the rest of the way to the place where you will be crucified. Perhaps they are afraid that you will die before you make it to the top of the hill. The man of Cyrene was just a bystander passing through on his way into town from the countryside. And yet he bears the weight of the cross to save your strength.

I would like to think that if I had been there I would have rushed from the crowd and volunteered to carry that cross for you. But would I have had the courage to face the Roman soldiers and risk being forced to join you on a cross? Would I have really been so eager to share your cross if it meant that I might have to die on one as well? Would I have been willing to risk everything to ease your suffering for a few moments by letting you know that you were not alone?

Besides, I have my own crosses already. I have as much as I can bear without taking on the added burdens of others. And what would people think of me if I were seen consorting with criminals and enemies of Rome in such a public spectacle? So instead of offering to help, I tried to become invisible in the crowd. And when the soldiers were looking around for someone to press into service, I looked away and pretended not to notice what was happening.

It is easy to pretend not to see the needs, the grief, and the suffering around me every day. It is easy to pretend not to hear the cries for help that come in many forms from those among whom I walk every day. It is easy to convince myself that I am too busy, or too tired, or have too much on my plate already to get involved in the lives of others. There are simply too many who need too much.

And yet I remember something that you said, something about taking up my own cross and following you. You said something about becoming a servant of all, of putting myself last and others first. Is this what it means to be a servant? Jesus, are you showing me what it means to be that kind of servant? Is this man from Cyrene modeling for me the path of discipleship?

Must Jesus bear the cross alone
And all the world go free?
No, there’s a cross for everyone
And there’s a cross for me.

O Lord, forgive me for becoming so preoccupied with myself that I have become deaf and blind to the grief and suffering of those around me. Forgive me for my indifference. Constantly remind me that I cannot love you without loving others as well. Help me always remember that to be a follower of yours means that I share in the burdens of others. Lord, show me someone whose cross I may help carry.

Jesus Is Helped to Carry His Cross by St. Simon of Cyrene

Photo by Doug1021 - Flickr Creative Commons

I would like to think that I am ready to follow you who offer a Kingdom of peace and love for one another. But am I? Am I willing to yield my ideas of what the Kingdom should look like for the role of a servant? Am I really so willing to give up my human preoccupation with power and control and accept a different kind of crown than I was expecting?

I see you accept the Cross in the midst of such mockery. You could have refused. What more could they have done to you? Yet you begin this journey, knowing full well where it will lead. I hear no words of complaint, no protestations of innocence, no cursing the injustice. And yet I am so prone to complain and whine about the most trivial things. Sometimes the things I face in my life are more than trivial. Sometimes the troubles of life bear down on me. But I so easily fall into self-pity. I too often assume that I am the only one who bears a cross, or that my cross is larger and heavier than any others.

But I am not alone in that. People all around me bear far more than I must bear. You accepted your cross without self-pity. O Lord, forgive me for forgetting that in my weakness I am driven to trust on you, and that in that trust my weakness becomes your strength. Forgive my attitudes of self-pity that make me more repulsive than loving. I do not ask for crosses to bear. But when they come, give me the strength to bear them as one who follows your example.

Jesus Takes Up His Cross

Photo by Decade_Null via Flickr Creative Commons

Jesus, I wish you would speak! I wish you would proclaim who you are. I wish you would confront the disbelief of the crowds and the arrogant cowardice of the powers that be. Surely someone will speak up for you! Where are the lepers who were healed? Where are the blind who can now see? Where are all the people who ate the bread and fish on the hillside? Where are those who followed you so easily when they thought you would become King of the Jews? Yet no one speaks. No voice in the crowd comes to your defense. You stand alone. You stand before Pilate, the power of Rome. Weakness stands before strength. And yet, Pilate, the ruthless enforcer for the Empire is not really in control here. He cannot make you confess. He cannot quiet the crowds. For all his power, he cannot find the courage to do what is right. So he does what is safe. He yields to the crowds for the sake of order. Courage and strength do not always sit on thrones or judgment seats. Power is not always in the hands of Empires.

I have been alone. I have been falsely accused, and no one has spoken for me. I have been treated unfairly by those who could have used their power for better purposes. I can understand some of your feelings as you stand silently before Pilate and watch him proclaim his own innocence as he condemns an innocent man. But perhaps I have treated others unfairly as well. Perhaps I have not spoken up for others when they needed a voice. There are those around me who have been treated unjustly. Have I always had the courage to come to their defense? There are those around me who feel alone and abandoned. Have I always been there for them? O Lord, forgive me for not always being who I should be.

I find it easy to condemn the moral cowardice of Pilate. Have I ever given in to pressure from others to take the easy path rather than the right path? Have I ever chosen the easy path over the right path? Jesus, I see in your silence the quiet strength that reveals a peace and a resolve. O Lord, help me deal with the unfairness of life without becoming critical of others. Help me to be sensitive to the pain and feelings of others. Give me the courage to do what is right without being swayed by the demands of others.

Jesus Before Pilate