Your Gethsemane Experience can Lead to a Resurrection

 I just finished re-reading the book of John this morning, and I began picturing the closing chapters describing the Gethsemane experience of Jesus, agonizing in the dark aloneness before His Father, feeling the weight of the sins of the world descending on Him and causing Jesus to feel the separation from His Father. This was followed by the betrayal of a friend, and the abandonment of others who said they would never forsake Him, a one-sided trial, physical abuse and suffering and finally a crucifixion and death.   

And for the disciples, all hope was totally smashed and they spent the darkest, loneliest, most fearful weekend of their lives.  They questioned all that they learned and been through over the past 3 and a half years.  They wondered if it were all for nothing.  They forgot that just hours before, Jesus had told them plainly that He must suffer and die (read John ch 13-17)  And as they grieved, the oppressor of humanity came and peddled despair to add insult to injury.  Nothing had gone the way that they had hoped or planned.  But they had forgotten something.  God wasn’t following their plan. He was fulfilling His!  And His plans always turn out better than ours.

At the tomb, Sunday morning, a dejected Mary arrives to find it empty.  She makes assumptions and then  Runs back to Jerusalem and tells the disciples that Jesus’ body had been taken.  Peter and John run to the tomb and find the grave clothes and wonder what in the world had happened.  And though that dawn had split time in two, it had yet to dawn on them.  They left dejected as Mary finally got back.  

Let’s pick up the story in John 20.  John 20:11    Mary was standing outside the tomb crying, and as she wept, she stooped and looked in. ¹² She saw two white-robed angels, one sitting at the head and the other at the foot of the place where the body of Jesus had been lying. ¹³  “Dear woman, why are you crying?” the angels asked her. 

 “Because they have taken away my Lord,” she replied, “and I don’t know where they have put him.”

14   She turned to leave and saw someone standing there. It was Jesus, but she didn’t recognize him. ¹⁵ “Dear woman, why are you crying?” Jesus asked her. “Who are you looking for?” 

 She thought he was the gardener. “Sir,” she said, “if you have taken him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will go and get him.”

16   “Mary!” Jesus said. 

She turned to him and cried out, “Rabboni!” (which is Hebrew for “Teacher”).

17    “Don’t cling to me,” Jesus said, “for I haven’t yet ascended to the Father. But go find my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”

18    Mary Magdalene found the disciples and told them, “I have seen the Lord!” Then she gave them his message.

Later, Jesus Himself appeared among them, and at the risk of sounding cliché, the light finally dawned.  And new hope sprang to life. And they found, in Christ, all they had ever hoped for and more was resurrected within them.

Which leads me to this.  ALL of us will have our Gethsemane experiences.  We will feel separated from God.  We will feel the tempter and oppressor of our souls breathing his ugly, dark breath down our necks as he seeks to peddle despair to our discouraged hearts and snuff out any flicker of hope that may be seeking to rise.  He will have friends betray us, people abandon us, others judge us unfairly and then heap abuse on us in many various forms.

And he will seek to have you, in the midst of your distress,  pursue a course that would have you terminate your existence. And many do, as they often opt for a permanent solution to a temporary problem, and the enemy sweeps them into eternity.  But here is where Jesus’ death and resurrection made it possible for you and I to flip the script.

If you and I can only see it differently, we would see that in our darkest moments, we don’t have to give in to the temptation to end our existence, or our marriage, or whatever the temptation to give up on is, or even to lose hope.  But we can, like Jesus, pray for either the temptation to leave (let this cup pass from me) or for God to give us the strength to bear up under it.  (But not my will, YOUR will, Father) 

In either case, it leads to a death. But not a final one.  It actually becomes a death that leads to resurrection.  Paul called it “the death to self”(Gal 2:19) and even said, “I die every day!” (1 Cor 15:31). And this dying to self allows for a new resurrection.

You lay down all of the abuses, the judgments, the abandonment, the betrayal and look to Christ for restoration.  You choose to give up yourself and your will,  in deference to the Father’s will for your life, recognizing that HIS plan is always better than yours, and HE will remake things for you.

