Blessings that Come with Hardship

I remember the excitement I felt when I first found out I was pregnant. We had tried for over a year to no avail. Then when we went to my mom's for Thanksgiving, she noticed I was exhausted and falling asleep whenever I sat down. She told my sister she thought I was pregnant and my sister called to ask me about it. I didn't think I was, but went to my doctor anyways. He did the blood work and told me he would let me know the results soon. Because we had tried for so long, we were totally blown away when the doctor called to say the test was positive. I was elated and in awe of the life growing inside. I was also overwhelmed because we were preparing to move away from family and friends. I chose to stay home and held my baby a lot, singing to him, reading children's books, and sometimes just chatting with him about life. Once the baby started sleeping more, I realized I had become a more reflective person, pondering both what I read in the Bible and what I heard in sermons.

The first Christmas after our baby was born, I frequently sat across from the Christmas tree, rocking him to sleep, gazing at the lights. I contemplated how differently Mary had found out about her pregnancy. I wondered what it was like for her to be visited by the angel, Gabriel. I wondered what she thought and what she felt when he told her she had found favor with God and would conceive His Son. I wondered how much she comprehended when he told her the baby would be Jesus, the Son of the Most High. I wondered what feelings flooded her soul as she heard God would give her Son the throne of David. And, I wondered if questions ran through her mind when she was told that through Him many would be saved from their sin. I didn't know the answers to all of my questions, but I did know she had quickly embraced what the angel said and understood some of what she was told because she wrote, "My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for He has looked on the humble estate of His servant. For behold, from now on all generations will call be blessed; for He who is mighty has done great things for me and holy is His name."

I also reflected on how her birth was markedly different than mine. Mine occurred in a sterile environment, surrounded by my husband, doctor. and nurses. She was alone with Joseph in a sheepfold. I found myself reflecting on the powerful feelings that surged as our son was born and I heard his first cries. I wondered what thoughts ran through her mind and what feelings coursed through her soul as she labored, gave birth, and held the Messiah child for the very first time. I wondered if she, too, had gazed into the eyes of Jesus and counted His fingers and toes like I did when I nursed our son. I knew she, too, had entered a season of reflection, because the Word said she pondered these things in her heart.

When Spring rolled around the first year of our son's life, more thoughts, questions, and fears arose in my reflective heart. As I thought about Jesus and His ministry, I became filled with awe over His powerful teaching, the miracles He performed, the loving way He interacted with hurting people. I was astonished to learn that many of His strong confrontations were aimed at the religious leaders who lead people astray. Yet, as a new mom, my mind often wandered to Mary. Did she fear for Jesus' life? Did she long for Him to walk away from the conflict surrounding Him? Was she ever tempted to go all Mama Bear on those who flung false accusations at her Son like I did a few times? Did she ever feel the need to rush to His defense when she heard the talk surrounding Him and if so, what helped her restrain her tongue? Did she long for Him to let the crowds fiend for themselves and deal with their own hurts and their own sin? Did she struggle with doubt and confusion over the things the Gabriel had told her in light of what was taking place?

In contemplating those things, I sometimes felt uneasy, realizing I could do my best to raise my kids, but there were a lot of things out of my control. There would also come a time when I would no longer be the one protecting my kids from things that go bump in the night, from those who might want to do them harm, from those who would hurl ugly insults at them, from their own mistakes, or from those who would want to lead them away from God's plans for their lives.

As I reflected on the crucifixion of Christ, I was amazed that Mary was standing there gazing at her son, God's Son as He hung on that tree. She was gazing at a face beaten so badly it was not longer recognizable. She was gazing at a Righteous One, whose innocence didn't earn Him freedom. She was gazing at a Prophet who was so bold in His preaching, yet so strangely silent on the cross. She was gazing at a Lamb as the weight of all of our sin was placed on His shoulders. She was gazing at God's Son as He cried out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" I wonder how she could bear the breaking of her own heart to stand their watching as the wrath of God for our sin was being poured out on Him. I wonder if she stayed to the end to watch as they took Him down and laid Him to rest. I also wondered what joy flooded her soul as she laid eyes on the Son of Man after He had risen from the grave. How did she make sense of so much sorrow and so much joy to be born in such a short time.

As I think about the role we take in motherhood, I realize for me there was no greater joy and no greater blessing to hear the words, "You are pregnant!" I was blessed to hear them five times and was filled with as much joy the second, third, fourth, and fifth times as I was the first. Mary's story taught me that just as Mary was shown favor by being chosen to be mother of the Son of God, we are chosen to be the mothers of the children God gives us. Her story has also taught me that with that blessing comes the potential for great heartache and great sorrow. To know this is true, all we have to do is to ask the mothers whose babies died before they were birthed, the mothers who birthed beautiful babies with half of their hearts missing, the mothers of children who suffer horribly with cancer and its treatment; the mothers of children laid to rest in coffins smaller than they ever should be, the mothers whose soldiers boarded planes for war zones from which they may never return, the mothers of children who have gone missing, the mothers whose children are lost in drug-filled lifestyles, the mothers whose children have been demoralized by peers, the moms of children who has been assaulted and harmed in ways children shouldn't be, or mothers whose kids struggle hard living in the pain of adult relationships gone awry.

