Jason Gaboury's Blog

Lent Exercises: Behold - Seeing Jesus Afresh in his Passion

Adapted from Wait With Me; Meeting God in Loneliness.

“Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. 2 And the soldiers wove a crown of thorns and put it on his head, and they dressed him in a purple robe. 3 They kept coming up to him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” and striking him on the face. 4 Pilate went out again and said to them, “Look, I am bringing him out to you to let you know that I find no case against him.” 5 So Jesus came out, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said to them, “Here is the man!” 6 When the chief priests and the police saw him, they shouted, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”[1]

Jesus’ trial is a mockery of justice.  He is brought to Pilate as a would-be messiah, king of the Jews, but there is no evidence presented.  Tom Wright comments,

“Pilate doesn’t understand, and doesn’t want to understand, the ins and outs of the odd ways (as they would seem to him) in which the Jews organize their life. But he knows what kings are, what kingdoms are, where they come from, and how they behave. And he knows that it’s his job to allow no such thing on his patch. So out he comes with it. ‘Are you the King of the Jews?’

The idea is, of course, so laughable that he knows, within his own frame of reference, what the answer is. He sees before him a poor man from the wrong part of the country. He has a small band of followers and they’ve all run away. Of course he’s not the king. But … maybe he thinks he is. Maybe he’s really deluded.” [2]

Jesus has not simply been abandoned by his friends, but as his hour has come, he is abandoned by his people.  Pilate represents the Roman occupation, an enemy of the people of God, a ruthless governor, and a pagan.  After a fascinating conversation about the nature of power, kingship, authority, and truth, Pilate has him flogged.  Jesus’ vulnerability has escalated, now he is not only relationally abandoned, but physically beaten.  Flogging was a painful, but non-lethal way for the Roman government to exercise its power.  Roman citizens could not be flogged without a trial and sentence, Jesus has no such citizenship.  He is flogged as a public nuisance, an exercise designed to show everyone, including the victim, who’s in charge and to discourage any challenge to Roman rule.  As a non-citizen, Jesus has no court of appeal.  He simply must endure the beating. 

The symbols of robe and crown are intentionally distorted to increase the abuse.  Rather than a crown of laurels, which would have been a symbol of honor and victory, Jesus is given a crown of thorns.  The wreath around his head announces failure, dishonor, and shame.  Purple cloth was associated with royalty.  By dressing Jesus in it they are mocking his claim to kingship.  The whole ordeal is designed to symbolically shout to the whole community, “this is what Rome does to your pitiful kings.”

As I look on this scene I’m horrified by the violence, but also by how easily it is harnessed against someone who simply, ‘fits the description’.  Jesus is clearly no political threat to Pilate or to the Roman Occupation.  He is beaten anyway.  Jesus’ protection from imperial violence, if there was to be some, would come from his people who were afforded some liberties and entrusted with their own judicial system.  Jesus’ is offered up by his community instead. 

After being bloodied, beaten, and mocked so that Jesus’ public humiliation would smash any hope of revolutionary zeal, Pilate brings Jesus out to the crowd.  It’s a moving scene.  Jesus is clearly defeated.  His seditious ideas, if there were any, subverted and crushed.  Now, Jesus, is taken out so that the crowd can tremble before Roman imperial power and beg for mercy on behalf of their bloodied and bruised son.  This is how the political game worked.  Rome was a bestial regime of total military domination to her enemies but saw herself as benevolent and civilizing to her subjects.  All the crowd needed to do was cry out for mercy, humble itself, and Jesus would have been released to them.  Even those who disapproved of Jesus could have been comforted to know that he’d been, ‘put in his place’ by Rome. 

Instead of mercy, the crowd cries out for his death. 

Like the last passage with the outside interpreting the inside and vice versa this passage composed similarly.  Instead of two layers, there are three.  The outer most is Jesus being handed over to Rome, first for examination, then for crucifixion.  The second layer is a discussion between Jesus and Pilate about power, authority, and truth.  And in the center is Jesus, bloodied and beaten, in a mock gown and thorny crown, standing before the crowd.  This is the focus of John’s story. Pilate’s words, Ἰδοὺ ὁ ἄνθρωπος[3] literally, (Look, See, or Behold, the man) emphasize the point. 

Imagine this scene.  Allow your senses to stop and behold Jesus in this moment.  What do you see?  

