Tag Archives: easter

Easter Series, Part 10: Two Men Out for A Walk

Posted on by
Reply

j0316900Sunday morning. The third day. Mary has already run to the disciples to tell them the good news – Jesus is alive! There’s a buzz in the air and anticipation is quietly growing.

A disciple named Cleopas is walking toward Emmaus with a friend at his side.  The two are talking.

“So, if he’s not in the tomb, where then?”

They continue talking to one another. Cleopas’ friend replies as he continues to walk, kicking a stone along the road. “Well, I say someone’s taken his body somewhere else or he did what he said he’d do and came back to life.” Cleopas’ friend kicked the stone ahead of him. “Did you see him bring his friend Lazarus back to life?”

“Yeah, I did. It was…  incredible. I know He’s got the power to raise someone but how’s He gonna do it if He’s dead?  That’s what I don’t get.”

“Man – that’s what’s been going on in my head. I mean—”

From out of nowhere, Cleopas’ friend is interrupted by a stranger who joins them on the road as they walk.

“Good morning,” he greets them.

“Hey,” Cleopas nods, looking up momentarily to make eye contact and then continues watching the dirt road in front of him as he walks.

The stranger continues to walk beside the two men. “So what are you guys talking about?”

“You must not be from around here. You haven’t heard what’s happened?”

“What’s happened?” the stranger inquires.

“There was a man creating a lot of stir among the people here – Jesus of Nazareth. The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death and they crucified him on Friday. We were hoping that he was the one who was going to save Israel.  The king we’ve all been waiting for.”

“Wow. Sounds like I really missed something.”

“That’s not the half of it. He told his apostles that he would rise again on the third day and today’s the third day. There were a couple women who amazed us with their news of his tomb being empty and – .”

Cleopas’ friend interjects. “Yeah, they said they even saw angels who told them he was alive and some of our friends went to the tomb to check out the women’s story and his body was gone, but no one has seen him anywhere. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“Haven’t you read the scriptures?” the stranger asks.

“What do you mean?” Cleopas replies, head hanging low to the ground and his hands in his pockets, he kicks another stone.

The stranger stops momentarily to face them as he says, “How can you not believe what the prophets said? Don’t you remember the scriptures teaching that the Christ would have to suffer all that’s happened and then enter his glory? Remember the story of Moses? Remember when…” as they being walking again on that road to Emmaus, the stranger begins to explain to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself. They walk another few miles, the two friends, feeling their hearts burning inside and listening intently as the stranger speaks. They don’t realize how late it has become when they finally reach Emmaus. The two men begin veering west to the place they are staying, while the stranger appears to be continuing down the road.

“Hey, it’s late – stay with us for the night,” Cleopas’ friend invites the stranger. The stranger accepts.

Cleopas introduces the new face to the other men who are present and the meal is ready shortly after. They gather around a table, much like Jesus and his apostles had just done three nights prior. And, much like the three nights prior when Jesus and his apostles celebrated the Passover, the stranger takes the bread, gives thanks, breaks it and begins to give it to the men with him at that moment.   And – it is at that moment the two men who had been walking on the road to Emmaus realize who this stranger is and then… he is gone as quickly as the moment he showed up when they were walking.

Cleopas and his friend immediately “got up and returned at once to Jerusalem. There they found the Eleven and those with them, assembled together and saying, ‘It is true! The Lord has risen and has appeared to Simon.’ Then the two told what had happened on the way, and how Jesus was recognized by them when he broke the bread.” (Luke 24:33-35)

Thomas, one of the apostles, is also known as ‘doubting Thomas’. He is probably known best for doubting it was actually Christ, (after being resurrected) who now stands in front of him.  He is in need of proof before he will believe. However, it seems Cleopas and his walking partner aren’t too far from having the same problem. After all, it doesn’t appear they’re really expecting him. If you were there when Christ said he would rise on the third day and really believed he was going to be back on Sunday as he said, wouldn’t you be checking out the favorite hangouts that you and all the guys had been to in the last three years to see if he shows up?

That’s a tough call. You’re staring at reality as you know it – no physical evidence of Jesus in the flesh – and yet, inside there’s a stirring telling you there’s more to come.

Are you a Cleopas? A Thomas? Will you believe that Jesus was real? Will you believe the scars from the nails that had been driven into his hands are really there without needing to see them? Will you believe the only reason those scars are there is because Someone really loves you and hung on a cross to prove it?

