Showing posts with label Easter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Easter. Show all posts

Sunday, April 12, 2020

The Resurrection of Hope

On the Road to Emmaus
A Dramatic Retelling of Luke 24:13-34

It is late morning, and two men are making the seven-mile trek from Jerusalem down to the village of Emmaus. This in itself isn’t unusual. After all, it’s the first day after the Passover feast and lots of people are returning home. But there is something a little off about these two – they look like they’re carrying the weight of the world on their backs. Their shoulders sag and feet drag, as if they’ve been walking for days on end. At times they speak to one another in hushed, anxious voices and then lapse into periods of silence as they wrestle with their thoughts.

As they walk along, they hear the footsteps of someone coming along the path behind them. They both grow silent, waiting for this stranger to pass by before continuing their conversation. But instead of walking past, the stranger speaks directly to them: “What are you talking about?” he inquires.

The men look at one another, pain and anxiety in their eyes, sharing an entire conversation in a glance. What can they say? How can they even begin to put into words the sea of emotions that churns within their hearts? Even if they could, would it safe to speak of what has happened and of their sadness? After all, the Sanhedrin has ears everywhere and the other disciples have gone into hiding, fearing that what has befallen their rabbi might happen to them, too.

Finally, one of the men named Cleopas breaks the silence. “Were you just visiting Jerusalem?
You must have heard about the things that have happened there in the last few days.”

“What things?” the stranger asks them.

“About Jesus of Nazareth,” Cleopas answers, surprised by this man’s apparent ignorance. “He was a prophet, one who spoke the words of God with authority, and he backed his words up with powerful miracles as well. Many of us had hoped he was the long-awaited Messiah, the one who would rescue God’s people from the hand of the Romans. But that hope is dead, killed along with Jesus on a Roman cross.”

Cleopas grows silent, overcome by sorrow and wrestling with how proceed, how much to share.
Finally, after a few moments of silence, he continues.

“Apparently the Chief Priests and the Sanhedrin felt he posed more of a danger to our people than he did to Roman rule, so they branded him a traitor and handed him over to the Roman authorities. That happened on Friday, but this morning some women who had gone to visit his tomb found it standing wide open and Jesus’ body was missing. They claimed that some angels met them there and told them Jesus was alive, but how can that be possible? Some of the other disciples went to check it out for themselves and found the tomb empty just as the women claimed. Jesus’ body was nowhere to be found. Honestly, we don’t know what to think.”

The stranger just shakes his head like a father towards a particularly dense child.
“Are you really so foolish? Don’t you don’t realize that this is exactly what the prophets foretold?”

The two disciples look at one another in surprise, partially because of this man’s sudden change in tone and partially because of what he’s said. What does he mean the Prophets had foretold this? They’d spoken of a conquering king who would overthrow God’s enemies, not a crucified Rabbi crushed under the heel of the Roman Empire…hadn’t they?

Their confusion is written all over their faces, so as they walk along, the stranger begins to unpack the Jewish scriptures that they’d grown up with, pointing to passage after passage that foreshadowed God’s anointed leader suffering in order to redeem His people.

Since they’ve just celebrated the Passover, he begins with the first Passover, where God commanded the Israelites to choose a pure, spotless lamb and to sacrifice it, covering their door-frames with its blood in order to cover them as the Angel of the Lord passed through the land, meting out justice upon the Egyptians who had kept them enslaved for 400 years. Anyone homes marked with the blood of the lamb would be passed over. He explains that this week, Jesus became the final Passover lamb, laying down his life to cover God’s people with his atoning blood.

Next this stranger points to the Prophet Isaiah: “Don’t you remember what the prophet Isaiah said about the Messiah,” he asks? ‘He was led like a lamb to the slaughter.’ And what else did he say about God’s anointed redeemer? That he would be "pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our sins; the punishment that brings us peace would be upon him and by his wounds we would be healed." (Is.53:5).

Don’t you see that Jesus had to die in order for us to live? But God also promised that he would not abandon him to the realm of the dead forever, nor would he allow his holy one to see decay, so even though the Messiah had to die, he wouldn’t stay dead.