Here’s a prayer you might consider. 

Jesus, let me sit here and simply look at you.  You hold, in your body, the dignity and beauty of human life and all the corruption and vileness of evil.  You stare in love, a love freely given, at a crowd screaming for your blood.  Grant me the grace to know you more truly and love you more deeply.  

[1] The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version. (1989). (Jn 19:1–6). Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers.

[2] Wright, T. (2004). John for Everyone, Part 2: Chapters 11-21 (p. 114). London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge.

[3] Holmes, M. W. (2011–2013). The Greek New Testament: SBL Edition (Jn 19:5). Lexham Press; Society of Biblical Literature.

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Lent Exercises: Trial - A Story of Love, Fear, and Shame

Adapted from  Wait With Me; Meeting God in Loneliness .

John 18:15-27 tells the story of Peter’s denial of Jesus during Jesus’ trial by the religious authorities.[1]

By separating Peter’s denials with the story of Jesus’ trial before the high priest, John is inviting his readers to use the ‘outside’ (Peter’s denial) to interpret the ‘inside’ (Jesus’ trial) and vice versa.  Over-familiarity with this story can clouded our vision, keeping us from seeing the trial and denial to be thematically intertwined. 

Imagine yourself watching Peter come into the courtyard, let in by that disciple, “known to the high priest.”[2] Peter’s there only because his fellow disciple, a man the high priest knows, lets him in.  The relational connections carry over into the woman’s question at the gate.  Of course, she’d ask if he was also a disciple… the one asking for him to be let in was a disciple.  Being a disciple of Jesus was not a crime.  Even though Jesus was being questioned for his teaching and actions, the act of being his disciple was at best a poor association, not a punishable crime.  It would have been natural for Jesus to have some of his disciples come to his trial as witnesses on his behalf.  

Now imagine the dynamic Jon is unfolding.  No one’s coming to Jesus’ defense.  Allow that to sit with you. 

Jesus’ testimony before the high priest opens the floor for testimony.  “Ask those who heard what I said,”[3] is Jesus’ defense.  In my mind’s eye, I see Jesus looking up at Peter and his other disciple.  They know what Jesus taught.  They were with him night and day.  Jesus’ words cry out for someone to say, “I heard what Jesus taught, question me.”  Instead, there is silence and violence. 

The scene moves again to Peter.  People in the crowd ask him if he was a disciple.  One even asks if he didn’t see Peter in the garden with Jesus.  Peter denies everything.

How is it that every year, when we hear this story, we never consider that Peter was in a position to testify on Jesus’ behalf?  How is it that we justify Peter’s actions as understandable self-protection?  It wasn’t.  The disciple known to the high priest was in no danger, why should Peter have been?  How could both of them had stayed quiet as their friend and rabbi sat in front of them asking for a witness?  How could Peter lie in the face of people who recognized him? 

I imagine Jesus looking at me.  “Ask those who heard…,” he says.  I am riveted to his gaze.  I’ve heard Jesus’ teaching since I was small.  Jesus is speaking directly to me in his moment of need, and my legs are stuck to the ground, I can’t speak, paralyzed by shame. 

Jesus’ gaze continues to pierce my heart, and I begin to imagine his grief.  Imagine staring into the face of your best friends, in your moment of need, knowing that one word could change your suffering, and watch them lie and deny even knowing you.  Sure, we’ve had people lie to and about us, but nothing like that.  The depth of Jesus’ suffering is so profound. 

I’d have been crushed by this kind of betrayal.  My love, mixed with need, would have rapidly turned to spite and hatred, but Jesus’ eyes are not filled with disgust.  They are filled with love. 

What do you want to say to Jesus as he looks at you with love? 

Want to take your Holy Week even deeper? Check out the latest episode of InterVarsity’s  After IV Podcast  where Jon Steele and I discuss Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Resurrection Sunday, and the Easter Season.

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Lent Exercises: Sleep - A Meditation on Betrayal and Compassion

Adapted from Wait With Me; Meeting God in Loneliness. 

As we move into Holy Week we’ll consider Jesus’ arrest, trial, and passion. 

“Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” 37 He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be grieved and agitated. 38 Then he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.” 39 And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.” 40 Then he came to the disciples and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter, “So, could you not stay awake with me one hour? 41 Stay awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” 42 Again he went away for the second time and prayed, “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.” 43 Again he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were heavy. 44 So leaving them again, he went away and prayed for the third time, saying the same words. 45 Then he came to the disciples and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? See, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. 46 Get up, let us be going. See, my betrayer is at hand.”” (Matthew 26:36-46)

I’d always imagined Jesus walking away from his disciples, leaving them uncertain about what he was doing, and unclear about how painfully distraught he was.  But that’s not how the passage reads.  Peter, James, and John are with him when he began to be grieved and agitated.  Jesus speaks to them about his desperate need for companionship.  Jesus simply wants to be with his friends in the final hours before his passion.  Jesus is clearly upset, “grieved, even to death,” and his friends promptly fall asleep. 

The context of this passage makes Peter, James, and John’s sleeping even more of a betrayal.  Peter had promised, boldly, over dinner, “Though all become deserters because of you, I will never desert you.”[1]  Yet, here, a short time after dinner, with no threats or fears for his safety, Peter abandons Jesus to thrash in grief on the ground all alone.  One time, Peter had even chided Jesus, “do you not care that we are perishing.”[2]  He said this because Jesus was asleep in the back of the boat while Peter and the disciples were trying to keep their boat upright in the midst of raging wind and deadly waves.   Now, Jesus is the one facing a storm, a storm to darken the sky, mutilate his flesh, and torture him to death, and Peter’s asleep. 

Justice would spit Peter’s words in his face.  Imagine Jesus coming over to Peter and shaking him awake, “do you not care that I am perishing,” Jesus’ face a mix of sternness and desolation.  But instead Jesus absorbs Peter’s injustice and inconsistency.  Peter doesn’t know it yet, but he’s already deserted Jesus.  

How could Jesus have been in such obvious distress and his best friends leave him wailing in prayer, in a state of anguish, after being explicitly asked to sit and pray with him? 

Jesus’ response to his friends’ sleeping shows dizzying amounts of compassion and self-control.  He does not lash out at them in anger and spite, nor does he withdraw from them in bitterness.  Jesus reaches out to them, confronting their failure and inviting them, again, to share in these hours of anguish with him.  The contrast between Jesus’ desperation and his composed compassion was arresting.  How could Jesus, even in the midst of his desperate grief, demonstrate concern for Peter, James, and John? 

As you reflect on this story what do you want to say to Jesus? 

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What Could Grow in This Season - by Bette Dickinson (special guest post)

What Could Possibly Grow in This Season?

Click Here for Seeds of Hope Guide

Surrendering to the Soil of Suffering

We have all encountered loss or disappointment in some way in the last 2 years. Coronavirus made sure of that. Some experienced more, others less. But perhaps this is one of the first times some of us are awakening to what collective suffering looks like. 

Let me name some of the loss and disappointment. Feel free to name your own.

First, our schedules were upended.

Then our routines.

Then our jobs.

Our families.

Then - the news began to trickle in of losses. We started to hear about people dying. Fear crept in. 

We lost physical community.

We lost loved ones perhaps.

We lost celebrations like normal weddings and graduations.

We lost a sense of certainty and security.

We lost our sanity.

Our world became rocked by the loss of life, division, violence, oppression, and injustice. We have grieved through shootings, natural disasters, racial unrest and political unrest, and now - war in Ukraine.

This is a lot to take in. Take a deep breath. Really. If you're experiencing anxiety reading the lists above, you likely have unresolved grief and stress. I'm here to help.

Like me, you may be still needing to process the losses that began in March, or maybe encountering fresh losses today. 

Yet, my guess is that most of us have not slowed down long enough to process and grieve all we have lost. Maybe we haven’t had the time to and were too overwhelmed by just trying to stay afloat to grieve. Or maybe we had the time, but were just too afraid to go there. And perhaps some of us just skipped right over grief to go back to business as usual (well - sort of usual).

That's why I wrote this. To give you the words for what you're experiencing and help you through it.

Even if we did take some time to grieve what was lost - there is likely more to uncover. And grief is not linear. It doesn’t have a timeline. It may just come right back around when we least expect it. That’s how grief works.

But what if we took some time to intentionally go there? To grieve, to lament, to process what has happened? What if God is just waiting for us to stop, to listen to our own cries and the cries of the world, and to bring them to Him?

