There is More to the Story of the Cross

Several years ago, I was struggling with sin, unresolved pain, and a defeated image of myself. I was working with a Christian therapist, who frequently challenged lies I was believing and cognitive distortions I with which I struggled that impacted how I viewed myself. While she never down played the seriousness of sin, she did encourage me to be as gracious to myself as I would be to others. She also suggested I become more curious about my failures and to try to understand why I did what I did, instead of "beating myself up" with harsh judgements and negative self talk .

One morning I woke up feeling extremely defeated, but I decided to push past it. I got out of bed, dressed, grabbed praise music, and went for a walk. While walking, I poured out my hurt, my discouragement, and the feelings of guilt that were plaguing my perfectionistic heart. One of the songs I was listening to was about the cross. As I listened, a picture of Jesus hanging on the cross came to mind. His blood was dripping from the wounds He had received when He was beaten and nailed to the cross. Then I noticed other wounds in His flesh. These wounds were the names of the sins that I had been confessing to Him etched in His flesh. For a moment I was filled with shame, but then something propelled me to look to His face. First, I noticed the crown of thorns and the blood dripping on His brow where thorns cut deep. Then I noticed His eyes were filled with kindness and His face with love. Something in me shifted as the shame melted away and I began to grasp that the radical implications of Jesus' death went beyond the satisfaction of God's justice for sin. And that place where Christ hung bruised, bleeding, rejected, cursed, and forsaken--it became a place of healing for me.

When I saw the words of my sin etched in His flesh, the reality of His death became close and personal. It no longer seemed like something that happened long ago in a far away land, it was real to me in the here and now. That wounded part of me that had believed the lie that my abuse, my failures, the messages others spoke over me proved I was the child that was less loved by God began to change. But, seeing Him in front of me with my sin etched in His body made it clear that God had sought me, putting many in my life to lead me to Him. The visual of Christ absorbing my sin reminded me that He died so I could have His goodness imputed to me by faith. That means the Father only sees me as one wrapped up in the goodness of Christ! Grasping that helped me to quit thinking of myself as a bothersome, tolerated child and to start seeing myself as a beloved child, created by Him and for Him, who had been forever fully reconciled by Jesus. I no longer pictured God as sighing and reluctantly turning towards me when I started praying. Instead, I began to see Him as a Father whose eyes are always watching over me and light up when I turn to speak to Him. I also began to see Him as a Father whose ears are tuned into my voice, recognizing it above the loud chatter of this world.    

Seeing the Savior, bruised and flesh-torn, hanging there naked on the cross helped me believe He understood what it felt like to bear the consequences of others' sin. From the time Jesus was born, His life was threatened. He was lied about. He was rejected. His motives were questioned. He was a victim of the first birther movement. His words were frequently doubted or misconstrued. He was called crazy and child of Satan. He was falsely accused and then illegally tried while the man in charge knew and chose to do nothing. His innocence was ignored, while a known thief was set free. His works that gave sight to the blind, working limbs to the lame, hearing to the deaf, health to the sick, freedom to those tormented by demons, and life to the dead were called evil. He was beaten beyond recognition and then humiliated, the crowd spitting at Him and plucking hair from His beard as they mocked Him with hate-filled chants. All of that and the cross helped me see that He truly understands the wounds we experience at the hands of others. His being a sympathetic high priest became real to me. I no longer saw God as an impatient Father, telling me to suck it up, get over it, or just forgive and move on. I began to see Him as a Father, eager to listen until all the words I needed to say were said. I began to see Him as an empathetic Father, whose empathy never diminished as He was willing to sit with me until all of the pain buried deep was released. I began to see Him as a comforter, His own scars reminding me He truly understands.

The crown of thorns that represented the curse took on new meaning when I saw blood dripping from where it had pierced His brow. It helped me see that His blood not only covers my sin, it covers the curse. The thorns had their beginning in Eden where Adam and Eve freely communed with God and each other in a perfect environment. When they sinned, they were cast from Eden to live in a desert to experience thorns, pestilence, and droughts, all of which represent what was taking place in them spiritually and relationally. And the human race was cast with them to experience pain because of the thorns of selfishness, self-centeredness, and sin that enslaves us. And, our relationships became marred as we are driven by an unquenchable thirst to be known, accepted, or approved by others who are just as thirsty and broken as us. And the fear and the chaos caused by pestilence--those things that come against us to hinder the growth of marriages, the unity of our families, and hindering the  building of God-loving churches. The pestilence is things like pornography that kills marriages every day. It is the plague of divorce that robs children of relationships with parents, leaving them looking for parental blessings elsewhere. It is the redefining of good and evil and the political correctness that calls God's truth hatred. It is the everyday business and constant technology that hinders the face-to-face fellowship of believers, leaving them isolated, starving for relational intimacy, and looking a whole lot like the world.