As the man speaks, the hearts of these two disciples begin to beat faster and faster, as despair slowly gives way to a new hope. Could what he is saying be true? Could this have all been part of God’s plan?

As they ponder these impossible questions, the village of Emmaus rises up over the horizon. Their journey is at an end, but as they move towards the village gate, the stranger who has rekindled their hope looks as if he is planning to continue onto the next village despite the late hour. But he can’t go now, they think. He has become a ray of hope in a world of despair and they don’t want to part ways with him just yet, so they beg him to stay the evening with them. Thankfully, he accepts their invitation.

That evening, as they sit down to dinner, this stranger takes the bread, gave thanks for it and begins to pass it out in a way that is hauntingly reminiscent to the last meal they’d shared with Jesus in the upper room just a few nights before. 


Suddenly, they look at him with new eyes and realize that he’s no stranger. He’s Jesus, their Rabbi…no, their Messiah, raised from the dead and in better health than they’ve ever seen him. They stare at him with mouths agape, forgetting even to breath.

Jesus, seeing the realization dawning upon their faces, just smiles at them as if saying, “Finally, you see.” And then, in the blink of an eye, he’s gone.

For several moments, the two men sit in stunned silence, staring at the place their risen savior was sitting moments before. How could this be? How could he possibly be alive? And how did we not recognize him sooner? Weren’t our hearts burning as he spoke to us along the road, filled with a new, resurrected hope? How did we miss this?

Slowly, a grin spreads across their faces. Jesus is alive, they think. He’s alive! Our hope lives!
Wait until the other disciples hear about this. 

The two men look at one another, wild joy and excitement written across their faces, and without a word they both know what they have to do. So in a flurry of activity, they both spring up and race for the door. It doesn’t matter if the sun is setting. They’ve got to get back to Jerusalem. This good news can’t wait ‘til morning.



Saturday, April 11, 2020

It's Okay to Feel Sorrow



This morning, I woke with a single thought on my mind: it's okay to lament. It's okay to feel sorrow.

It's not disrespectful to our Shepherd to acknowledge that we're journeying through a dark valley in the shadow of the coronavirus. And we find hope in the empty grave. After all, the resurrection of Jesus reminds us that our worst day is not our last day. But that doesn't mean we should ignore our sorrow or bottle up our grief.

Rather, we follow David's example in the psalms of lament, as he poured out his emotions, his doubts, his fears. We do so knowing that our God is big enough to handle our emotions. And as David reminds us,"Though sorrow may last through the night, His joy comes in the morning." (Psalm 30:5)

So below I've shared the poem that flowed out of my heart this morning. Admittedly, it's not so much a song of lament as it's a song of permission to lament. But perhaps that's what we need this morning: permission to lament. 


Let It All Out
A Psalm of Lament

When the skies are all cloudy, 
   and the tempest winds rage,
When the storms of life threaten 
   to sweep us away,

It’s ok to feel sadness; 

   it’s ok to ask, “Why?” 
God's not diminished 
   by the tears in your eye. 

He can handle your worry, 

   He can handle your doubt,
So stop holding it in,
   You can let it all out.

Sometimes it seems like 

   our Father's not home,
That He can't hear our cries, 
   that we lament alone.

But the Spirit that raised Jesus 

   and rolled away the gravestone, 
Draws near to bring comfort 
   and to interpret our groans,

So in this time of trouble, 

   if your heart's full of doubt, 
Please don’t hold it in, 
   You can let it all out. 


*****

We grieve, but we do not do so as those who have no hope. And tomorrow we will celebrate the fact that since Jesus lives, so does our hope. If you don't already have a church community to celebrate Easter with, then I invite you to join me online at 10AM. Just go to lighthousecommunity.com and click on "Live Stream." And feel free to share this invitation with others in your Sphere of Influence. After all, we are all walking through this dark valley, and we all need to be reminded that our hope lives. 





Friday, April 10, 2020

Why Do We Call Today Good?

I was talking with my son Ethan yesterday and told him Good Friday was coming. He got excited and said, “Oh good. Does that mean we get to buy stuff?”