I think there is more to learn about motherhood from Mary. She remained faithful in loving her Son on what had to have been the darkest day of their lives. The events that seemed so hopeless and so bleak were the very events that were needed to accomplish our redemption. Just as Mary could not see everything that was happening from the view she had, we can't see everything happening when we face hardship with our children. Yet, I can't help but believe that maybe her quiet presence helped the Lord in some untold way that day He hung between heaven and earth. Maybe as we come to accept that our blessing, too, will come with hardship and that in the hard God isn't calling us to control it all. That is His job. Maybe He is simply calling us to love big and to choose to stay present just like Mary did. I believe that someday we will more fully understand the hard that came with the blessings God gave us.

And at the End of the Day

In one of the last chapters of Max Lucado's book, He Chose the Nails, Max speaks about the end of the day that Jesus was crucified. He talks about Him crying out, "My God, My God why have you forsaken me?" And then saying, "It is finished." Max also says He thirsted and some found compassion for Him at this point and offered a sponge filled with sour wine, while others were still mocking. And Jesus, He laid down His life. 

At the end of the day they took down the bodies of the three crucified, and they buried them, and one by one they went home. I wonder if the people in the crowd had the same tendency I do as an introvert to think back on how their day was spent. What did they think of Jesus’ trials? What did they think of the mocking that took place? What did they think as they recalled the darkness that came as Christ was hanging on the cross? What did they think of the words He cried out? What did they think of the events that occurred as Jesus gave up His life--the temple curtain being ripped in two, the shaking of the earth, the splitting of rocks, the tombs being opened? When people laid their heads on pillows that night, what were the thoughts they thought and the feelings they felt? 

I am sure there were many who knew and loved Jesus who were struggling with deep grief, confusion, and despair who were playing back the tapes of the conversations they had with Him, I am sure that there were some who faced guilt and shame that ran deep because they deserted Him and denied Him. Maybe some even questioned God's plan at that point and maybe a few were holding on to a thread of hope because He had lovingly washed their feet, told them things, and supernatural things happened as He died, indicating God was still at work. Maybe they were even wondering what the meaning of the torn curtain and the graves opening when the ground shook. 

What about those religious leaders who had clamored for Him to be crucified? What about those who had mocked Him as He was being disrobed, having bits of hair plucked from His beard, bearing the spittle of others, and the crown of thorns thrust on His head, the painful death He died, the anguish of sin He bore as He faced God's wrath for us. They were people just like you and me. Did they go home at the end of that day filled with self-righteous pride, still believing they were right? I know I have done that at times, to realize later I was wrong as wrong could be and my pride never made it right. In pride I have attacked the beliefs of others thinking I was right...and sometimes I was, but often I wasn't. The thing that hurts my heart to this day is the lack of love I displayed when I chose to attack instead of exploring the truth, the times I misconstrued others' words without clarifying, and when I cared more about winning an argument than I cared about a heart.  

What about the ones following the religious leaders? Did they, or at least did some of them, have second thoughts as they laid down to sleep and the silence of the night gave way to shouting thoughts? Did they think about the words He spoke from the cross, about the curtain of the temple being torn, or about the earth shaking as He gave up His life? Did they begin to wonder if they had been too easily swayed by the shouting crowd? I look back at times and realize I was. In college there were all sorts of movements and I didn't always do research. I just shouted what I thought to be the truth, only to find out I was wrong. I remember being swayed by others' misguided passion, only later to be ashamed I had fallen for false information. And, to be honest, this election year we all experienced that over and over again and still do. Did some of the followers realize, like I did, that they bought into the lies and the passion of those who denied Jesus? Did they think back onto sermons He spoke and realize those behind the movement to crucify Him took His words out of context? Did they realize the religious leaders with whom they had aligned themselves often misquoted, misconstrued, and misrepresented Him to protect their position in the community? Did any of them say as the centurion did, "Surely this is the Son of God?"

At the end of the day, what did the people think of the anger they had spent and had spewed as they joined in the cries of those clamoring for Him to be crucified, and the sarcastic mocking that took place both before, and as He was hanging suspended between heaven and earth? Did they feel their anger was justified? Or did at least some of them feel the same shame and the same sickness in the pit of their gut that I have felt when I have laid down at night realizing the angry words I spewed at my children weren't appropriate loving correction, but hurtful, abusive words of a bully. Did they feel the same feelings I felt at the end of the day when a disagreement with my spouse turned ugly and I shouted hateful words I can never fully retract? Did some of them feel the shame that I have felt when I have participated in gossip as either a hearer or a spreader that resulted in character assassination of someone? Did some of them feel that same sick feeling as they rehearsed the memories of their day--the words they spoke, the actions they carried out, the verbal expressions of the Lord from the cross, especially the one that asked the Father to forgive them? Did they lie down and wonder if maybe, just maybe they had blown it big? Did they wonder, like I have at times, "Is there really any way this can be forgiven?" 