In seeing that visual of God's grace so personally, I began to see that through Christ, the sin within, the curse, the thorns, the pestilence, and the unquenchable thirst I was experiencing no longer defined me. It was and is in my relationship with Christ that I find my true identity and the freedom to be who God created me to be. The words and the lies that were spoken over me, the actions that were perpetrated against me, the Enemy's accusing voice in the face of it all no longer have the power to defeat this child, who has been saved, is in the process of being sanctified and healed, and will be one day fully transformed by His grace. Oh, there is so much more to the story of the cross.

The Great Clothing Exchange

The Great Clothing Exchange

During Lent I started reading Max Lucado's book, He Chose the Nails. As always, Lucado gave me a lot to think about. In this book he shares how the Scriptures often describes our behavior as the clothes we wear. The epistles even tell us to take off certain behaviors and to put on godly behaviors. As a woman I've always liked the clothing analogies because we can get caught up in the external, thinking our clothing will make a difference in how people perceive us. But, the truth is when we come face to face with overt behavior, either good or bad, we are more apt to remember the behavior than the clothes worn. When I've had someone tell me a boldfaced lie, I don't remember the cute shirt they were wearing. I remember the lie they told. When I've had someone betray me, I didn't remember the outfit worn by them, I remember the painful betrayal. When I've had hateful words spewed at me, I don't remember the pretty sweater worn by the speaker, just the sound of the hateful words being hurled at me.  

After my third baby was born, I was struggling with postpartum depression. I went to the store early one morning to buy milk for the kids' breakfast. I was barely physically functioning and my mind was in a dull fog. I sat the milk on the counter and looked in my wallet and realized I didn't have enough cash, so I put my wallet back and pulled out my checkbook. In the fog of depression, I couldn't remember the name of the store and had to ask. Then I had to ask the clerk to repeat the amount I owed a couple of times. I knew I was taking too long, but I couldn't muster up enough energy to speed up. The clerk saw the line growing behind me and he sighed impatiently as if to let me know I was holding things up. The pressure of that added to the stress I was already feeling. Frustrated with me, the clerk said, "I've never seen anyone take so long to write a check." My face grew hot and tears slid down my face from the shame his words evoked--shame of not having it "all together" and shame from feeling defective for not being able to function adequately enough write a check quickly enough to satisfy the social norms. I don't remember the clothing the clerk wore, but I do remember his impatience. He might as well have embroidered the word, "IMPATIENT" boldly across his shirt pocket.

Years later, I was working as a volunteer youth worker in a small church. One year we were without a youth director so another couple, and my husband and I, filled in and loved it. Then came the news the church had hired a youth director and along with the news came a few unkind remarks that triggered insecurity and grief for all of four of us. The man who was ultimately in charge asked me to prepare something for the midweek group time, but when I walked in that night, he said he had changed his mind and he did something different. He could tell I was hurt and offered to talk, but I was too shut down to share what I was feeling and what I was thinking. I ran into him Sunday morning and right before church, and right before He had to go on stage to help with worship, I confronted him harshly.  I then avoided him, believing our relationship was over. He called that week and my husband handed me the phone, saying "You two need to talk." I apologized and he asked me what I was apologizing for. I thought a moment and told him I realized I didn't take the opportunity to deal with the hurt, that he had given me, and that my timing was horrible and my words were biting. He told me he accepted that apology. He explained that though the timing was bad and the words harsh, he agreed with the content of the confrontation. He also told me he still considered me his friend and told me what he believed I contributed to the group. Believe me, I didn't deserve the grace he showed in the face of my anger. Nor did I deserve the kind words he spoke in the face of my unkind ones. When I remember him, I don't think of the shirts he wore or the belt that bore his name, I remember the grace, the humility, and the kindness he displayed in seeking to reconcile the relationship I had broken. It was the first time in my life that I had experienced such blatant grace.