This series is designed to help you to do just that. To name the pain, sit in it and invite God into it. As I have poured over these words, I have been praying that they will serve you in the journey to mourn what was lost. Because I believe that when we invite God into our loss, He may surprise us by how He might just even grow something through it.

The Biblical Model for Growth

It’s counterintuitive to our Western worldview to invite suffering and pain as a gift of transformation. In our culture, when we think about growth, we often think of things like “5 successful strategies to grow your business.” Or in the self-help world, “12 steps to becoming your best self.”

In education, we think about growth in certificates and degrees that prove to the world that we know something. We often focus on growth that has external measurements - numerical, mechanical, and visible.

We do the same thing in ministry when we talk about the spiritual life. We tend to use terms like the harvest and fruitfulness to measure ministry growth. What we often mean by this is what we see on the outside. The numbers of people coming to faith. The size of an audience. The number of leaders. And there is some Biblical basis for this. Jesus often talked about the harvest being plentiful, and that we are to reap faithfully. In Acts, multiple times the authors record the number of people who came to faith.

But - have you ever considered the process that leads up to that harvest? How does a plant, a ministry, a person, get to a place of fruitfulness and harvest? Where does that journey begin?

According to Jesus, this process begins at the Cross.

“The hour has come for the son of man to be glorified. Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”

-John 12:24

Jesus was saying - do you want to produce many seeds and be fruitful? Do you want to make an impact on the world? Look at the process of how life works all around you - in the things that grow. 

Jesus models for us a willingness to surrender to God in the midst of suffering through the Cross rather than running from suffering (hello the disciples that fled the scene) or trying to fight it (hello Peter, hello me).

Jesus chose to enter into suffering on our behalf. And in this series, we are going to uncover what happened when he sat in that darkness and in the Tomb of the grave and waiting. Suffering affords us the opportunity to follow Jesus to the Cross so that he can transform us through suffering. But this growth is often very hidden. We don't often see the results right away. 

Growth Under the Surface

Any gardener will tell you that the journey of growth in the soil is a journey downwards to hiddenness, darkness, and death. A harvest begins with a single seed. And that seed was planted in the ground and had to die.

If the sower was able to peek into the darkness where a seed is buried, she could glimpse it unfolding from death to life. We would see something happening. But often as sowers, we don’t get to witness this miracle. Instead, our vantage point is above the ground where we don’t see anything happening for a long time. 

It is in the long in-between months that we have to wait with hope that one day what we have sown will pop above the soil again with the resurrection of all life. 

But it is in the darkness of the earth that the seed begins to grow. This is where the journey begins and where God meets us - in the hidden growth of darkness, death, and pain.

In some mysterious way, God promises that when we surrender to Him in the midst of loss and disappointment, He produces a resurrection on the other side. And that resurrection produces an eternal harvest.

Every. Single. Time.

When I read this passage in John 12, my heart sank. 

“Oh,” I thought, “That’s how you grow. That’s how you produce a harvest - when you die and are buried in the grave with Jesus.”

It is not from death that Jesus saves. It is through death.

“Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be.” - John 12:25

You can’t go under it. You can’t go over it. You’ve gotta go through it.

Pain. Loss. Grief. Failure. Disappointments. It is through these things that God transforms us into the people we were made to be. 

Through the Cross, suffering becomes the soil of transformation.

No matter how much we are told through the Gospel that death precedes resurrection, we resist pain. We hate it. We look for some other way. How could this kind of pain produce fruit? But the mystery and the beauty of the Gospel is this: it is in these very places of pain that God’s living water and living breath are allowed in, allowed to heal us, and cause us to grow. When we encounter God in these places, he cracks our shell and we expand and transform. 

I love this quote from Jerry Sittser’s book A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows Through Loss. Sittser experienced catastrophic loss of his wife, mother, and daughter all in one car accident. He describes the process of growth through loss this way,

“Catastrophic loss...will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same. It is not therefore true that we become less through loss - unless we allow the loss to make us less, grinding our soul down until there is nothing left...loss can also make us more...I did not get over the loss of my loved ones; rather, I absorbed the loss into my life, until it became part of who I am. Sorrow took up permanent residence in my soul and enlarged it...the soul is elastic, like a balloon. It can grow larger through suffering.” - Jerry Sittser

So what does it look like to follow Jesus into the soil and the Cross? How do we enter this process? What does it look like practically?

