April 6, 2018

Betrayal Hurts

Then one of the Twelve – the one called Judas Iscariot – went to the chief priests and asked, “What are you willing to give me if I deliver him over to you?” So they counted out for him thirty pieces of silver. From then on Judas watched for an opportunity to hand him over.

– Matthew 26:14-16

Can you imagine how much it hurt Jesus to be betrayed by someone so close to Him? Jesus knew Judas would ultimately sell Him to be murdered. That was why Jesus came, after all. But, still, it had to break His heart.

Jesus was fully God and fully human. He felt the same pain we feel when someone we trusted turns on us. And for what? Thirty pieces of silver. Was it really worth the cost?

On this side, we understand that it had to be. Jesus died so we who believe won’t have to face death and eternal separation from God. Death couldn’t hold Him and, because of Him, it can’t hold us. What a wonderful gift! What an awesome God!

But have we ever considered His pain? It’s difficult to accept that a co-worker would go behind your back and plot to destroy you. It’s hard when it’s someone you know, someone who claims to share your faith, someone you believed liked you. But when it’s someone close to you, well, that’s a whole different level of heartache.

After he had said this, Jesus was troubled in spirit and testified, “Very truly I tell you, one of you is going to betray me.” – John 13:21

He saw it coming. Jesus knew His friend, His disciple, a man who had spend three years by His side, was going to hand Him over to be crucified. He could have stopped it but He didn’t. Jesus loved us that much.

But do you think knowing the end result lessoned Jesus’ pain? John tells us Jesus was troubled. I would have wanted to stop it, to demand that my friend admit what he planned and change course. It sounds good but, honestly, someone who would plot against you, speak ill of you, isn’t likely to change course where there’s money and/or power involved.

There’s no way to completely guard against the evil that sometimes springs forth from hearts we thought we knew. To do so would leave us with hardened hearts, incapable of feeling anything. That’s surely not the answer. Maybe there is no answer.

The truth is that there will always be people masquerading as your friends who, in the end, will intentionally do you harm. There are people who call themselves family, either by blood or by law, that will turn on you, spreading lies and the ugliness that lives in their hearts.

Jesus gets it. He understands how deep the hurts goes. He feels your pain because He’s been there. And He knows that sometimes you don’t have any other choice but to continue on into the storm, seeing the betrayal that’s coming but being powerless to stop it.

I wish people would do different, don’t you? I wish everyone would end the games and just put on a cloak of honesty. But that’s not the real world. That’s not what some people are capable of doing.

We’re all flawed human beings, struggling to do the best we can while living in a fallen world. Those who intentionally seek to harm and destroy are inevitable. Keep your guard up and watch your heart. Don’t let the lies and deceit of others cause you to lose your way. Just cling tightly to Jesus and trust that He’ll be with you as you weather the inevitable storm.

February 14, 2018

Remember

Now the betrayer had given them a sign, saying, “The one I will kiss is the man; seize him.” And he came up to Jesus at once and said, “Greetings, Rabbi!” And he kissed him. – Matthew 26:48-49

Today is both Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day. Fitting, don’t you think? The first is a day of repentance and sorrow and the second is a day to indulge in chocolate and flowers and perfume.

We get caught up in the commercial trappings, don’t we? It’s nice. Why not share a fancy dinner with someone you love? What’s wrong with a little indulgence to celebrate a relationship you cherish?

It’s all so wonderful – until it isn’t. Betrayal carries a high cost and becomes a burden that weighs us down, reminding us that the deadliest wounds come from those closest to our hearts.

Some churches conduct an Ash Wednesday service, placing ashes in the form of a cross on those who slowly make their way to the alter. A reminder of our sins, our sorrow and our repentance.

We struggle during the Lenten season, determined to make a sacrifice for Jesus. We give up candy or soda. We make vows and turn off Facebook or television. We remind ourselves daily – well, except for Sundays – of the sacrifice Jesus made for us.

But do we really get it? Really? Deep inside where our hearts at times feel broken by human betrayal, do we really understand what God did for us? Can we comprehend a love that deep? Do we really grasp the sacrifice of Jesus’ death for the sins you and I have committed?