I find it interesting that the Bible seldom talks about Jesus' clothes. Maybe that was so we would remember His character--and by His character He was clothed in perfect obedience, sacrificial love, deep compassion, moral perfection, and indescribable strength. When He went to the cross, He was stripped of clothing and as Lucado put it "all that he wore was the indignity of nakedness, the indignity of failure, and the indignity of our sin He bore in His body." Because He bore our sin, He also bore the shame of the one who murders, the one who abuses his power, the one who commits adultery, and the one who views pornography. He also bears the disgrace of one who lies, one who cheats, one who steals, and one who mistreats others.

What we sometimes forget is that on the cross Jesus exchanged our dirty, disgusting clothing woven of the sinful choices we've made, the unkind, hurtful words we've spoken, and the prideful, greedy, selfish attitudes we display for a garment of salvation woven with threads of purity, honesty, perfect love, goodness, fairness, truth, mercy and grace.

The Dark Night of Gethsemane

Guest Blog 

by,

Dr. Brent Van Elswyk, PhD

In the movie, The Return of the King, there is a quiet moment before the terrible battle between Gondor and the devilish hordes of Mordor, when Pippin and Gandalf are standing outside on a balcony in Minas Tirith looking at the violent dark clouds gathering. Pippin says, "A storm is coming." To which Gandalf said, "This is not the weather of this world. This is the devise of Sauren's world. A broil, a fume that he sends ahead of his host." Later Pippin says, "It is so quiet." to which Gandalf replied, "It's the deep breath before the plunge." The fear and tension keep growing in Pippin until he finally says, "I don't want to be in a battle, but waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse." 

For Jesus, the Garden of Gethsemane was a "deep breath before the plunge," the moment when He could clearly see the violent dark clouds of Calvary gathering. In many ways, Gethsemane was harder for Jesus than Calvary. The spiritual battle Jesus came to fight was fought at Calvary, but it was in Gethsemane that He waited terrified on edge of the battle He could not escape. Those Garden hours were the darkest hours, but it was in those dark hours God's grace shined brightest. 

On the way to Gethsemane, Jesus predicted the disciples would all desert Him. He had already predicted Judas' betrayal and then He quoted the prophet, Zechariah, "I will strike the Shepherd and the sheep will be scattered." Peter was offended at the suggestion he would desert the Lord, and quickly asserted, "They, all might desert you, but I never will!" But Jesus knew Peter would not only desert Him, he would deny Him with curses. For Jesus, Gethsemane and Calvary were lonely places. He faced and fought these battles totally alone as friends abandoned Him. 

Gethsemane was an olive grove and its name meant oil press which indicated there was an oil press there. A press had a heavy beam that was lowered onto a sack of olives and weight was increased until the oil of the olives was squeezed out. When Jesus arrived at Gethsemane, He left eight of the disciples at the edge of the garden and took Peter, James, and John further into it. As the four walked in the Garden, Jesus’ spirit filled with angst and He said, "My soul is sorrowful even to death." Like the weight added to press the oil out of the olives, the weight of sorrow for what was to come pressed on Him so heavily it almost killed Him.

In the Garden, Jesus didn't face His death like many human heroes who shook their fists in the face of the evil they faced. Jesus appeared weak, scared, and trembling. Before, Jesus had shown unflinching courage in the face of danger. But this night, Jesus sensed something and was deeply troubled by it. The word troubled means "shocking horror." What Jesus sensed horrified Him, putting Him under such stress that He sweat drops of blood. Here is the Son of God, who with words spoke the universe into place, who walked on angry waves, who calmed fierce storms, who cast out demons, who healed diseases, who brought the dead back to life, so horrified that His capillaries were bursting. He fell to the ground and, crying out to His Father.

This wasn't a normal fear of dying. As Gandalf had said this was not the weather of this world. What Jesus saw in the quiet of the Garden was Hell with its hoards and its unspeakable horrors opening in front of Him. As one person put it, the coming battle was a "boiling cup mixed with all the sin of the world, the full assault of demonic hordes, and the fierce wrath of God." On this night, the fierce wind of hell washed over Jesus and He cried out to His Father. But, this time there was no response. While Jesus had always enjoyed immense intimacy with His Father, in the hour Jesus needed Him the most, there was nothing but silence. Looking for comfort He stumbled back to His disciples and founding them sleeping He cried, "I need you to be with me! Can't you stay awake?" He went back to His Father, praying again and again. And was met with silence each time. 