Well, it’s true.  And that someone is Jesus and yes… He’s Alive!

j0308984signature

Easter Series, Part 8: A Face In The Crowd

Posted on by
Reply

Today’s point of view is that we’re a nameless face in the crowd. No one of significance or importance – til we come face to face with Jesus.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

roses-in-jars-unedited

Dear Diary,

Today I worked up my courage and followed the man they say heals. I can attest to years of suffering with this illness that no one can define. An illness that has kept me at bay from friends and family. But today, I followed this man to see for myself who it was that everyone is talking about.

I saw nothing, but felt everything. The demeanor of the crowd was electrifying and something to the very core of my being gave me chills and in the depths of my soul I knew – I just knew – this was the we have been waiting for.

He was walking to the grassy knoll near the outer gates. Masses of people gathered around to hear him speak and I did no different, though I stood from afar, knowing what would happen if I came to close and not wanting to be cast away.

He spoke of warnings – things to come. He spoke of how we should love one another. It was like a healing balm to my heart just to listen. There was power in His words. There was strength in His voice.

My body grew faint and I retreated down the hill and back home to rest. I tire quickly, but one thing I have promised myself – I am going back tomorrow. Wherever he goes, I am going to follow as long as the God of Israel gives me strength.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Diary,

I sat on the rocks near the waterside today, watching from afar. Jesus was there, watching the fisherman out in their boats, casting their nets into the sea. They were flustered at not catching anything and then the most amazing thing happened. Jesus yelled something – I could not hear what – but they threw their nets back out and pulled in a boatload! If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have walked over to where he sat. I just know He can heal me. And, I just know He would.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Diary,

Crowds gathered again near the city gates under the olive trees. Thousands. I sat on a rock, hoping no one would notice and send me away. Jesus seemed so weary, so tired, but there, with his men, he began to feed those who had come. I watched intently and know they had only a basketful of food. Yet, the food kept being passed and handed out. Oh, God of Israel, provide the opportunity I need. I want to serve you with everything inside of me but should it not be your will, then I will continue to serve you just as I am.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Diary,

I do not know that I can even pen my thoughts this evening. I had just put the last dish in its place and was ready to lay down when I heard the commotion outside my door. Weary, I opened the door to look outside and here he came, passing right in front of me. This was the time, I knew it. But the crowd was so large and to get to him was nearly impossible. But I knew the power that was within Him would cure the sickness within me. Boldly I inched my way closer to him as the crowds pressed in. I feared I would be trampled but I pressed forward until I could just reach the edge of his garment and then I touched him. Immediately, a chill not unlike that of the other day ran through my body and the bleeding that I have had for twelve years stopped. Right then. I did not need confirmation of who this man was, but He gave it anyway.

However, when I touched his garment, somehow he knew and stopped walking, asking the crowd who it was that had touched him. Had I done something wrong? Was his power to heal only reserved for a select few? No. God does not play favorites.

I could not hide. He would know anyhow. His men said it was so crowded it could have been anyone. However, something drew me in – drew me to step closer and answer. Trembling with fear, I approached Him as the crowd stepped back. The moment the last person stepped away, I was face to face with Him. I could not stand and fell at his feet.

“It was me, my Lord. I touched your cloak. For twelve years, I have been sick and no one has been able to help me, but you – my Lord, I knew you could. I knew you had the power to heal me and so I touched your cloak knowing that if the God of Israel willed me to be well, he would do it through you my Lord. And He did.”

The crowd gasped at my response and at that moment, I looked up and his eyes locked onto mine. Eyes that were warm and filled with kindness, putting my sudden fear to rest. Eyes that didn’t condemn but understood. As I looked into those eyes, I knew he was more than just a man. I knew he was the Messiah.

“Daughter,” he responded, “your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

Kissing his feet, I cried. “Thank you, my Lord.”

I stood and did as He said – I went in peace.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Diary,

Although I have so much to celebrate – new life, new health – my heart now bleeds. They have arrested Jesus and sentenced him to be crucified. I know he could stop this terror. It must be that he must endure this horrific treatment for reasons I cannot understand. I have gone everywhere he has been since he healed me, hanging on his every word, trying to remember everything he has said to the multitude of crowds these last few days.

I don’t understand the people I stood next to on the road, who yelled ‘Hosanna’ at Jesus just days ago who now yell for him to be crucified. I could not watch the bloodthirsty people who condemn him for his kindness and truth. So I went and sat down by the waterside where I had seen him sit so peacefully. And as I sat there, I felt compelled to pray to the God of Israel.

The commotion grew louder in the direction of where the temple stands. I got up and walked toward the knoll which overlooked the road to Golgatha, where they crucify the criminals. As I watched people laugh and spit in his face, my prayer grew stronger. A man in the crowd put down his sack and took Jesus’ cross upon his own back. The streaks of blood from whatever was on his head flowed down his face and as he continued, I could see stripes of blood covering the welts across his back.