These are the things we will address in this series. For now, let’s reflect on what this might look like for us today.

Reflect:

Take inventory of your life. Where have you personally encountered hardship in the last year? Where have you experienced disappointment, frustration, or loss? Name it. We’ll come back to this later.

Take inventory of your world. Where is there suffering and unrest? It’s not hard to find it on the news or social media. Who are the people in your life who are going through something really difficult? Who has experienced loss recently? What might it look like to enter their experience and grieve with them and wait in hope with them for God to do something new?

A Prayer:

Lord, I hate the way of suffering. I look at the world and in my own life and see so much pain. While suffering is hard to endure, I thank you that you didn’t shy away from darkness, but you stepped into it through your life and death. Help me to do the same in trust that You will bring resurrection on the other side. Help me to take the next steps on the journey with you towards growth by setting my face towards the Cross.

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Lent Exercises: Friendship - Reversing Compassion for Friendship with God.

Adapted from  Wait With Me: Meeting God in Loneliness . 

We sat in silence my face full of questions.  His eyes focused, not on me, but on the small crucifix in the corner of the room.  Inside my mind raced.  What had I missed?  Does he think I’m making progress?  What question should I be asking? 

When I noticed him noticing the crucifix my internal monologue slowed down a bit.  Friar Ugo took a deep breath.  “Jason, it’s clear to me that you want to love Jesus,” he said.  “I do!” I said, surprised by his saying, “want to”.  “Tell me,” he continued, “how can you love someone you don’t really know?”  Now I was offended.  Who was this old man to insinuate that I didn’t know Jesus?  My whole life and ministry oriented around knowing Jesus, wasn’t it? 

Friar Ugo seemed to notice my discomfort.  “I have no doubt of the sincerity of your commitment to Jesus,” he said, “but, to know someone is to enter into their story, to grow your compassion and empathy for them and their experience.”  He paused.  “You describe your prayer life and reflection on scripture as though the point is for Jesus to empathize with you.”  He was right.  I’d loved seeing Jesus’ compassion for the marginal in the gospels.  I often imagined myself as the woman caught in adultery, the prodigal son, the leper.  In Jesus’ compassion, I’d felt hopeful.  I’d think, “Jesus sees me, in my sin, isolation, or fear, and he comes to me in it.” 

Friar Ugo smiled, “I’m glad for the consolation you feel as you enter imagine the scriptures, but I don’t think that’s the point.  What if the loneliness that drives you to seek consolation was meant to expand your heart in compassion for Jesus?”  He paused again.  “You can’t love someone you don’t know… and you only know someone whose experience you’re willing to enter into with empathy and compassion.”  

Something clicked.  Friar Ugo wasn’t denying my faith, my commitment to Jesus, or even the affection for Jesus that energized my spiritual practice.  He was inviting me to love Jesus, for Jesus’ sake, not for mine.  I suddenly began to see my life with God differently.  Years of ministry and bible study had amassed robust knowledge about Jesus.  Years of devotion fueled commitment to Jesus.  But, what about friendship with Jesus? 

I thought about the song, “What a Friend we have in Jesus.” It suddenly struck me how odd the word ‘friendship’ is to describe the relationship depicted in the song. 

What a friend we have in Jesus,
All our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry
Everything to God in prayer!
Oh, what peace we often forfeit,
Oh, what needless pain we bear,
All because we do not carry
Everything to God in prayer!

Imagine a friend to whom you regularly bring grief, sin, burdens, trial, temptations, care, disappointment, but whose own griefs, trials, temptations, or burdens you never stop and consider.  This is the kind of relationship you might have with a therapist, a journal, or confessor, but it’s not the love of friendship.  This hymn is capturing something important about the invitation to pray in the midst of difficulties, trials, temptations, and other desolations.  This is valuable.  But is it friendship?  

As we prepare for Holy Week reading the gospels with fresh perspective.  Try imaging yourself in the scenes as Jesus’ friend, one whose concern is for Jesus’ wellbeing.  Pay attention to whatever feelings come up for you.   Use these as a way of empathizing with Jesus, deepening your friendship with him.  

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Lent Exercises: Grave - A Reflection on Love and Death

Curious about Holy Week (starting this Sunday)? Check out our  latest conversation here  on After IV, the podcast just for InterVarsity Alumni. 