Could it be that God has already begun to turn His face away from Jesus? It appears Jesus' soul had already begun to experience abandonment by the Father--The Father He had lived to please. Yet, when He needed the Father the most, the Father remained silent. He sought His Father and found Hell instead and for the first time in all eternity Jesus was totally alone.

Have you ever felt totally alone? Maybe a close friend turned deserted you when you needed their support. Maybe a spouse betrayed you. Maybe your parents failed to protect. Maybe your grown children have chosen to not let you see your grandkids. Jesus had the same sense of being desperately alone. Jesus also experienced the pain of rejection. And this rejection was in the closest relationship He had and the reality is that the closer the relationship the more painful the rejection.

In that moment, Jesus experienced desertion, aloneness, rejection, and the equivalence of an eternity in hell for us. For Hell is the complete abandonment by God. The "deep breath before the plunge" for Jesus was in the Garden as Jesus stared into the horror of hell and voluntarily chose to go to hell for us. I've always thought what made Jesus' death so bad was the horrors of the crucifixion with its public humiliation and its pain, but that wasn't what filled Jesus with angst in the Garden. It was the abandonment by God that horrified Him. He looked full into the cup of God's wrath and was overwhelmed to the point it almost killed Him and cried out, "If there be any other way, let this cup pass from me." And Jesus resolved to go to the cross and on the cross all the filth, moral rot of the human race, the immeasurable foul weight of all the sin of human history was poured on the perfect, sinless Jesus. And His Father, with whom He had only known perfect fellowship, abandoned Him, pouring all of His hatred of sin on Him. That is why Jesus staggered in the Garden, crying, "Father remove this cup from me." In His humanity, Jesus desperately wanted the cup to be removed from Him. He wanted to avoid the cross. He wanted to avoid drinking from the cup of suffering. But His prayer—it didn't end with, "Remove this cup." It ended with, "Yet, not what I will, but what you will!"

The hand that increased the weight on Jesus' soul was the loving hand of His Father. That hand was put there to save you and to save me! And what was pressed out of Jesus was pure, undefiled love. Isaiah 51:17 describes God's wrath like a cup full of toxic poison! The wrath was for our rebellion, our selfishness, our immorality, and for our sin. In Gethsemane Jesus decided to step in the way the cup of wrath we deserved, drinking it all so not one drop of God's wrath could touch us. That was why He could declare on the cross, "It is finished!"

The purest essence of the gospel is about substitution. Jesus lived the life we should have lived. He died the death we should have died. He drank the cup we should have drank so there would not be condemnation left for us because by faith we are in Christ Jesus. It isn't just that God felt merciful towards us, but every bit of God's justice and every bit of His condemnation for sin was put on Jesus so there was nothing left to pour on us. Salvation offered by faith is a free gift.

In Gethsemane, we see the love of Jesus fully displayed. When He rose from His prayer and left the Garden, the internal battle done, we never again see Him wavering again. He faced humiliation, illegal trials, mocking, scourging, and crucifixion with unwavering resolve because of His love for us and His obedience to the Father. In the Garden He found the peace, the strength, and the resolve to go to the cross unshaken. Satan may have been destroyed on the cross, but he was defeated in the dark of Gethsemane. The victory was set in stone when Jesus resolved to drink the cup for us.

Without the agony of Jesus in the garden and without the pain He bore on the cross there would be no Resurrection, no freedom from our sin, and there would be no comfort for our own suffering. Perhaps God let Jesus see this horror before the cross so we could see Jesus choosing to go to the cross knowing full well what He would experience so we could see the fullness of His love for us.

Hebrews 12:2 says that for the joy set before Him He endured the cross. What was the joy set before Him? It couldn't be the approval of God, He already had that. It couldn't be the Kingship of the Universe, He already had that. The only thing He gained from the cross was us. He was doing this to save us because He loves us. And we want to hold on to the truth of His love in our dark hours when we suffer and feel utterly alone. We can look to Gethsemane and realize Jesus didn't abandon us when He faced the horror of Hell and He surely won't abandon us in our pain. If we do feel abandoned by God, we're believing a lie. He went through Hell to rescue us and our names are engraved on His palms and Jesus cannot forget those who names are etched on the palms of His hands. When we feel abandoned, we can visit the Garden again and again and preach the gospel to ourselves. The true beauty of Gethsemane is that we are the undeserving recipients of the pure love that was pressed out of the Savior during His dark night in Gethsemane.    

                                       

*Based on a sermon given by J. D. Greear