Why were people laughing?!? Could they not see what was happening? Did they not understand who it was they mocked? How can we be such an ignorant people as to not see the truth right before us and just let it pass us by? Oh, God of Israel, help us!

I stood on that knoll and wept. After returning home, I could hear others outside. There was a different aura – some drinking, obvious by their gait, others laughing but not joyous, while others were passing by in an eerie silence. I wasn’t able to eat and after the crowds lessened, I opened the door to look out. It was quiet as the sky darkened above, in an uncommon covering. I grabbed my shawl and walked against flow. There was a chill in the air and I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders.

As I approached Golgotha, I was reminded why I don’t come here. There he hung and the soldiers were lifting an object to His lips when he yelled, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Onlookers beat themselves and mourned loudly as if they themselves had just been handed a death sentence. A group of women stood from afar – women I had seen in the crowds in days past.

I looked back at Jesus, his arms outstretched, nails holding his hands in place. The very hands that had touched my head as I knelt at his feet were now being held to that cross.

He was dead. I knelt as the sky turned to black and screams could be heard from the temple square. Tears fell from my face. What part did this have to play in anything? How could this serve to make him king?

I don’t know. I don’t understand, but I know that I will not stop believing for something in my heart and soul tells me that something better is coming. Until that day, I will tell everyone just what He did for me.

j0308984signature

Easter Series, Part 6: A Prisoner Set Free

Posted on by
Reply

Two crosses stood touching the afternoon sky, each holding a thief. Both robbers hung with arms outstretched and watched as the spikes were nailed into the hands and feet of the One to be hung on the third cross. Each relived the excruciating pain with each strike of the mallet.

The crowd stood watching, staring, wondering if they were about to witness a miracle. After all, the man in the middle – the one they called Jesus – wasn’t this the man who just days before was being followed by hordes of people wherever he went?

The last strike was hurled as the spike was set in place. With rugged strength and without thought to the pain caused by movement, the soldiers hoisted the cross into its hole with a thud. The jolt caused searing pain to pierce through his body. The body of Christ.

The soldiers picked up Jesus’ clothes lying at the base of the splintered wood cross and began laughing amongst themselves as they cast lots for the garments, which were bloodied and stained. The crowds mocked him saying, “He saved other people – let him save himself!” People watched as the soldiers, after finishing their game, responded to Jesus’ plea for a drink by offering him vinegar – the completion of prophecies recorded long ago.

The two thieves, one hanging on each side, watched as the circus of death continued.

With a rough voice, the thief on his right yelled to Jesus (paraphrased), “Aren’t you the guy who claimed to be the big shot Messiah? Yeah, well then save yourself! Better yet – Save us!”

The other thief interjected (again, paraphrased). “Don’t you even fear God’s wrath man, since you yourself are under the same sentence? We deserve to die for what we’ve done, but this man hasn’t done anything wrong!”

How did he know?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had only been a week ago that he had been caught stealing his neighbor’s lamb in preparation for the Passover. Living in poverty, he had no lamb or goat to use, yet alone one without blemish, spots or anything else. He wanted his family to celebrate the Passover as all the other townspeople were – preparing their homes for the annual feast. What was so wrong with that? He’d repay the person he was stealing it from. Of course, he still needed to repay all the other things he had stolen or his wife was never going to speak to him again.

His family was perpetually poor and he did all he could to keep them fed and clothed but the size of their arms and legs were their very evidence of their poverty. At night, he would and scrounge the pigpens, where even the pigs ate better than he on scraps thrown outside the temple gates – scraps from the chief priest’s dinners.

He promised his wife that this year’s Passover would be different, but the past weeks and even years thievery made this year’s promise a prisoner and ultimately sentenced him to a cross.

If he had it to do over again, he still would have tried to find a lamb somewhere for his family. It was that important to him. He wanted his children to know what God had done for his people. How he had saved them from death so many years ago by passing over their home if an unblemished lamb’s blood had been applied to the doorposts. He wanted them to always remember and never forget. After today, however, there would be no do-overs and he wouldn’t have to steal to provide. He would no longer have to. It was his day of sentencing – his day of death.

There would be no miracles here today. Or so it seemed.

The thief that had mocked Jesus now hung silently next to the One who, whether he wanted to or not, he would one day bow down to. He was finding it harder to stay alive with each breath he took. The other thief that had rebuked him when he had mocked Christ, used his final breaths to make a desperate plea to Jesus.