I spent a week in the hospital when I was a kid.   I was weak, dehydrated, and feverish. Visiting hours were strictly observed.  Even when visitors were allowed, few came for me.  I was miserable.  

Hour after hour I prayed asking Jesus for healing.  I prayed earnestly, sincerely, and with as much faith as my child’s heart could muster.  The pain got worse.  Healing was slow and unnoticeable.  I felt invisible to God and forgotten by my family. 

Did Mary and Martha feel invisible and forgotten as they watched their brother die?  Did they hold their breath in hope only to be disappointed?  Did they doubt Jesus even cared about them? 

John 11:38-44 reveals a God whose love is deeper than we can imagine. 

When Jesus comes to his friend Lazarus’ tomb.  John describes Jesus as being, “greatly disturbed.”  This is a curious phrase given the context.  Jesus has already told his disciples he was going to “wake” Lazarus from the sleep of death.  Jesus had hinted to Martha that he intended to raise Lazarus as well.  So why was Jesus greatly disturbed? 

Is it possible that Jesus’ disturbance has to do with his own death?  John’s gospel doesn’t give us Jesus in great distress in the garden of Gethsemane.  It gives us Jesus in great distress at the tomb of his friend.  What if Jesus’ distress as he asks for the tomb to be opened, is not because he’s going to call Lazarus to come out of the tomb, but because Jesus intends to enter the tomb himself?  

If John intends us to make this connection, and I believe he does, it puts his words to Martha in greater context.  “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”  (John 11:40). Throughout the book of John, the concept of glorifying God refers specifically to Jesus’ death and resurrection.  Here they operate at two levels.  Martha believes that Jesus is the resurrection and the life.  She will see Jesus raise her brother from the grave.  But she will also see God’s glory in the face Jesus on the cross. 

Jesus delay in returning to Bethany was not a failure of love on his part.  Jesus loves Lazarus enough, not just to raise him from the grave, but to take his place there.  We may feel invisible or forgotten.  We are not.  God reveals his love for us in Jesus who took on our death so that we may experience his life. 

Have you ever felt invisible to or forgotten by God?  

How does Jesus’ entering into death speak to those feelings? 

Imagine you’re in this scene with Jesus.  What invitation does Jesus have for you? 

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Lent Exercises: Tears - Expressing Love in the Face of Death

Today’s Devotional is adapted from  Wait With Me; Meeting God in Loneliness.

I hate death. I bet you do too, whether it comes after a long illness, an icy stillness, or crushed willfulness. We hate the finality of it, the banality of it, and the violence of it. We hate the death of our loved ones, the death of close relationships, the death of our dreams, the death of our faculties, the death of opportunity, and the death of community. And we hate that everything dies.

Death is the ultimate isolation. Death separates us from the person, the ideal, the opportunity we held dear. In this separation it’s like a part of us dies as well. Some of the hooks we used to hang our sense of identity on are bent out of shape; others are missing entirely. Who am I when my dream of marriage dies in midlife? Who am I when I’m cut off or estranged from parents, siblings, or my faith community? Who am I when I fail? Who am I when my career ambitions die, when I’m out of work, or when I just can’t reach my teenage son or daughter?

In contemporary Western culture, we usually deal with death in one of two ways: denial or despair. Both of these further isolate us and increase loneliness. God’s invitation draws us into the tempest of anger, sadness, doubt, and emptiness. If we’re willing to walk into that terrifying and chaotic swirl of emotion, we can discover death-defying hope.

God does not leave us powerless or isolated. The gospel enables us not to deny or to despair of death but beckons us to death-defying hope. To pursue this hope God invites us to grieve in his presence. Walking through grief is scary. Entering into the Scriptures to grieve alongside or in the presence of God can transform us deeply.

“When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, ‘Where have you laid him?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, come and see.’ This passage leads to the shortest and most pointed verse in the New Testament, “Jesus began to weep” (John 11:33-35). In Greek, the sentence is two words and a definite article. John places the verb dakryō first, to emphasize the action. The sentence reads not Jesusbegan to weep (emphasis on Jesus) but Jesus began to weep (emphasis on weep). Earlier references to weeping in John 11 use a different verb, klaiō. The change in verb as well as word order amplifies John’s message. The tears Jesus shed at the tomb of his friend stick in minds and imaginations.