“No, buddy,” I replied. “That’s Black Friday. Good Friday was the day when Jesus was killed on a cross.”

His look said it all. “Oh, so that’s what you consider good, huh? How Medieval of you.”

It seems ironic that we would call the day that our Lord and Savior was condemned, beaten, mocked, spat upon and ultimately murdered “Good.” And yet, in the grand scheme of things, when it comes to our standing with God, the argument could be made that what we celebrate on this day is actually more important than what we celebrate on Sunday. Sunday is simply the proof that what Jesus did on Friday actually meant something – that he accomplished what He’d come to do.

Good Friday is like the wedding ceremony;
Easter Sunday is the reception.

On Good Friday, we remember the greatest act of love in history – the day when Jesus willingly paid the penalty of our sins and rescued us from eternal separation from our Creator. Because Jesus was willing to walk into the jaws of death and use his own body to steal the venom from it, we have the hope that the pain of this broken world (and this current crisis) won’t get the last word. That’s why we call today Good, even though it was incredibly painful for him.

I’ll be honest, it’s painful for me as well. I don’t know about you, but when I read the gospel narratives and I get to Jesus’ crucifixion, I tend to read through it rather quickly; it’s like I’m subconsciously rushing through his suffering on Friday so that I can get to his resurrection on Sunday. However, from an eternal perspective, this is the climax of the entire Bible. From Genesis 3 on, everything has been building to this monumental moment when Jesus would do for us what we couldn’t do for ourselves. And everything that follows throughout scripture, from Acts through Revelation, is viewed in light of what happened on Golgotha that first Good Friday.

So don’t rush past this day. I suspect we need to sit in the discomfort of it more than ever given what we’re currently walking through. Here are a couple ways you could journey through Good Friday with Jesus:

·  Slowly read Mark’s account of Good Friday, imagining yourself there: Mark 15:1-19

·  Meditate on Psalm 22, which is profoundly prophetic regarding what Jesus endured on the cross. Keep in mind that when David wrote this psalm of lament, crucifixion hadn’t even been invented yet.

·  Join me online at 4PM tonight for Lighthouse’s Good Friday communion service. Just go to lighthousecommunity.com to join us. This is a BYOC communion service, so make sure to gather your communion elements beforehand (a piece of bread and a cup of juice or wine).



Sunday, April 5, 2020

THE DONKEYS PERSPECTIVE OF PALM SUNDAY

The following story is inspired by Matthew's telling of the Triumphal Entry (Matthew 21:1-11)

******

It was an uncharacteristically busy morning in the usually peaceful village of Bethphage. The town was situated on a hillside that people referred to as the Mount of Olives, and it overlooked the sprawling city of Jerusalem. It wasn’t much of a destination. Nobody said, “Let’s go to Bethphage for the weekend.” It was just the final rest stop for pilgrims on their way to worship at the Temple in Jerusalem. 

But for Simon the donkey, it was home.

He lived here with his mom and their owner. Simon was still young, just a colt really, though he didn’t see himself that way. After all, he was almost a year old! Why, before long his owner would be riding him into the city to get supplies, he just knew it.

But today, Simon was distracted by the number of people walking along the road, heading into Jerusalem. He asked his mother what was going on.

“That’s right, this is your first Passover,” she brayed to her son. “Every year at this time, people head into the city for a great feast to celebrate the time God saved His people. It must be that time again.”

Simon grew excited. He’d heard of the Passover, the greatest feast day of the year, but this was his first time getting to experience it firsthand. In his curiosity, Simon began to wander towards the road so he could watch the pilgrims passing by. As he drew closer, he began to overhear bits of their conversations, and all of them seemed to be talking about the same thing: apparently some Rabbi named Jesus had raised a guy from the dead one village over. That must have been quite a sight. Simon wished he could have been there to see that. In his excitement to hear more, he began to follow a group of pilgrims down the road eavesdropping on their conversation as they went.

Suddenly, he heard the gruff voice of his master behind him. “There you are, you naughty donkey.” 

Busted! 

Simon hung his head in embarrassment. This wasn’t the first time he’d wandered off. But what did they expect? He was curious and the world was so much larger than his little village!

