Tuesday, March 27, 2012

6 hours

You know, there are a few landmark moments in my life in which the Lord made Himself and His redemptive work perfectly clear to me- when it clicked that He died for me... FOR ME!!!  One of those times was while I was sitting in a study hall my senior year of high school.  I had three of them...  I don't know why I picked up the book- I wasn't at all a reader- but I did and I read it twice in 3 days.  I bought the hard cover just so it would hold up to my re-reads... Such a powerfully simple book that I still read often.  I have a couple of copies in various places so I can jump in when needed. That book is "Six Hours One Friday" by Max Lucado.
I still am in awe when I read it.  I try to just read one section, but it inevitably turns into a cover-to-cover marathon.  I know that there are better books out there, chances are I have them in my library, but for whatever reason, this one touched me deeply 13 years ago, and still does today.
I get to preach on the the thieves on the cross tomorrow.  I looked to Lucado for inspiration, and found it in spades.  mmm... so good.
So, as my Lenten gift to you, Chapter 13 of "Six Hours One Friday"
The Eleventh Hour of Grace:

     Nicodemus came in the middle of the night. The centurion came in the middle of the day. The leper and the sinful woman appeared in the middle of crowds. Zacchaeus appeared in the middle of a tree. Matthew had a party for him.
     The educated. The powerful. The rejected. The sick. The lonely. The wealthy. Who would have ever assembled such a crew? All they had in common were their empty hope chests, long left vacant by charlatans and profiteers. Though they had nothing to offer, they asked for everything: a new birth, a second chance, a fresh start, a clean conscience. And without exception their requests were honored.
     And now, one more beggar comes with a request. Only minutes from the death of them both, he stands before the King. He will ask for crumbs. And he, like the others, will receive a whole loaf.
     Skull’s hill---windswept and stony. The thief---gaunt and pale.     
     Hinges squeak as the door of death closes on his life.
     His situation is pitiful. He’s taking the last step down the spiral staircase of failure. One crime after another. One rejection after another. Lower and lower he descended until he reached the bottom---a crossbeam and three spikes.
     He can’t hide who he is. His only clothing is the cloak of his disgrace. No fancy jargon. No impressive résumé. No Sunday school awards. Just a naked history of failure.
     He sees Jesus.
     Earlier he had mocked the man. When the crowd first chorused its criticism, he’d sung his part.1 But now he doesn’t mock Jesus. He studies him. He begins to wonder who this man might be.
     How strange. He doesn’t resist the nails; he almost invites them.
     He hears the jests and the insults and sees the man remain quiet. He sees the fresh blood on Jesus’ cheeks, the crown of thorns scraping Jesus’ scalp, and he hears the hoarse whisper, “Father, forgive them.”
     Why do they want him dead?
     Slowly the thief’s curiosity offsets the pain in his body. He momentarily forgets the nails rubbing against the raw bones of his wrists and the cramps in his calves.
     He begins to feel peculiar warmth in his heart: he begins to care; he begins to care about this peaceful martyr.
            There no anger in his eyes, only tears.
     He looks at the huddle of soldiers throwing dice in the dirt, gambling for a ragged robe. He sees the sign above Jesus’ head. It’s painted with sarcasm: King of the Jews.
     They mock him as a king. If he were crazy they would ignore him. If he had no followers, they’d turn him away. If he were nothing to fear, they wouldn’t kill him. You only kill a king if he has a kingdom.
     Could it be. . .
     His cracked lips open to speak.
     Then, all of a sudden, his thoughts are exploded by the accusations of the criminal on the other cross. He, too, has been studying Jesus, but studying through the blurred lens of cynicism.
     “So you’re the Messiah, are you? Prove it by saving yourself---and us, too, while you’re at it”2
     It’s an inexplicable dilemma---how two people can hear the same words and see the same Savior, and one see hope and the other see nothing but himself.
     It was all the first criminal could take. Perhaps the crook who hurled the barb expected the other crook to take the cue and hurl a few of his own. But he didn’t. No second verse was sung. What the bitter-tongued criminal did hear were words of defense.
     “Don’t you fear God?”
     Only minutes before these same lips had cursed Jesus. Now they are defending him. Every head on the hill lifts to look at this one who spoke on behalf of the Christ. Every angel weeps and every demon gapes.
     Who could have imagined this thief thinking of anyone but himself? He’d always been the bully, the purse-snatching brat. Who could remember the last time he’d come to someone’s aid? But as the last grains of sand trickle through his hourglass, he performs man’s noblest act. He speaks on God’s behalf
     Where are those we would expect to defend Jesus?
     A much more spiritual Peter has abandoned him.
     A much more educated Pilate has washed his hands of him.
     A much more loyal mob of countrymen has demanded his death.
     A much more faithful band of disciples has scattered.
     When it seems that everyone has turned away, a crook places himself between Jesus and the accusers and speaks on his behalf.
     “Don’t you even fear God when you are dying? We deserve to die for our evil deeds, but this man hasn’t done one thing wrong.”3
     The soldiers look up. The priests cease chattering. Mary wipes her tears and raises her eyes. No one had even noticed the fellow, but now everyone looks at him.
     Perhaps even Jesus looks at him. Perhaps he turns to see the one who had spoken when all others had remained silent. Perhaps he fights to focus his eyes on the one who offered this final gesture of love he’d receive while alive. I wonder, did he smile as this sheep straggled into the fold?
     For that, in effect, is exactly what the criminal is doing. He is stumbling to safety just as the gate is closing. Lodged in the thief’s statement are the two facts that anyone needs to recognize in order to come to Jesus. Look at the phrase again. Do you see them?      “We are getting what we deserve. This man has done nothing wrong.”4
     We are guilty and he is innocent.
     We are filthy and he is pure.
     We are wrong and he is right
     He is not on that cross for his sins. He is there for ours.
And once the crook understands this, his request seems only natural. As he looks into the eyes of his last hope, he made the same request any Christian has made.
     “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.”5
     No stained-glass homilies. No excuses. Just a desperate plea for help.
     At this point Jesus performs the greatest miracle of the cross. Greater than the earthquake. Greater than the tearing of the temple curtain. Greater than the darkness. Greater than the resurrected saints appearing on the streets.
     He performs the miracle of forgiveness. A sin-soaked criminal is received by a blood-stained Savior.
     “Today you will be with me in Paradise. This is a solemn promise.”6
     Wow. Only seconds before the thief was a beggar nervously squeezing his hat at the castle door, wondering if the King might spare a few crumbs. Suddenly he’s holding the whole pantry.
     Such is the definition of grace. (121-125)

