The day Jesus turned left

I hate to admit this, but my wife and I are Squatchers. We have a date every Sunday night to watch the next episode of Finding Bigfoot. I’m not really sure why we watch. It’s kind of like a car wreck; you have to stop and look ­— so we do. But every week I have pretty much the same reaction to what I have just seen — Is that it? Is that all there is?

Ever found yourself asking that question — Is this all there is? It’s a question those following Jesus would have asked, so we are in good company. The stories throughout Holy Week are laced with disappointment and misunderstanding. From Jesus’ ride into Jerusalem to his death, it’s one disappointment after another, deepening the misunderstanding of who Jesus was, and why He came. It all started that Sunday with the palms. Here’s what I mean:

When Jesus rode down the hill from the Mount of Olives, He was mobbed. Masses of His followers had Him surrounded, throwing their coats on the ground, waving palm branches, and celebrating the arrival of their King. He was coming in just like the prophets had predicted, and it would be just a short ride to the city where He would take His rightful place on the throne. They were ready to follow Him right up to the steps of the palace. Finally, Roman rule, and corrupt oppression of counterfeit kings would end, and Jesus would be on the throne. Then something strange happened; He turned left.

I’m not really certain whether it was a left or right turn when He came to that fork in the road, but He certainly turned the wrong way. See, the road He was on was the royal road, the road of the kings. It would have been the road that David danced on coming home from another victorious battle. It was the road of victory, conquest, and led up to the palace. It’s no wonder He had created the frenzied response from those watching what was taking place. But when Jesus came to that fork in the road, he turned off the road to the palace. It explains why the crowds that surrounded Him all of a sudden just disappeared. They were pressing in around Him, singing and shouting one minute, and the next minute, they were gone. Where did they go and why did they leave? What happened? It was because He turned left. When He turned left, He moved toward the temple instead of the palace, and they were left with a question — Is this it? And as quickly as they had come, they were gone.

What’s going on? Is this a set-up? I think Jesus was making another statement about His mission. He was fulfilling what He had first taught in Luke 4, about setting captives free, giving sight to the blind, declaring that this is what the year of the Lord looks like. He wasn’t reclaiming the throne for Israel; He was attempting to reclaim his people. He didn’t choose the road of the King; He chose the road of a servant. He didn’t choose the road of victory, but the road of suffering. Why? So He would know. So He would know what we feel. So He would know what it means to hurt. So He would know what it means to feel pain. So He would know what it means to feel rejected. So He would know what it means to _________, (you fill in the blank). He turned left, so He would know.

As we move through Holy week, let’s remember that the best news we could get is that the One who rode on that donkey; who attempted to clean up the temple; who reshaped the meaning of the Passover meal; who sweat drops of blood; was beaten beyond recognition; and died on a cross; did it all so He would know what it was like to be you and me. So He would know what we face. Don’t jump to the empty tomb quite yet. Living this part of the story allows Jesus to be fully human, coming all the way to where we are, fulfilling another part of prophecy that says He would be a man of suffering, acquainted with grief.

So when you walk through the Passion again this week, remember that when Jesus took a wrong way, He was looking right at us. He did it for us, so we would know that He knows. That’s what happened the day that Jesus turned left.

Text for the week: Luke 19:28-40

A time to mourn

I remember when I was first trying to process the death of my father.  There was so much about what had happened that didn’t make any sense.  I had no theological categories to put this in, at least ones that brought any comfort.  In moments of unexplainable pain, words and answers can become very cheap.  What was I supposed to do with this?

This is one way some of my questions were answered for me. 

I saw this wall, with pegs on it. This is what I heard:  These pegs represent places to put questions we have about the things that happen to us in this life.  When things come along that we don’t understand,, we hang that on a peg.  Oh trust me, the questions won’t go away.  They still linger, but it no longer haunts.  I believe that God is infinitely larger than us and any problem we may face, so in a tangible way, we are acknowledging our total dependence and trust in Him by hanging our questions on a peg.  I’ve come to learn that life is never just about answers, because sometimes there are none.  It’s about trusting the One we take our questions to.  It’s about believing we are loved, and learning to trust in the One who love us.

There have been times in my life when I get an answer, and I can go up to one of those pegs and pull one off.  There are some that have been hanging up there for a very long time, and some, if I can be honest with you, I know I’ll never get taken down.  So, there they hang.  And I’m learning to be okay with that, as I continue to learn to trust. 

So, I just put another thing on a peg, this time that “thing” is Miley.  I don’t have an answer, just tears.  I can’t make it go away, but we can hug.  This makes absolutely no sense at all.  But in the middle of the pain, here is what I’m praying:  that the God who is ever present, the one who is close to us today — as close as those notes were in chapel yesterday — that we sense He is walking through this with us, not separate from us; sharing our pain, not removed from it; bringing us comfort, as One who knows what it means to need it.  Because:

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

A time to mourn, and a time to dance!

For us, it’s time to mourn.  But one day, we will dance!

Text for the week:  Ecclesiastes 3:1 & 4

Walking well

Not sure whether you’ve noticed or not, but at the beginning of every fall semester it starts all over again for a new group of freshmen; it’s most likely not what you’re thinking.  Outside my office, to the west of Ludwig Center, the lawn fills up with new ROTC cadets learning how to “walk” properly.  They are being taught by returning officers, or those who a year or two before were in the same process.  The cadets learn how to step, march, turn, and from what I can tell one of the most difficult foot maneuvers they learn, is the about face.  They pop a heel in the air, stick the toe in the turf, spin, rotate, and end up facing the opposite direction.  It’s way easier for me to describe than it would ever be for me to attempt.  Sure, they lose their footing at first, but they keep at it. I’m not really certain how they do it without falling on their faces — actually, some do. At times it’s humorous to watch, but the rite of passage for the cadets has gained my respect. 

I’m not sure where the ability to walk or march properly falls in order of importance for those serving in the armed services, but it must be pretty significant for as much time as they work on it. They spend hours upon hours practicing how to walk and turn properly. There is precision to their steps. There is intentionality to their pace. They don’t all get it at first. They lose their footing, stumble, lose their balance, but eventually they get it.  And I’m sure all you would have to do is ask any of our ROTC cadets or officers here, and they’d tell you there is only one right way to do it. 

I don’t think it’s any different for us who are people of faith. The time in which we live says there are many ways for us to get to the same place. The reality is there is only one right way to do it — the Jesus way. It’s not about what I think is right, or what you think is okay. It’s not what Dr. Vassel described when talking about Paul’s experience in Athens. (Some responded in saying “That might work well for you Paul, but not for us.”)  That mindset isn’t just out there somewhere, but it has crept into the church, making it difficult at times for us to land anywhere with certainty. When you lose your foothold, it becomes difficult to walk. The more difficult it becomes to walk, the more difficult it is to get to your desired destination. The older I get, the more I realize that this life is about learning to walk well.

My prayer for us this semester is that we listen for the ways God is calling us to walk. Not sure about you, but I don’t want to make excuses for what I do, but in my walking, I want it to be said of me that I walked well. And I want it to be done with certainty, just like those cadets outside my office window.  Stumbling, losing our footing and balance at times is all part of the process of learning to walk.  There is much grace for us in the process, and for that we are grateful.  But the good news is like the cadets, we don’t do it alone either.  We have the privilege to learn from those who are ahead of us in the journey.  Just like those cadets are taught to walk from those who have already learned, we too can learn to walk well as we follow in the footsteps of those who are ahead of us. In following those who are ahead of us, we learn from them how we walk in the way of Jesus.

Text for the week:  Hebrews 12:1-2