Changing "The End" to "The Beginning"

Our family utilized flea markets and yard sales a good deal. "One man's trash is another man's treasure" was a motto to live by, and we took it seriously. As we treasure-hunted among various tables and boxes, usually we came away with things we had needed for a while, and more often than not, my brother and I each got a bonus toy, because hey -- it was twenty-five cents. :)

One time, I walked away with a stuffed doggy that was nearly as big as I was. He had floppy ears, big limpid brown eyes, and a thoroughly huggable body. I named him Max, and I grandly displayed him on my bed where he took up most of the space and made making my bed difficult. But I loved him (we didn't have a real dog). 

Max was with me for a long time, long enough for me to grow and mature. I still loved him, but my time and attention veered toward other things, and Max was relegated to the corner of my room where I still liked to look at him, but he didn't get loved on as much as he had. Max was my Velveteen Rabbit (for those of you who loved/hated that story as much as I did).

One day when I got back from school, I found his corner empty. When I asked my mom where he'd gone, I discovered that he was caught up in a spring-cleaning and decluttering initiative... and irretrievably removed from my life.

I cried. My mom, quite reasonably, explained that I never played with Max anymore, that she didn't even know I'd miss him, that he'd sat in the same spot for a long time, and that now -- he could give joy to another child who might play with him more.

It all made sense, but my plans for Max looked way different from my mom's plans for Max. Even while I cried, I remember thinking: It makes sense. Mom's right. But I didn't want to admit it. Closing the door on that portion of my life was painful, even though looking forward, maturing, growing, moving on was the right thing to do.

Mark 15 is a whirlwind of a Friday, the Friday of Holy Week. To recap: last Sunday, Jesus rode into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey, on a carpet of cloaks and palm branches, amid echoing shouts of Hosanna! Save us! Monday, Jesus clears the Temple of money-changers, driving out the buyers and sellers. My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations, but you have made it a den of robbers! Tuesday, Jesus spends in Jerusalem teaching the crowds, telling parables, and evading the traps set for him by the teachers of the law, the chief priests, and the elders. Wednesday is silent, a day of waiting and rest, a day of watchfulness. Thursday (yesterday), Jesus spends the afternoon and evening in the upper room with His disciples where He teaches them to remember Him by drinking the cup of communion and eating the bread of the Passover until He comes again. He goes out to the Garden of Gethsemane where He asks the disciples to keep watch with Him and pray, where He fights His own battle of resolution, and where, after He wins it, He allows Himself to be arrested and led away to the high priest's house...

Which brings us to today: Friday. A quick summary of all four Gospels gives us accounts of Jesus' interrogation at the high priest's house, Peter's three-times' denial of any knowledge of Jesus, the rooster's convicting crow, Jesus' appearance before Pilate, Pilate's negotiations with the crowd, Pilate's conversations with Jesus, Pilate's transferring of Jesus to Herod and back again, Jesus' scourging, Murderer Barabbas' release, Jesus' sentencing, the march up the Via Dolorosa (the Way of Suffering) to Golgotha (the Place of the Skull), Simon of Cyrene's forced service of carrying Jesus' cross for Him, and the crowd's arrival outside Jerusalem's western wall where Jesus is laid down on the wooden cross-pieces of His instrument of death, and where spikes are driven into His wrists and feet. His cross is propped upright and dropped down into the deep hole where it stands between two other crosses.

Thud. 

... 

Let the silence that follows that word sink in for a moment. How that must have hurt...

But how much greater must have been the pain of the reason behind the pain -- bearing the sins of every person who pointed at Jesus and laughed, every person who spit on Him, every person who said: "He saved others, but He can't save Himself! Let this Christ, this King of Israel come down now from the cross, that we may see and believe!' Those crucified with Him also heaped insults on Him" (Mark 15:31-32).

"Those who passed by hurled insults at Him, shaking their heads and saying, 'So! You who are going to destroy the Temple and build it in three days, come down from the cross and save Yourself!" (Mark 15:29-30).