Notes
1. Matthew 27:44, NIV
2. Luke 23:39, Living Bible
3. Luke 23:40, Living Bible
4. Luke 23:41, NIV
5. Luke 23:42, NIV
6. Luke 23:43, Living Bible
 “Six Hours One Friday,” by Max Lucado,  published in 1989 by Multnomah Books.


Thank you Lord for your unfathomable grace.

de vine!

ha.  well, the 66 books in 66 days thing didn't quite come to fruition, but I still hope to get through them all.  Life just got in the way of the 2 month time frame...

I'm in between mission trips currently.  I just got back from FL and am off to AL on Friday.  I really love the road.  I love sleeping in a moving van, I love the sound of the road, the food selections from gas stations, living out of a suit case, and not knowing what city I'm in.  Methinks I'm destined to be on a tour someday.  That would be sweet.

On this last trip, however, something odd happened.  We were in southern Illinois- I was driving the lead van and my GPS said to take hwy 74.  The Suburban behind me had a GPS that told them to go hwy 55.  I went with 74.  Oh, and before that we were supposed to be back on the road at 7:45, but some girls were late, so we didn't get back trippin' till 7:55.  Fast forward to 10:10pm- about 50 miles after we committed to hwy 74 and we are stopped on the highway.  For two hours we sat on the road.  We got out and ran around, had a dance party, pillow fight, and Catch Phrase marathon, but we did not move for 2 hours.  It turns out someone's life was sadly taken in what seems to be a tragic hit-and-run.  It happened 10 minutes before we got there.  SO, had we been on time, it is entirely possible we would have witnessed something pretty traumatic. 

The whole scenario has not left my mind this whole week.  I cannot help but think that there was a divine purpose for our being on that road.  What? Why?  I have no clue.  We gathered around and prayed for the situation once we realized it was a pretty severe accident- there were no less than 2 dozen squad cars at the scene.  Other than that, it was just a time to goof around and hope we didn't kill the car battery while we sat and waited.  But we could have (and should have) been on hwy 55.  It was the better route- I knew that- I've taken it before... But I was feelin' 74.  Why would God want us to be on the road and two hours behind schedule?  Maybe there was another accident that we avoided by being where we were- who knows?  Is that how God works?  Events and situations are on a non-stop course, all God can do is maneuver His people around them in hopes we get through unscathed?  I don't necessarily think so, but I really can't say.  God's will is (thankfully) a mystery.  How feeble would God be if we, his (sinful) creation, were to have the capacity to fully understand his divine will?  That would make us gods, or, more aptly, it would make God only as mighty as the mightiest human, and by definition, he would thus cease to be a god.

Thankfully, this is not the case. 

God is bigger than we can even fathom.  He works in mysterious ways- but always for the good of those who love him and have been called according to his purpose.  But why the seemingly random and annoying events?  Maybe because I was really tough on this schedule- the pastor wasn't too thrilled about our late ETA, so I was trying to shave and save every minute so that we would arrive right at 9pm- we were ahead of schedule- and I was happy as a clam.  Then we stopped.  Maybe it was just a simple and gentle reminder that God is indeed the one in control.  That we can plan the course, but the Lord determines the steps (or, in this case, the drive).  Ironically, even after the 2 hour delay, we were STILL 10 minutes early.  Granted, our stops were really fast and furious, but we still made our deadline, which was pretty neat.

Why did we take that route?  Why did we have to wait?  Maybe it was another lesson in patience.  In waiting.  In "letting go and letting God".  All of those things were taught.  We literally could do nothing but dance and have a good time.  We couldn't go anywhere.  No one could be mad if we were late- it was out of our hands.  We had to be patient and wait for the road to re-open or (as it turned out) for the police to divert us back the opposite way. 
Regardless, I know that this was no coincidence or happenstance.  At least, I don't think it was.  Some folks say that there is no such thing as coincidence to a Christian... I'm not entirely sure that's true- I mean, sometimes our imaginations run wild and we connect dots that we maybe shouldn't (like 99% of the conspiracy theories out there).  But, I like to think that everything that occurs in my life is at the discretion of my Lord.  Whether or not that is true, I guess I cannot be certain, but I know that he has a plan to prosper me and not to harm me, I know he determines my steps, he commands his angels concerning me to guard me in all my ways, he knows the past and the future, he knows my name and cares for me exponentially more than he cares for the tiny sparrow, and most importantly, my eternal future is secured through his perfect Son's death and resurrection.  So I got that going for me... which is nice.  As for why I was on 74, maybe it was just so that I can have another story to tell... who knows?  I just know that next time I'll be taking 55.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

“...sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself...”
― Donald Miller