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Jesus, no doubt, witnessed many injustices during His life on earth, but He did not turn over many tables.
Following that confrontation, Jesus shared a series of parables, many of which contained thinly veiled commentaries on the religious leaders’ lack of fruitfulness. At that time of year, fig trees
would be filled with green leaves and unripe, green, disagreeable fruit.6 However, this green, leafy fig tree had no fruit whatsoever.
Jesus did not expect the fruit to be ripe, He did expect the fruit to exist ...
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Jesus, evidently, finds utter fruitlessness frustrating.
“You hypocrites! Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you: ‘These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. They worship me in vain; their teachings are merely human
rules” (Matthew 15:7–9).
Our reality does not frustrate Jesus. Our hypocrisy does.
Peer to peer, we might frame this interaction as a lively debate. But from a poor, thirty-something Nazarene to the rich,
religious, ruling class in Jerusalem? As I said, holy is feisty.
“Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things” (Matthew 21:27).2 These leaders valued positioning more than truth, and Jesus closed the question. I repeat: Jesus closed the question. Evidently, valuing something more than truth limits our interaction with Jesus. Taken seriously, this is rather sobering.
Do we value something more than truth? Have control and position become more precious to us than sincerity?
Are we committed to the pursuit of emotional and intellectual honesty in God’s presence? Jesus did not ask the leaders for polite acquiescence or polished...
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Have you ever interacted with a chronic revisionist? The motivational root of revisionism seems to be either the fear of losing power or the compulsion to avoid pain.
Both are pursuits of control.
In other words, “truth” is created retroactively—
which, obviously, makes it no truth at all. Revisionism is a deadly form of self-deception and a formidable foe of intimacy with God.
Holy rebukes. And this was just a warm-up to the painfully public critique Jesus made of the teachers of the law and Pharisees recorded in Matthew 23. Jesus’ message rang clear in this interim: God’s love language is not words alone. We can talk all we want, but at the end of the day, we will also be judged by what we did. “Where then is mercy?” some might ask. For Jesus’ disciples then and today, mercy is inherent within Jesus’ rebukes because to hear them is to still have breath to respond to them with repentance.
Jesus said, “Now my soul [ψυχή (psychē)] is troubled [ταράσσω (tarassō)]” (John 12:27).
Other than as an awkward (or perhaps even passive-aggressive) introduction to a personal or cultural rebuke, when was the last time you heard a leader confess, “My soul is troubled”? Yet, from Jesus’ life, holy can feel troubled.
“What shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name!”
Obedience is not a moment: it is a process connected by countless moments.
Jesus neither started obeying nor finished obeying in John 12.
evidently, in the process, it is Christlike to on occasion blurt out, “My soul is troubled!”
Today, fast premature resolution. Resist tidying up when you are in the muddy middle of the process of obedience-in-the-making.
Jesus was continually in conversation with His Father. Yet the Gospel writers only documented three times in which Father God’s side of the conversation was broadcast publicly: at Jesus’ baptism, at Jesus’ transfiguration, and prior to the Last Supper. In all three instances,1 Father’s “voice”
I would love to hear God’s sound. My guess is that I am not alone. Perhaps you also ache to hear God say something audible. Why? About what? Our answers reveal our deepest longings and heartaches.
“You are known. You are heard. You are loved. You are mine. I, your heavenly Father, keep My promises.”
It is useless to fast from food, protests St. Basil, and yet to indulge in cruel criticism and slander: “You do not eat meat, but you devour your brother.”
Because we struggle to comprehend the incarnational reality of Jesus as fully God and fully man, we have a tendency to lean toward His divinity in reading the Gospels and, consequently, we interpret Jesus’ actions as object lessons—sort of like a grief counselor who
has never personally grieved because he or she is somehow smart enough to stay ahead of loss. Yet, as we have been reminded of in recent days, Jesus was familiar with grief and anger, just as we are.
Many possibilities come to mind, but perhaps the most relevant are the following:
At the table, Jesus washed the feet of a betrayer, a denier, and ten deserters.
May I suggest that washing others’ feet keeps us clean too? If so, perhaps Jesus was washing and forgiving and attending to His own heart simultaneously.
Jesus was saying, “I forgive you in advance for your upcoming epic fail. Though it will surprise you, remember that it does not surprise Me. My love will still be here when you return.”
This is how egeirō is used by Jesus when He said “Get up!” to the paralytic (Matthew 9:6), to Jairus’s daughter (Mark 5:41), to the widow’s dead son in Nain (Luke 7:14), and to the invalid at the pool of Bethesda (John 5:8).
Jesus said, “Follow Me” not “Follow Me to the cross.”
Cross-ward is a commitment that passion may make but that
only love can keep.
How would you describe the difference between passion and love? Think of your spiritual journey and consider the following: Has passion ever led you somewhere that love would not have gone? Has love ever led you somewhere that passion could not have gone?
Jesus Himself told us to “take up [our] cross daily” (Luke 9:23);3 therefore, when we define the cross as “self-denial,” the fact that Jesus went through it does not mean that we get to go around it.
Deny self or deny Jesus: this is the crux. Remaining
neutral is not an option. We have to choose a side.
‘My soul [ψυχή (psychē)] is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me’ ” (Matthew 26:37–38).
Only Jesus, the Father, and the Holy Spirit understood the unspeakable cost Jesus would pay for our sins to be forgiven.
Sharing Jesus’ certainty honors Jesus’ sacrifice.6
Note that Jesus did not try to deny His emotions in the garden
but instead expressed them honestly, respectfully, and repeatedly: He pleaded with Father three times for “this cup” to pass. Honesty is a friend of intimacy with God and, conversely, denial is an enemy of intimacy with God. As Larry S. Julian stated, “Hiding who you are . . . isn’t the solution.”8
In the garden, angels returned to strengthen Jesus while His disciples slept a few yards away. Something deep within me aches over Jesus’ aloneness in this space. He did not want to be that alone.
(Matthew 26:36). Then, reminiscent of—but not remotely a repeat of—the Transfiguration, Jesus selected Peter, James, and John to go further into the garden. Why? Jesus stated, “Stay here and keep watch with me” (Matthew 26:38). “Keep watch” is translated from γρηγορέω (grēgoreō), which can mean, “to stay awake,” “be alert,” or “be vigilant.”1 Jesus requested His disciples’ active support.