This winter, I have personally gone through what Mother Teresa, when speaking of her experience with God over the course of almost 50 years,  termed her “dark night of the soul”.  I have been beset by trauma’s in my youth perpetrated against me, stupid choices made in trying to work my own way out of difficulties, temptations from things that I thought were long since buried, discouragement in my work, depression and darkness and hopeless feelings and a desire to cash in 40 years of ministry.  And where I found hope was recognizing that I was in my own Gethsemane experience.  It was all dark around me…and the tempter of souls was screaming a thousand lies into my head…and he almost won.  I almost cashed it in and walked away from ministry and from God.   But I continued to hold on to my devotional habit and I forced myself to continue to go into the Word each day…though the rest of my day was often beset with darkness and depression.  

Where I found renewed hope was back in Gethsemane, the cross and the resurrection.  It is a metaphor for so much of what we experience.   We experience the darkness…sometimes the death of dreams or hopes…but God is a God of resurrections.  And He is restoring me daily.  I had to die to a few things in the darkness…with self being the one that I, like Paul, am having to relearn to die to daily.   And in the resurrections is where new hope is found.

Don’t run from your Gethsemane experience.  Stay there and ask God for the strength to endure it and then to rise once again to walk in the newness of life.

Be Amazed...Again...(For the very first time)

Exhibit B in our journey this week on learning to be amazed once again.

Your name is Jairus. You’ve come a long way to find Jesus. Your only daughter is dying. The doctors have all given up and you’ve taken her home to die. But somehow, you just can’t give up without trying everything. One of your servants has seen Jesus heal and suggests that if you could just find Jesus and have him come, your daughter might not die. You search frantically, from one town to the next. The reports are all the same. “You just missed Him. He was here about 2 days ago and healed most of the people in the town.”

Hope grows stronger, while on the other side of the emotional roller coaster, you become frantic as you realize that you are a few days behind him. You redouble your efforts, trying to reach Him and get Him home before it is too late. Finally, you come racing into a town and discover a large crowd of people gathered around. This must be Jesus. Pushing your way through the crowd, you come face to face with Him. “Master, you must come now!” The urgency is in your voice as you try to get Jesus to follow you back through the crowd. He motions for you to lead and begins to follow. You look back and realize that He has stopped and is asking who touched Him. You turn back to urge Him to hurry when one of your servants rides up to the edge of the crowd on horseback and motions for you.

You can tell by the look on his face that it’s too late. “Don’t trouble the Master any further,” he says, “She’s dead.” Grief wrenches your soul and you slump to the ground. The "if only’s" come. If only you had found Him quicker. If only He had been closer to your home. If only she had held on for a little while longer. If only there were no crowds to slow Him down.”

A hand on your shoulder jars you back to reality. “Don’t worry, just believe.” Jesus helps you to your feet and begins walking towards your town, He and his disciples helping you as you stumble along in a haze of grief. You sleep little that night, and the next day is a blur as you head home. As you come near your house, the mourner’s are there in full force. It really hits home. She’s dead. 

Jesus simply quiets them and says, “Don’t mourn. She’s sleeping.” Laughter meets His statement. How can Jesus mock your pain with such a statement. You enter to find your wife weeping and lying across the bed holding the lifeless form of your daughter. Jesus gently lifts her and you rush to hold her, to hold each other, as Jesus now looks at the little body on the bed.

Gently, yet with authority he says, “Little girl, I say to you arise!” Her eyes flutter open as you heart beats wildly. Your wife screams with joy and leaps toward the bed as your beloved daughter sits up. Suddenly the three of you are laughing, crying, talking, hugging, kissing, and marveling at what just happened. You look again…and He is gone.

Are you amazed yet? Can you just shrug it off with an "I've heard all this before!"? Or is there something, even now, that is begging you to be astounded and astonished at a God who cared so much for you and me that He came and gave us a peek at what God is like. Someone who calls the unloveable. Someone who forgives the hookers... Someone who wants to turn your grief into joy. Look again...for the very first time. And be amazed!

Could you love a God like that?

Author Ken Gire wrote a series of books back in the 90’s that quickly became some of my favorites.  One of them is entitled Incredible Moments with the Savior.  I want to pull a story from that book and see if we can see things a bit differently. 

“Nain is a cozy community carved out of a rocky slope overlooking the valley of Jezreel.  It is springtime, and the valley is a sea of wind-blown grass, frothing with wildflowers; the air, redolent with the blossoms of fruit trees. 