Simon’s owner led him back home, and then tied both Simon and his mother to a hitching post to ensure that the little donkey wouldn’t wander off again. Simon tried to look properly sorry for getting them both in trouble, but his mind was preoccupied with the thought a man who could raise people from the dead.

The day passed quickly with Simon lost in his thoughts, until his daydreaming was interrupted by a couple men in dusty robes who were walking down the street towards him. They must have been pilgrims, because Simon had never seen them before.

“There it is, just as the master told us,” one of the men said to the other. Then they boldly walked up to Simon and began to untie him. 

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Simon’s owner yelled.

“The Lord Jesus is coming and he sent us ahead to get a colt for him to ride,” one of the men replied. Surprisingly, Simon’s owner complied. Apparently, he had also heard the rumors of this Jesus, who had the power to raise the dead. He even sent Simon’s mother along in case Simon wasn’t strong enough to carry Jesus. But Simon knew he would be. He was almost a year old, after all.

The men led Simon and his mother out to the road, where a ragtag group of men and women were waiting. One of them threw a cloak over Simon’s back and then another of the pilgrims, a man who didn’t look all that different from the rest, climbed on.
This must be the Rabbi that everybody was talking about, though he didn’t look all that special to Simon.

The group began to make their way down the Mount of Olives and across the Kidron valley, heading towards one of the gates into Jerusalem. Simon and his mother were in the lead. As they drew near, crowds began to whisper, “It’s him.” “Here he comes.”
Simon was surprised that they even noticed him. 
After all, this was the first time he’d been out of his village.

One of the pilgrims ripped a palm frond from a nearby tree and laid it on the ground in front of Simon. Then another followed suit. Still others began to lay their cloaks down on the ground in front of him. And all the while, the crowds began to shout, “Hosanna.” “Hosanna in the Highest!” “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” Simon didn’t know what those words meant, but he knew they were directed towards him. 

Simon was amazed at this unexpected welcome. He knew he was special - his mom had always told him so - but never in his wildest daydreams would he have expected this sort of reception! The crowd of onlookers grew larger and larger as Simon and his mother made their way into the gates of Jerusalem. Each step he took was upon a cloak or palm frond that had been laid at his feet, and all-the-while he was showered with the cries of “Hosanna!” He could get used to this.

The sun was setting as Simon and his entourage made their way into the city. When they came to the temple, Jesus promptly slid off of his back and the group of pilgrims made their way inside while Simon and his mother were led into the nicest stable he’d ever been in. 

Ok, it was the only stable he’d ever been in, but who’s keeping track. He and his mother spent the night there, though Simon barely slept– he was just too excited.

In the morning, he was up before the first rooster crowed. He couldn’t wait to bask in the adoration of the people again. 

Shortly after first light, Simon’s owner came to collect him. Simon was surprised his owner didn’t sing his praises, but perhaps he was just waiting until they got home.

As they made their way through the streets of Jerusalem and out the city gate, Simon waited to hear people shout, “Hosanna,” but the cries never came.

They crossed the Kidron Valley and began to make their way up the Mount of Olives, passing pilgrims along the way, but for some reason none of them stopped to lay a cloak or palm branch on the dusty road in front of them.

“They must not know who I am,” Simon thought to himself. “Just wait ‘til I get home! The villagers must be preparing to throw me a welcome-home party.”

But as they entered Bethphage, nobody looked up from their morning tasks.
Nobody so much as waved at him. 

Simon’s heart was filled with confusion and disappointment, but he did his best to hold it in. After all, he was almost a year old…and he was kind of a big deal.

His owner led him and his mother back to the hitching post and tied them up again. Now, maybe it was the familiarity of being home, or the indignity of being treated like a common donkey, but Simon could no longer hold his emotions in check.

He began to cry.

“What’s wrong, my son?” his mother asked.

“I don’t get it,” Simon replied, salty tears rolling down his dusty cheeks. “Yesterday, everybody loved me. Today it’s like they don’t even see me. What did I do wrong?”

His mother smiled as she comforted her son. “Oh, my child,” she whispered in his ear, “you did nothing wrong. But you misunderstood. 
It was never about you.”




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