I hope that some of those people, at the end of that day, who laid down with a sick feeling growing in their gut were able to own their actions and reactions that day. I hope they got to hear and respond to the gospel because, like Paul, they physically in real time and in real space lived out the words penned in Romans, "...in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." 

As I think about the end of that day, I think that those who did experience the pain of conviction and the realization that they were as wrong as wrong can be, were the ones who had the opportunity to hear the gospel and experience grace that ran deeper than anyone dreamed it could run. Because that grace allowed them to experience the pure love we experience even at the end of the day. 

Love Part 5--His Love was Screaming in the Silence

If there was ever a man who deserved to live life filled with joy, it would have been Jesus. Though clothed in the clothes of the common, He deserved royal robes, a golden crown, and a scepter. His character was marked by a righteousness no other man had ever achieved. His was a ministry characterized by miracles, grace, freedom, and healing. He exhibited authority over nature, man, and demons. More importantly He possessed a pure, unadulterated love for His Father and an unconditional, sacrificial love for man that was the motivation for every act He performed and every word He spoke. 

To begin to understand the depths of Christ's love, we are looking past the life He lived to the death He died. In was in His death that He chose to set aside His right to live to experience our deepest fear--of death. He chose to set aside His glory to bear our heaviest burden--the burden of sin and shame. He chose to set aside His perfect relationship with His Father to feel our deepest pain--our separation from the Creator.  

During His life Christ expressed His love through through many active ways. But at the end He chose to express it in a different way. As He was arrested, tried, beaten, and crucified, He maintained a purposeful silence that spoke His love even more loudly than the all the words He spoke and all the actions He carried out. 

The same mouth that spoke the universe into place was silent when He was taken away. The same mouth that calmed angry seas remained silent as people twisted His words during His illegal trials. The same voice that called a man from the grave refused to answer lying accusations hurled. The same voice that caused soldiers to fall back remained silent as He was beaten. The same strong voice that confronted the Pharisees was silent in the face of the mocking. He who had every right to defend Himself and He who had the power to walk away remained silent--and His love it was screaming in that silence because in the silence He was actively laying down His life. 

He remained silent when soldiers took their whips with sharp stones and bits of bones and beat Him, ripping apart His flesh. He was silent when soldiers put a scarlet robe on His raw flesh and jammed a crown of thorns upon His brow. He was silent when the soldier's mockery was no longer enough to satisfy the angry crowd. They were so enraged by the perfect life He lived, the sinners He forgave, the broken people He healed, and the people bound by sin He had set free that they joined the cruel soldiers by slapping His face, pulling hairs from His beard, hurling curses in His ears, spitting saliva in His face, and bidding for the clothes He would no longer need.  

He maintained His silence as the robe was ripped from His wounded back. He maintained it with each clang of the hammer as the searing pain of nails broke through flesh and bones. He remained silent as they picked up the cross and dropping it into the ground with a thud. He was silent as He gazed into a sea of faces filled with hate. He was silent through the searing pain of the nails and the pain of raw back rubbing against rough wood as moved to take each breath. He was silent--hanging suspended between heaven and earth and His silence...His silenced it screamed of His love as it was being poured out. 

He looked around at the people below and finally broke the silence with words we all need to hear. He didn't scream of the injustice or demand to be set free; He asked His Father to forgive--forgive those who rejected Him, forgive those who denied Him, forgive those who deserted Him, forgive those who falsely accused Him, forgive those who mocked Him, forgive those who beat Him, forgive those who hammered nails, forgive those whose sin evoked the Father's wrath. 

As the afternoon wore on darkness blanketed the earth and our sins--past, present, and future--ware laid on Him and Christ faced a realm of pain never ever experienced before or since. He felt the collective pain we feel when we are bound by sin--lonely, hopeless, and forsaken. For the first time He was separated from His Father because of our sin and in the anguish of being alone He broke the silence. It was a heart-rending cry from the depths of a deeply hurting soul, "My God, My God why have You forsaken me?"  With a heart broken by separation, He released His spirit, dying the death--the death we deserved. 

The silence surrounding His death speaks loudly of love. He loved deeply enough to die for disciples who deserted Him, for Peter who vehemently denied Him, for those who didn't recognize Him, for those who hated Him, for those who arrested Him, for those who beat Him, for those who mocked Him, and for those who hammered the nails. He loved deeply enough to maintain His silence and to stay on the cross as our sin, yours and mine, made Him feel alone and forsaken. 

His outrageous love endured the cruelty of the cross for the joy of presenting us, made holy and pure by His blood, as beloved children. We, the children who sin, who struggle with unbelief, who fail to love well, who at times deny Him, are the children purchased, purified, covered, and protected by the blood He shed. And His love? It was screaming in the silence.