But in the valley of this widow’s heart, it is the dead of winter.

Twice, death has reached its icy fingers into her family and wrenched loved ones from her.  First her husband.  Now her son.  Her only son.

For years she has faced an uncertain future. Now she faces it alone. With no one to hold her hand.  With no one to steady her steps.

No one to comfort her when she cries herself to sleep at night.  No one to wake up to in the morning.  No one to fix breakfast for.  No one to share the holy days, or the common days, or any days at all for that matter.  No one to grow old with.  And no one to look after her in the autumn of life.

No one.

Nothing remains but an empty shell of a house.  A house that years ago gave up waiting for a husband to come home from work.  And now, no longer waits for that husband’s son.

The sagging house is slumped in its own grief, retreating into itself, silent and still.  There are no sounds of animated talk that chronicle the day.  No ripples of laughter.  No late-night conversations.  Only quiet tributaries of grief running from room to room.

Bundled in her heart is a too-short stack of memories.  Not enough to cloak her from the chill of her present loneliness, let alone to keep her warm in her old age.

The open coffin leads the way to the cemetery outside of town.  Trailing in its wake is the weeping mother, relatives, close friends, and other mourners.  Interspersed throughout the procession are the melancholy, dove-like calls of flutes and the plaintive tinkling of cymbals.  A chorus of women chant their laments while men pray and plod along in silent vigil.

But at the same time this crowd is leaving Nain, another crowd is entering.  The one is following a coffin; the other is following Christ.  The one is filled with sorrow and despair; the other, with excitement and hope.

In respect for the dead the crowd following Jesus pulls back, allowing the funeral procession to thread its way through the gate. 

There, life and death stand on two distinct islands.  The bridge between the two is a mother’s grief, arching over a torrent of tears.

When Jesus sees the tears wrung from the mother’s heart, every thought that had preoccupied Him on His journey flees.  The whole of His attention focuses on this shattered woman.

All He knows is her desperation.  All He feels is her pain.  All He sees is her tears.

And those tears are the flame that melts his heart.

Jesus extends his hand to touch the coffin, and the procession lurches to a stop.  He isn’t concerned with protocol or etiquette or even with the fact that touching a coffin would render Him unclean in the eyes of the rabbinic law.  His only concern is for this desperate mother.

“Don’t cry.”

The words are not out of a textbook on pastoral care.  They seep from the cracks of a heart bursting with compassion.  Jesus turns to the woman’s son.

‘Young man, I say to you, get up.’

Two words to the bereaved, eight to the deceased.  But that is enough.  Enough to snatch a son from death’s pilfering hand and return him to the arms of his mother.

The young man sits up and talks!  What he says we are not told.  But surely one of the first words to stumble from his lips is ‘Mother’.

The miracle is an incredible display of the Savior’s power.  But there is something even more incredible about this auspicious meeting at the town gate.

This mother had not asked for a miracle.  She had not thrown herself at the Savior’s feet and begged for the life of her son.  She hadn’t demonstrated great faith.  In fact, she hadn’t demonstrated any faith at all.  As far as we know, she didn’t even know who Jesus was.

That is what is so incredible.

It’s a miracle done without human prompting.  Without thought of lessons to be taught to the disciples.  Without thought of deity to be demonstrated to skeptics.  It is a miracle drawn solely from the well of divine compassion.  So free the water.  So pure the heart from which it is drawn.  So tender the hand that cups it and brings it to this bereaved mother’s lips.”

 (Incredible Moments with the Savior, Ken Gire ©1990, Zondervan,  pp 41-45)

Let me ask you:  Could you love a God like that?  Would you not want to be near One who has already been moved by compassion at your plight?  He has already responded and provided a way for you to be reunited with your loved ones.  Already death has been conquered and only awaits divine Word before it must retreat and give up those it, even now, holds in its icy clutches.  When Jesus, who conquered death, gives the command, there is no power in heaven or hell that can hold back those who will respond to the call of the Conquerer.  I ask you again: Could you love a God like that?

The Return isn’t about the logistics, it’s about the Person.  It isn’t about knowing the facts, as important as they may be, but about knowing the One who, out of love, has already provided for us.  It’s about relationship.