We are so filled with self-interest. We do good so we will be praised by the multitudes. We sacrifice so that others might see how good we are. We shout loudly all our great attributes.

And we depend totally on ourselves. We work hard. We pave our own way forward. We do all we can as though it depends on us. In our minds, it does. God is for emergencies and miracles. Not to worry. We’ve got the rest.

Except He has called us to a life of daily sacrifice. He draws us toward a life directed by Him, for His glory and not our own. It’s not about us. It’s never been about us. And no matter how hard we try or how loudly we proclaim our goodness, we will never get past the sin and anguish of brokenness deep within.

As you go through this season leading to the cross, remember the cost. Look in the mirror and see your guilt. Close your eyes and feel the sting of betrayal, your betrayal of Jesus Christ. Feel the nails as they penetrate His skin. Swelter under the sun’s heat. Hear the insults that draped a man who was never anything but good.

On this day, remember what you have done for a kiss and 30 silver coins. Kneel down in genuine repentance. Rise. Feel the grace and mercy and love as it engulfs you. Go, and sin no more.  

Wednesday, August 29. 2012

Grief Lingers

Then he said to them, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” -- Matthew 26:18

It was the first time I’d seen her since her husband died. She said all the right things. She smiled. She was the same -- except she wasn’t.

I know that her faith is carrying her right now. I know that. So does she. A lifetime of church and Sunday school, prayers and giving, have created a solid foundation. She knows where her husband is and that he is now in the presence of Jesus. But none of that fills the void his death left behind.

In the first days, she was surrounded by family and friends. Even in the weeks and months that her husband lay ill, people were always stopping by to visit and check on them. The quietness, the emptiness, gives her plenty of time to remember what she had. And what she has lost.

Her smile never reached her eyes. I noticed that right away. Maybe I was looking for it. Grief marks you in a way nothing else ever will. You learn what to look for in others as they begin the journey.

She’s put on weight again. Once she’d proudly lost a number of pounds and now she is like before. Food can be a wonderful comforter and it passes the time. Besides, how do you cook for one when you’ve always cooked for two or more?

Her façade slipped a little when someone asked about a small dent in her car. Yeah, she told the man, I know. But I just can’t deal with it right now with everything else that has gone on, she explained. A small thing. But sometimes small things are just one thing too many.

She wears her sadness well. She does. She fights against it showing, struggling to pretend that she is fine. But her life is different in a way she never, ever wanted. And she misses him with every moment. Nothing can ease that pain. Not now, anyway.

Jesus understands. He walks beside her, holding her up. She knows. She does. But His Presence doesn’t lesson her pain. It merely gives her the strength to struggle through another day.

We are all so quick to rush forward when someone we care about dies. We comfort their family. We provide food and support. And then we go about our lives while they are left trying to rebuild their own. Perhaps it is then that they need us most.

So take time today to consider those around you who have recently lost a loved one. Give them a call. Make a lunch date. Share a laugh. Invite them to church or a social function. You won’t lesson their grief but your words and actions will show them you care.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Maundy Thursday

"While they were eating, Jesus took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, 'Take and eat; this is my body.'

Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, saying, 'Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins."

-- Matthew 26:26-28

Maundy Thursday is a sobering service, a recognition of what is to come. We remember Jesus' final night with his disciples before He is betrayed. They celebrate what we now call The Lord's Supper. He washed His disciples feet. He offered bread and told them it was His body. He offered wine and told them it was His blood.

How could the disciples possibly understand what awaited? No matter that He tried to explain it, how could they ever understand the sacrifice that was to come? How can we ever fully understand a love that is so deep, so perfect, that it gave a Son to save us all.

The church service tonight was moving to the point of tears. The choir presentation was powerful. It was so easy to get caught up in the music, then suddenly they yelled, "Crucify Him! Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" And suddenly we're all transported to that day, that time, caught up in a frenzy that will kill one man and fulfill a prophecy from God. God's Son died on a cross and we were the reason why.

We are called to the altar to accept a small wafer and a tiny bit of juice. We kneel. We remember. How can we ever thank Him?

Two pastors step forward. They drape a black cloth around the wooden cross. One lifts a crown of thorns and hangs it from a nail. Melancholy bells sound as the lights slowly dim. People file out of the church, somber and aware.