Imagine this scene. Can you imagine Jesus’ eyes welling up with tears? Can you see the sorrow as his shoulders slump forward, jerking up and down as he allows himself to weep?

What difference does it make that Jesus weeps in the face of death? Jesus’ tears bring the divine Word of John 1 into direct contact with the relentless sorrow, emptiness, and chaos of death in our world. Because Jesus grieved alongside Mary, we can have confidence that Jesus weeps along with us as we confront death.

Jesus’ tears are not simply an exercise in empathy with Mary, but they also witness to the character of Jesus’ relationship with Lazarus. Verse 36 says, “So the Jews said, ‘See how he loved him!’” Jesus’ tears express wordlessly his love and commitment to Lazarus. Jesus did not abandon his friend or forget his profound need. Jesus loved Lazarus deeply. Tears are the expression of love in the face of death.

How are Jesus’ tears a gift to you today?

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Lent Exercises: Glory - Distraction or Solidarity

Nineteen years ago, I had a “fifteen minutes of fame” moment.  Being on stage multiple times a day in front of more than twenty thousand people was a dream come true.  Sure, it was a niche event.  The recognition and appreciation would quickly fade.  But, for those five days, in that small city, we tasted glory.  

 

Parts of this experience were surreal.  Once, while waiting in a minivan for colleagues who’d gone to run an errand, we were surrounded by a crowd of students.  It was bizarre.  People were pressing against the van on all sides, jostling for the chance to look inside.  Students cheered, banged on the window and blocked traffic.  

Having dreamed of a moment like this, I should have found it intoxicating.  It probably would have been, except for fact that thousands of miles away, in a backwater town, mom was dying of cancer.  Just a few months before her sixtieth birthday, her cancer had come back swinging.  By the time I was strutting the boards, mom had given up the fight for recovery.  

 

Holding these experiences together was disorienting.  That week a wise friend suggested sitting in the story of Lazarus from John 11.  The story resonates with themes of love and death, glory and fame, disappointment and grief, even rejection and judgment.  This story has insight to orient our hearts and minds as we prepare for the coming of Holy Week.  

 

In John 11:4, Jesus says, “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God, may be glorified through it.”  On the surface, Jesus’ words seem untrue, even misleading.  Jesus knows that his friend is deathly sick.  He understands the unspoken request to come and heal his friend.  John introduces the sisters making this request not only as women that Jesus loves, but also describes a deed of lavish love and generosity he’d received from Mary.  Surely, if anyone has a claim on Jesus’ time, it’s this family.  

 

Jesus doesn’t come.  He intentionally delays his return to Bethany for two days, knowing that his friend will die.  The only justification we get is this puzzling phrase about God’s glory.  But how does a delaying to come and help someone in desperate need glorify God?  Wouldn’t it be better to come and heal Lazarus as Jesus had healed others?  

 

It’s tempting to make excuses for Jesus.  We want to rush ahead to Jesus raising Lazarus from the tomb and say, “see, everything worked out ok.”  But I’m not sure that’s wise.  Excusing suffering is rarely satisfying.  Explanations for suffering tend to trivialize it.  

 

What is Jesus talking about?  In John, the Son of God’s “glory” is Jesus’ death on the cross.  We conceive of glory as crowds cheering, celebrity treatment, recognition, and appreciation.  But, as I learned that week, this kind of glory is just a distraction.  It has no power over grief.  In contrast, Jesus reveals the glory of God by entering into suffering himself.

 

How might Jesus enter into your suffering / grief this week?  How might Jesus invite us to enter into the suffering of others?   

 

 

 

 

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Lent Exercises: Allegiance - Whose Side Are You On?

“Whose side are you on?”  I asked my mother-in-law playfully.  Our first daughter was barely a week old.  I was attempting to bathe her.  Sophia and I had different ideas about how to approach this task and were teasing one another.  My mother-in-law, by far the most sensible and more experienced, chimed in with her thoughts as the process unfolded.  I found her insights really helpful when they aligned with my perspective.  When her perspective differed from mine, I was confused.  

 

It was time to dry our daughter as the words left my mouth.  With unexpected agility my mother-in-law swooped by me, lifted up our daughter, and had her wrapped in a towel in her arms.  She smiled wryly.  “I’m on her side,” she said looking down at her granddaughter.  

 

If only all questions of allegiance and loyalty were so simple.  

