While reading through Luke on this Easter weekend, it is easy to hate the Biblical Bad Guys. Luke does such a good job of laying out the antagonists and protagonists, clearly black and white. The Pharisees--man you just really love to hate those guys!
First, they arrest Jesus without reason. They could have done it earlier on in the temple in a peaceful manner, but no, they waited until the cover of darkness and came with swords and clubs. Okay, strike one Pharisees. You come armed for an innocent man in the middle of the night? Not okay.
Then jump forward to the morning. They drag Jesus infront of the council, the high priest, and a huge crowd and ask Him point blank, "Tell us, are you the Messiah? Are you claiming to be the son of God?" Jesus says, yep that's what I've been telling you all along. What do the Pharisees do? Weeeell let's take him to Pilot for questioning. Then when Pilot finds no fault in Him, hey let's drag him to Herod! Strike two guys. Everyone keeps telling you of Jesus' innocence, and yet you scream for his murder.
The worst though, just the worst, is when the crowd roars for the release of Barabbas. They are given the choice to have Jesus--a clearly innocent man--or Barabbas--a known murderer--walking around society. They chose Barabbas. STRIKE THREE, GUYS!
Oh and you know who else is just so easy to disgust? Judas. Judas Iscariot, one of the twelve apostles, who sold the whereabouts of Jesus to the Pharisees in the first place for 30 pieces of silver. Then he has the nerve to walk up to Jesus and kiss his face. Jesus questions him, "Judas, would you betray the son of man with a kiss?" OH SNAP! You know, at least Judas has the decency to go and hang himself after it is finished.
Then there's Peter. Peter, one of the men that Jesus calls brother. Jesus TELLS Peter that he is going to deny Him. "Before the rooster crows tomorrow morning, you will deny three times that you even know me," Jesus tells him TO HIS FACE. And what does Peter say? "Lord, I am ready to go to prison with you, even to die with you." You would think that after hearing something like this, that maybe Peter would think twice at his life decisions. Maybe he could, say, chose not to go in the morning to avoid DENYING THE SON OF GOD! Eh, whatever says Peter. Then, when a little servant girl, of all people, says "Hey this man was one of Jesus' followers!" Peter freaks out and says not once, but three times, "Woman I do not even know him! I don't know what you are talking about!" You would think that maybe the first one or two times he would have a red flag, but no. Three times, Peter. Three times.
Such stupid men, you think, while reading this story. It is so easy to liken yourself to Mary or Mary Magdelene, thinking "if I had been there, I would have kissed his feet and wept. I would have been faithful. I would have tried to stop the injustice." The bad guys were just inherently evil. It even says in scripture that Satan entered Judas before he became a total sellout and betrayed the Messiah sent to save the world.
And yet, deep down, there is something more. Like a pill that doesn't go down quite right, or a wound that never seems to heal properly--there is a catch to these scriptures from Luke. At first glance, I see those who are soaked in the river of Jesus' blood and I so easily blame them. I see Christ standing on the shore, clean of sin and looking toward the sky. I picture myself walking to the shore and grasping onto the pristine robes of the lamb, my Messiah. I keep trying to look at His face, but I have to turn away. I am forced to cast my eyes downward. This is when I see that my grip is dripping with blood, ruining the robes covering the sweet Jesus.
When I finally let myself think about who these men were, I see that I am them.
I am Peter, every time I choose not to speak about the man who came to earth to save me and instead try to enforce my own will above His. I am Judas, every time I forgo the truths I know to be holy and choose instead to drink, swear, gossip, lust, show impatience. I am the Pharisees, every time I choose not to show forgiveness and love. When I deny Christ even in my thoughts, He hears. He knows that through my sin, I have taken up the mallet and helped to drive the nails into his feet. Through my viscousness I have flogged His back, ripping open His flesh. He knows that I deserve the wrath of God.
...and yet, He loves me. He looks down at my bloodied hands and accepts the wounds. He takes me gently by the face and whispers, "For you, my child."
His sacrificial love has such depth that it leaves me absolutely terrified. My body physically shakes when I finally realize the true gravity of what happened on that hilltop near Jerusalem. I am overcome with disgust at myself, and try to focus on that. I can't bare to move past this because if I do, it means that everything I have gathered around myself here on earth, everything to which I have devoted my entire life, everything in which I have found my identity--everything is worthless. That ecclesiastes is true. That Philippians is true. That the word of God is completely, utterly, undeniably true. If I let myself look upon the face of Jesus, it would mean that to die would truly be gain.
I wear a cross around my neck, but have never given it a lot of thought. I have always considered myself to be a good Christian girl. Wearing the cross necklace was just part of the get-up. Yet I am staggered by the realization of what this pendant means. I am wearing the murder weapon of my Savior. I am wearing a gun, a knife, a noose. In the past, I have let people's questioning gaze on my Christian regalia give me a little boost of selfish confidence. I have thought to myself that by decorating myself with Christian symbols that I could somehow prove to everyone else that I am above them, above all of this, and already with the King of eternity.
I look at the cross hanging around my neck now and see who it is for. I see that it is for the Pharisees, for Judas, for Peter, and every creature on God's earth. It symbolizes the love so awe-inspiring that it makes me tremble. The cross is not for me, Lindsey. No, indeed, the cross is for me--Lindsey Daughter of Yahweh, God's child. His princess, His sweetheart, His child. I am His. I have torn at His flesh with my sin, but He will never let go.
I now humbly wear this noose around my neck, knowing that one day I will be with the man who willingly wore it in my place.
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