“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

His eyes were sincere. His plea even more. His faith was off the charts. In the final moments of his life, Christ sets him free. Jesus sees his faith, he hears his plea and he answers with grace.

“I tell you the truth – today you will be with me in paradise.”

The thief had been granted freedom, took his last breath, and passed from this life to the next.

Can you imagine such joy? Yes, there had been a miracle that day. Everyone else just missed it.

j0308984signature

Easter Series, Part 2: Bound For My Freedom

Posted on by
2

I have always wanted to prepare for Easter by taking the month leading up to that holiday and reflect on the events that make up what we call, Easter. I began that the other day with “When Jesus Says Your Name“.  It was the story of Mary as she stands at the tomb, distraught over her Jesus being gone. basket-roses-straight-sharp

Today, I hope you enjoy the next story – that of the shepherd boy who sits by Jesus when he’s born, only to meet up with him again as he assists his cousin Joseph with Christ’s burial.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On an assumed cold, wintry night, approximately 2,000 some years ago, a little baby was born. His mother wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a feeding trough (more commonly known to all as a manger), somewhere in a little town called Bethlehem, located in what is known as the West Bank of the Middle East. A tiny, little baby in a big part of the world.

As his mother slept and his father tried to figure out what they were going to do next, the little baby cooed. All wrapped up in his swaddling cloths, he was quite content and happy enough for just being born. And besides, Asher, the shepherd boy who had listened to what the angels had told him, sat right at his side in awe of this little miracle.

Asher straightened the baby’s cloths. He had an inkling to loosen them, seeing that they bound him from moving about. How he wished he could hold him. Why did mothers wrap their babies so tight, anyhow? It was a practice he never understood. All those strips of cloth, binding his limbs still, all to ensure that this little man would grow strong and his arms and legs straight? Oh well. For now, Asher just traced the little baby’s face with his index finger, softly following the baby’s brow line and then down his baby nose, over his baby lips and then up to the other brow, repeating the process over and again until the newborn fell asleep.

Asher wondered if his mother had wrapped him in linen such as that. In that way. Was he bound tightly so that he couldn’t move? Wouldn’t move? Was he constrained from stretching his fingers up into the air? Were his feet confined from layers of cloth wrapped around his legs so that he was unable to kick freely as he had done while in his mother’s womb? How was a little baby supposed to strengthen his muscles if constricted from movement?

Swaddling clothes seemed to be a form of bondage to Asher. Bondage that kept this little baby from being welcomed freely into the world. Perhaps it was a sign. After all, his route in getting here to this stable was a bit miraculous, if he dared to use such an explanation.

The baby’s father looked tired and his eyes bloodshot as his head rested against the wall of the stable. Asher felt pity toward him.

“Sir – I can guard the little baby if you fall asleep.”

The father moved his head from the wall and turned it slightly to face Asher. A weary smile crept over the man’s face as he contemplated Asher’s offer.

“Thank you,” the deep voice sounded. “I’m not sure if I can sleep. But what about you? Is your mother worried about you? Shouldn’t you get home?”

“Oh, no. The other two boys that were with me earlier – they were my brothers and it was our turn to tend the flock tonight. She’s not expecting me home tonight and they told me it was okay to stay a while when they went back to the field. But, I – I can leave if you want me to.”

The father smiled. “No – you can stay. I think he likes you here,” he said, looking at the baby. “Maybe I will take you up on that offer. You wake me up if he wakes up.”

“Yes, sir,” Asher promptly responded and with that, the baby’s father rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes and the mother continued to sleep soundly, her head resting on the father’s lap, as the rest of her body lay on a mound of hay.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jesus knew he wouldn’t see his next birthday. Things were moving rapidly now and heating up amongst the people and officials and he knew His time to do what He was sent here to do was now at hand.

As he knelt in the garden, he continued praying as he had been doing all night, only now he was hearing voices coming from the front entrance. Within moments, on every side Roman soldiers surrounded him, death dancing in their eyes. Did they really think they needed hundreds of men to take him captive? Did they secretly believe He was who he said he was and think they couldn’t stop him unless they brought a battalion of men?

He went peacefully and some might say, He suffered peacefully. When it was over – the beatings, the mockery, the crucifixion – he died.

Joseph, a good and upright man and having been granted permission to take Jesus’ body down from the cross, began preparing Jesus’ body for burial as Asher helped. For Asher, there was something familiar about this man who had been hung on a cross to die for no apparent reason. Something Asher couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Asher knelt beside his cousin, whom he had come to visit and helped him remove the spikes that held Jesus’ hands to the timber, splintered and now coated with the stickiness of dried blood. With great gentleness and care, after each spike had been removed, they gently laid the body beside the cross on which he had breathed his last breath.