Look Again, For the Very First Time

I wish you had never heard the story of Jesus.  I wish you were hearing it for the first time.   I really wish that you hadn’t heard the story before,  simply because many of us have heard it so many times before that we have lost the wonder of the story.   We have grown so familiar with the details of the story, that we have lost our sense of awe.  It has grown to be common place, and we end up thinking, “Oh, yeah…I’ve heard this all before!”  And in so doing, we lose a chance at being amazed once again by the incredible story of Jesus.   I want you to be amazed again.  I want you to have that sense of awe and wonder.  I want you to stand with eyes wide and mouth open as you hear the story of Jesus and salvation.  So today, let’s play that old game of pretend.  Let’s pretend that you have never heard the story before.  Let’s put ourselves into parts of the story.   Let’s look again, for the very first time at the story of Jesus.  Are you ready to pretend?  Here we go…

Your name is Peter.  You’re a sanguine.  You enter a room mouth first.  You’re big, strong and foul-mouthed.  You can cuss any sailor under the table, because you are a sailor.  A fishing sailor.  Everyone knows who you are because at the tavern, you can tell the crustiest jokes.  At the docks, as you sort fish, you can make most other fishermen blush with your language.  Your wife is forever getting mad at you for being so crude, but she can’t help but love you since you are so big-hearted and caring. Honest too.  Perhaps it is these last characteristics that were the ones Jesus was looking at when He called you to follow Him, but unlikely, with all of your other character flaws.   Certainly everyone else is shocked.  A wharfman and a rabbi hanging out together?   Definitely not a rabbi from around here.  He wouldn’t want someone like you making his class of pupils look bad.  You stick out like a bad apple.  But, look again.   There He is motioning to you saying, Follow me.

Your name is Mary.  You’re a hooker.  A street-walker.  A prostitute.  Nobody at the church wants you hanging out in front of the entrance, and you assume that if the church people don’t want you, their God doesn’t want you either.  You watch from your corner as the people leave the evening service, giving you cold glares as they walk by or drive off.  Not a problem for you.  You’re not wanting what they have to give anyway.  You’re waiting for a certain someone to come out of the church.  Here he comes now.  One of the Pastoral staff.   He shakes hands with the last of the parishioners and watches as they disappear around the corner.  He locks the building and then looks your way.  You’ve seen that look hundreds of times before.  The look of a man hungry with lust.   He looks around to make sure that no one is watching and then gives you the signal.   You leave your corner and head for your previously arranged meeting place a few blocks away.  By the time you get there, he is already inside and waiting.  You are barely undressed when the door comes smashing in.  It’s the rest of the pastoral team.  Grabbing you, dragging you from the bed as you clutch at sheets and try to cover yourself, they half-lift, half-drag you out into the streets.

Your mind is swirling.  This is it. This time you lose. Set up by the pastors. You know the rules.  You mess around and get caught, you die. You’ve played the odds and this time you lose.  You’ve been in and out of a hundred beds, and so you figure it must be your time to go.

Inwardly  you cry for a God to save you.  But why would He?  His people know you’re scum.  His Word says that an unfaithful woman should be stoned.  No.  No use crying out to Him.  Take the punishment with as much dignity as you can muster.   Suddenly you are flung in front of the Teacher, your sheet being ripped away as you hit the dusty street.  Curling up you try to cover yourself from all of the laughter and leering eyes as the pastors say, “Teacher, Moses and the law say that we should stone this woman.  What do you say?”

You know what any holy man will be forced to say and you brace yourself for the rocks.  Abruptly, you realize that all has grown quiet and then you hear the question.  “Woman, where are your accusers?”  Looking up slowly from your curled up position, you realize no one else is around. It is just you and Jesus.  He is taking His outer cloak and covering you.  You respond, “I don’t see anyone, Lord.”   And then His response takes you totally by surprise, “Neither do I condemn you.  Go and leave your life of sin.”  You look again.  And you see for the very first time that He is smiling.