See, they thought they knew how it was supposed to be. This Man they had shouted at to save them five days before is saving them, but His method doesn't look like they thought it was going to look. He's not mustering forces, gathering militia, and militantly organizing an army to march against Rome. 

So they write Him off as powerless, ineffective... just another Promise-Breaker. The people's version of salvation does not look like God's version of salvation, and because they -- in their frail humanity -- can't wrap their minds around it, they declare it to be false, wrong, sad.

They can't close the door on their way of looking at the picture. They can't turn away from how they think God is going to work and focus instead on the work God is really doing.

Remember way back in Genesis 19 where God sent angels to deliver Lot and his family from Sodom, and Lot literally ran from the city moments before fire rained down from heaven and destroyed it? Lot, his wife, and his two daughters were the only ones who fled the city, accompanied by the two angels. However, in verse 26, it says: "But Lot's wife looked back, and she became a pillar of salt."

She couldn't look forward at the new path spread before her. She longed for the old way of life, her sons who remained in the city, her friends, her home, her comforts. I honestly feel her anguish -- it is hard to close those doors. It's so, so painful sometimes to turn away from what we want and look forward at what God has instead.

But how much greater is His plan! Instead of leading a Jewish revolt against Rome, possibly making a dent in the history books with an insurrection against the great Caesar, Jesus shatters the history books with a story of eternal victory. For all time. In all circumstances. For anyone. Anywhere. Everywhere. Whoever believes in Him will not perish, but will have eternal life.

The message of the cross is eternal life, not a victory against Rome. The picture is bigger than a moment in time at approximately 33 A.D. It's the story that stretches from before "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth" (Genesis 1:1) to after "He who testifies to these things says, 'Yes, I am coming soon!' Amen! Come, Lord Jesus! The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God's people. Amen" (Revelation 22:20-21)!

And in this earth-shattering, history-shattering, amazing moment in time, the moment when Satan thinks he's won, the moment when he strikes the heel of the One on the cross (Genesis 3:15), in reality the victory belongs to God as Jesus utters these words: "Father, into Your hands I commit My Spirit!" (Luke 23:46)

Listen. Shh, can you hear it? Listen to His words of implicit trust in God's way forward. Jesus isn't looking back. He isn't looking at the dirt road before Him, the one leading into Jerusalem, thinking how easy it would be to magically jump down off the cross and fulfill the paltry expectations of those who are hurling insults at Him. He's thinking of the long-haul, the plans He's discussed with His Father since the beginning when Eve took that first bite from the fruit and gave it to Adam. He's thinking of the hard path.

But the commitment of total trust: Into Your hands -- the hands that shaped the universe -- I commit -- absolutely release -- My Spirit -- My Spirit is Yours. 

Ah.

...

Pause again in that silence after His voice dies away, as His lungs still, as His body sags for the last time on that cross.

Let the despair wash over you for a moment. Live in the disciples' horror and pain. Look through their eyes as they see all their dreams, their hopes, their beliefs fall into pieces with the blood that is still dripping into the dirt at the foot of the cross.

Lord. We believed, but... what just happened?

And then...

The earth begins to shake. Not far away, there's a graveyard, a cemetery, and some of the tombs split open. People who had been dead come out of those graves. In Jerusalem on the other side of the city from the cross, the heavy veil that separates the Holy Place in the Temple from the Most Holy Place where Moses' Ark of the Covenant sits -- it tears in two. 

Hear the rip. It's a long, drawn-out sound -- it's not a small curtain, easily conquered.

It tears into two pieces and hangs heavily on two sides as once and for all -- the way to God opens up because of the blood of His perfect Son.

Does anyone know any of this yet?

The centurion looks with awe at the body hanging on the cross: "Surely this Man was the Son of God!" he says. 

Was. Past tense. 

It implies: Oops.

It implies: What did we do?

It implies: Regret.

But thank you, Jesus, that Sunday is coming! Thank you, Jesus, that the horror of that moment, the finality of regret, the dull boom of the door that closes on our way, our path, our plan... isn't the last word of this story.

Thank you, Jesus, that The End is not the phrase that closes out this moment in time. This is The Beginning!

Thank You! Thank You! Thank You! Hallelujah!!!