Joseph untied a cloth bag and removed strips of linen. Asher helped his cousin to wrap the dead body. Around and around the feet, methodically they wrapped the body, moving up the legs. Then, positioning the stiffened arms straight against the sides of his torso, Joseph and Asher continued wrapping, overlapping layer after layer, until they were to the neck.

“Who was this man?” Asher finally sliced through the silence, a feeling of familiarity once again surrounding him. “What was his name?”

“They called him Jesus.”

Asher stopped. “They called him what?”

“His name was Jesus. I really believe, no matter how stupid it sounds, He was the Son of God.”

Asher’s face turned white.

“Are you okay, Ash? You don’t look good.”

From swaddling cloths to grave cloths, this was no coincidence.

“Do you remember that story I told you about when you helped me tend the flocks that summer when I was twenty? The story about the angels and the baby we found at the stable when I was a little runt?”

Joseph’s face was expressionless as he stared at Asher, except for the wideness of his eyes, which were staring back at Asher. “Yes.”

“I think this is him.”

“You told me he was born in Bethlehem.”

“He was, but his parents had gone there for the census and eventually, I heard they left to go back where they came from. His father told me what I told you that night we were talking – he was no ordinary baby and the angels that told us to go into town and we’d find a baby in a manger – this was him. I know it.”

Joseph looked at the baby, wrapped in linen except for the blood stained face and matted hair. A tear dropped from his eye and landed silently on a piece of cloth that he held in his hand.

“I remember watching him that night in the stable and for some reason, wishing I could have removed the swaddling clothes and let him be free to move around. And now, here I am wrapping him up, making him bound once again.”

“You’re not going to bind him. He said after three days he would rise again. Even the Pharisees are afraid. You can bet they’re going to station guards at the tomb. Nothing’s going to hold him back, Asher. Nothing. And that – I know.”

Asher sat and listened to his cousin, who was so confident that this man they tended to was the Messiah. Did he realize what he was saying? And yet, didn’t Asher himself believe that the little baby some thirty years ago, who he watched try to wiggle his way from being bound with the linens of long ago – didn’t he believe that little baby would change the world – just as the angels had said?

With sorrow, now mixed with anticipation, they finished what they had come here for. They wrapped Jesus’ face and then carried him to the tomb. There was nothing more they could do. They laid him down on the stone and with the help of the soldiers already waiting at the tomb, rolled a large stone in front of the entrance as two women watched from afar.

As they walked toward Joseph’s home, Asher asked, “Tell me again what he said about coming back to life after three days.”

And so it was – the third day. Asher was heading back to Bethlehem and decided to take the path that passed Joseph’s tomb. A nagging curiosity had been his companion the last two days. He stopped, seeing commotion ahead.

Sliding off his donkey, he tied it to a nearby olive tree. He walked closer, seeing the two women who had been watching from afar as he and Joseph rolled the stone across the front of the tomb just days before.

Three men were talking to them and suddenly they gasped, ran into the open tomb; back out again, and down the road – right past Asher. As they passed, one of them turned to him, exclaiming, “He’s alive!”

His eyes followed her as she ran by, yet she never stopped and kept running.

He turned back toward the tomb. The men were gone. They hadn’t passed him. They weren’t walking away from him down the road in the other direction. They were just – gone. He looked all around – no one. Slowly, he walked toward the place where the men had stood while they were speaking to the three women. He could see the tomb.

It had taken six men to roll that stone in front of the tomb. The women couldn’t have moved it, even if the three men had helped. He and Joseph could barely do it with the assistance of the four hefty built Roman guards.

Asher stood at the entrance, took a deep breath and then stepped inside. It was dark, but bright enough with the light from outside streaming in behind him, was able to see what he needed to see. They body was gone. And, at that moment he was certain.

The body hadn’t ‘disappeared’. No one had taken it. He knew how he and Joseph had wrapped that body. Carefully – oh so carefully. And there, on the stone where they had laid the body, lay the grave cloths. Neatly folded, in a pile, on the stone.

Asher was shivering, every inch of his body tingling with excitement. He picked up the top cloth and a strange peace coated every inch of his being as he held the cloth to his face, lightly passing it across his cheek.

The little baby he had fallen in love with. The baby he wanted to set free. And though for burial Joseph and he had bound him as a man, Asher knew in his heart that this man they called Jesus and had hung on a cross – truly he was the Messiah. He saw him wrapped in swaddling clothes as a baby and bound him in grave cloths in death. But he knew – the next time he saw him – it would be with outstretched arms, as Asher’s Savior and Lord.

Just as the angels had said.