Your name is Jairus.  You’ve come a long way to find Jesus.  Your only daughter is dying.  The doctors have all given up and you’ve taken her home to die.  But somehow, you just can’t give up without trying everything.  One of your servants has seen Jesus heal and suggests that if you could just find Jesus and have him come, your daughter might not die.  You search frantically, from one town to the next.  The reports are all the same.  “You just missed Him.  He was here about 2 days ago and healed most of the people in the town.”  Hope grows stronger, while on the other side of the emotional roller coaster, you become frantic as you realize that you are a few days behind him.  You redouble your efforts, trying to reach Him and get Him home before it is too late.   Finally, you come racing in to a town and discover a large crowd of people gathered around.  This must be Jesus.    Pushing your way through the crowd, you come face to face with Him.   “Master, you must come now!”  The urgency is in your voice as you try to get Jesus to follow you back through the crowd.   He motions for you to lead and begins to follow.  You look back and realize that He has stopped and is asking who touched Him.  You turn back to urge Him to hurry when one of your servants rides up to the edge of the crowd on horseback and motions for you.

You can tell by the look on his face that it’s too late.   “Don’t trouble the Master any further,” he says,  “She’s dead.”   Grief wrenches your soul and you slump to the ground. The If only’s come. If only you had found Him quicker.  If only He had been closer to your home.  If only she had held on for a little while longer.  If only there were no crowds to slow Him down.”

A hand on your shoulder jars you  back to reality.  “Don’t worry, just believe.”   Jesus helps you to your feet and begins walking towards your town, He and his disciples helping you as you stumble along in a haze of grief.  You sleep little that night, and the next day is a blur as you head home.  As you come near your house, the mourner’s are there in full force.  It really hits home.  She’s dead.  Jesus simpy quiets them and says, “Don’t mourn.  She’s sleeping.”  Laughter meets His statement.   How can Jesus mock your pain with such a statement.   You enter to find  your wife weeping and lying across the bed holding the lifeless form of your daughter.   Jesus gently lifts her and you rush to hold her, to hold each other, as Jesus now looks at the little body on the bed.

Gently, yet with authority he says, “Little girl, I say to you arise!”  Her eyes flutter open as you heart beats wildly.  Your wife screams with joy and leaps toward the bed as your beloved daughter sits up.  Suddenly the three of you are laughing, crying, talking, hugging, kissing, and marveling at what just happened.  You look again…and He is gone.

Do any of these stories get your attention?  Do any of them make you say, “Wow, so that’s what God is like?”  Do they amaze you?  Do they warm your heart? Time and time again in scripture, we see Him healing the sick, opening blind eyes, giving legs to the lame, and raising the dead.  Stuff that would knock our socks off if we saw it today, but we have grown so used to the stories that we can barely muster a “ho-hum” as we stifle a yawn.  Look again, for the very first time.  Jesus is simply amazing.

Where’s the wonder?  Where’s the awe?  He chose a loud, foul-mouthed fisherman to be one of His main mouthpiece to share the good news of the Gospel.  He had no back up plan.  If Peter and the others failed, the story would not be shared.  Doesn’t that blow you away?  Look again and remember; if He can use Peter, He will use you.

He restored a broken-down woman, caught in the middle of her sin.  A sin worthy of stoning, and turned back her accusers with a line, “he that is without sin, let him cast the first stone.”  And then wrote their sins in the dirt to remind them that there is not one righteous.  Doesn’t that bring you hope?  If He can forgive Mary, he can forgive you.

And this one absolutely blows my mind.  He took a lifeless form and gave it life.  How many funerals have you seen that one happen at?  One minute you have a corpse, the next minute a dancing little girl. One minute you have parents mourning the loss of their only child, and the next minute they are weeping for joy and laughing all at the same time.  Which really pumps me.  If He can raise Jairus’s daughter, He can raise my dad!  And He can raise your loved ones that have fallen asleep in Jesus.  

But those are only three stories.  Jesus always does the amazing thing.  He puts aside Divinity to take on the form of a baby.  He works for 30 years as a carpenter.  God. A carpenter.  He feeds 20,000 with a few loaves and fish.  He walks on water.  He calms storms with a word.  He meets demon-possessed people and leaves them demon-free, sending the demons into pigs.  He called the most unlikely people to do the most unbelievable.  He loves. He forgives.  He laughs with people.  That’s amazing.  A God that not only loves us, but one that likes us and is willing to sit down to supper with the worst of us.  And enjoy our company.  Look again.  When was the last time you saw this Jesus?  When was the last time you were amazed?