 

In Luke 20:20-26 Jesus’ is asked to reveal his political allegiance so that his opponents can create a pretext for arresting him.  Should we pay taxes to Caesar or not?  While this question isn’t dangerous for us, we know some of its cousins.  Should Christians vote Democrat or Republican?  Should we say Black Lives Matter? Should we wear masks or get vaccinated?  

There’s nothing wrong with these questions, per se.  The problem is that our answers can very easily be used to paint us into a political, cultural, and ideological corner.  There is a real temptation, even among thoughtful Christians, to villainize anyone who has a different set of answers to our “litmus test” questions.  On the other hand, the answers to these questions matter.  Political, cultural, and public health choices directly impact the people we are commanded to love.  

 

Jesus’ answer does not avoid or skirt the question.  He calls for a coin and asks, pointedly, whose inscription and image are reflected.  Since the coin belongs to Caesar Jesus says, “Then give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”  Since Jesus could be killed for forbidding taxes to the emperor, (he is accused of this before Pilate), he avoids the trap on one side.  Since Jesus’ words contain a criticism of the emperor, (his words could be read, ‘what’s coming to him…’ or ‘what he deserves…’) he avoids the trap on the other.  But, most importantly, Jesus’ emphasizes our primary allegiance to God.  

 

Christians of goodwill can disagree about political philosophies, cultural movements, and public health decisions.  But our primary allegiances are never to be caught up these.  We must answer the questions while rejecting tribal allegiances.  We are to do this in ways that demonstrate our love for God and reflect God’s command to love our neighbors.  

St. Catherine wrote, “You cannot love God except through your neighbor.”  My mother-in-law refused to be distracted by the parents bickering, because there was a beloved child who needed care.  

 

How might Jesus be inviting you to love God and neighbor today?  

 

 

 

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Lent Exercises: Strive - A Parable of Warning

This week I’ve been up hours before dawn.  My mind races.  I can’t sleep.  

 

A friend and longtime mentor’s words ring in my ears, “Getting up to pray in the middle of the night is like the old days of radio, where a clear signal could be sent over massive distance because there was no interference.”  Easy for him to say.  I’d much rather be sleeping.  Still, Christians in the monastic tradition have been getting up to pray in the predawn hours for centuries.  They must be onto something, right?

 

Ten years ago, this was my daily rhythm.  I’d rise in the hours before dawn and settle at the table.  I’d spend hours in this candle-lit quiet praying with scripture.  This week I’ve resumed these patterns, more out of habit than desire.  It’s created time to reflect.  

 

In Luke 20:9-19, Jesus tells a story about wicked tenants and a vineyard.  Drawing on ancient prophetic traditions describing Israel as a vine, Jesus compares the scribes and chief priests to tenant farmers.  The expectation is that they would care for the vineyard on the landlord’s behalf. Instead of producing fruit and wine back or the landlord, these farmers want to enrich themselves.  They abuse and mistreat the landlord’s messengers.  They even decide to kill the landlord’s son in hopes of acquiring the property for themselves.  

 

The parable serves as a warning.  Jesus is the beloved son.  To reject Jesus demonstrates disdain for the God who sent him.  

 

It’s easy to keep this story at arm’s length.  After all, I’m a Jesus follower.  This parable warns of rejecting Jesus.  This doesn’t seem likely.

 

On the other hand, these early mornings have forced reflection.  Why did I get up in the middle of the night as a regular practice ten years ago?  Was it love for Jesus or was it drive to out-perform my contemporaries in devotion?  Was it the delight of knowing and loving God or a desire for spiritual potency?  Was the goal of the devotion life with God, or the hustle for a better life?  

 

The answer is, of course, mixed.  Today I can look back and see the drive, insecurity, pride, and ambition a little more clearly.  In that light, Jesus’ warning is for those of us who follow him.  It’s so easy to turn, even the good practices of our life with God, into a self-improvement project.  Instead of tending the vine of our lives in service of God and neighbor, we can start serving ourselves. 

 

Jesus’ parable, even in its warning, is good news.  It shows the patience and persistence of the landowner.  God’s posture towards us, even when we turn in towards ourselves, is generous, a chance to turn and be healed.  

Still not happy about these early mornings but grateful for the chance to reflect.  God is making something in the vineyard of my life.  I don’t have to strive.  

What is this parable stirring in you today? 

 

 

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