Thursday, May 19, 2011

Scars

Scars. Everyone has them. At some point in our lives we have done something that has been traumatic enough to our skin that it heals over and forms a scar.

Scars are a reminder of what we have been through and what we have endured. I have a scar on my knee from a landscaping wire holding up a freshly planted tree. During a game of hide and seek, I slid behind the tree and right into the wire. Slicing my knee open, I bled everywhere and had to have friends take me up to my parents to get the wound mended. After a few weeks I no longer had an open wound but a scar.


You can create a tall tale based on someone’s visible scars. You see the scars on their face or arm and you create this


elaborate story of what must have taken place to lead to such disfigurement. It may or may not be close to the truth and you may or may not ever find out what the real story is, but the 100% truth is that everyone has scars.


When we picture Jesus, many times we jump to the typical image of a bearded man with long hair standing in a white robe.


Sometimes, we may even picture the wounds or scars he acquired during the crucifixion on his hands, feet and side. This image may come from the

famous painting of Thomas inserting his fingers into the side of Jesus. Whatever you picture Jesus looking like, a few things are certain. First certainty is that none of us really know what Jesus looked like (nor does it really matter). Secondly, Jesus was beaten, broken, killed and raised back to life 3 days after his death to save us from condemnation.

Matthew 27: 26 says “Then he (Pilate) released Barabbas to them. But he had Jesus flogged and handed him over to be crucified.”


Further on in chapter 27 verse 30 it says “They (Roman soldiers) spit on him, and took the staff and struck him on the head again and again.” The whipping and beating Jesus endured before being crucified was more than enough to crush some men. Jesus made it through the flogging to be crucified on the cross. 3 days after his death, Jesus was resurrected.


John 20 shows us the scene of Mary Magdalene, a devout follower of Jesus, going to the tomb where Jesus was buried. She comes to find the tomb is empty. She doesn’t know this yet, but Jesus was resurrected. Jesus comes up to her and says “Woman, why are you crying? Who are you looking for?” Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir if you have carried him away tell me where you have put him and I will get him.” Jesus said to her “Mary” She turned to him and cried out in Aramaic “Rabboni!” Which means teacher.


Aside from the fact that this is such a beautiful moment and a touching moment to say the least, I have found it so interesting that someone who intimately knew Jesus, did not recognize him at first. It could be said that she would have never expected it to be Jesus as she was under the impression he was dead and had been carried off somewhere else…but it’s still intriguing.


Jesus was all God but also all man. He was real flesh that was really beaten and broken and killed. Jesus was also raised from the dead. His physical body was made alive again and he was brought back from death. This truth, combined with the knowledge of his beating he endured has made me wonder; did Mary not recognize Jesus because he was un-recognizable?


The Bible doesn’t address this specifically so this is really speculation, but it could absolutely be the case. In John chapter 20 we see the resurrected Jesus encouraging Thomas to put his fingers in his hands and side to feel the holes where he was pierced. Jesus didn’t appear before his believers after the resurrection as some translucent ghost figure back from the dead to whisper creepy ghostly words of encouragement. Jesus was flesh and blood, killed and brought back to life. The scars Thomas felt were real and were existent because the same body that was crucified was alive and standing in front of him.


If this is the case, imagine how the rest of his body must have looked. Hit repeatedly in the head he could have easily had one of his eyes swollen shut. Cheeks puffed up and bruised; knots and bumps still evident on his brow. Picture his back and arms and side, still bearing the bones underneath. It’s easy to think his closest friends may have not recognized him at first.


Now, 2000 years later, imagine Jesus sitting at the right hand of God. Alive and well, wounds healed over but still there; scarred and raised from the skin. A daily reminder of the sacrifice he made for you and me. Imagine the day when we get to stand before him and the sweet embrace that will take place. He can look at you and say, “I know the pain you have endured.” As he slides his hand up his forehead, pushing back the hair to show the individual scars where the thorns punctured his scalp. He places your hand over his heart to feel the raised scars where the whips stretched over his shoulder into his chest and ripped the flesh from his body.


Scars tell a tale. Scars are a reminder of what we have been through and what we have endured. In Jesus’ case, they aren’t just a reminder for him, but a bridge for us. Something to show us that he knows the physical and emotional struggles we face every day. They are a way for us to relate to him and him to relate to us. He has been here on the earth, completely 100% flesh. He has felt pain; he has felt sadness and anger. But the most important part of this is that the wounds heal. The day that we get to meet with him and see his scars and embrace the man who died for us, is the day that we can move past our own physical and emotional scars; move past the hurt and the things of this world.


As I said, this is all just an illustration. I have no Biblical support to back up this picture I’ve painted. But I’d like to picture Jesus sitting back as he waits for the day we get to be with him, running his hand over each scar and saying, “I know the painyou’re enduring. These wounds were for you.I love you. I can’t wait to be with you."

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Stop! Hands up! Surrender!

As my feet halted; legs frozen like tears in winter, I heard those words...


"Stop! Hands up! Surrender!"


I slowly twisted my head around in hopes to get a glimpse of the person who had screamed the words that made my heart jump, my hands cramp and my deep breathing lungs turn silent. I thought to myself,


'If I'm quiet, they won't hear me.'


As the sweat dripped through my already blurry vision, all I could make out was a dark authoritative figure behind a bright flashing light shining in my direction. My fingers slowly curled into a fist while I calmly turned myself back in my original direction; acting as if I was ready to give up. The soft sound of footsteps started behind me, my unknown pursuant starting his ascension.


'One...two...' I counted in my head...'THREE!!!'


I screamed as stored energy turned kinetic and I bolted. My feet had never moved so quickly! In seconds I was already yards away from certain doom. I could feel my heart beating faster and faster almost beating a soundtrack to my footsteps. As I was making my escape, I started to think,


‘Why is he not chasing me? Does he finally realize that there is no use continuing the chase?’


He seemed to be miles away now when I heard the voice, even louder than the first time


"Stop! PLEASE! Surrender!"


These words didn't sound like the words of the figure out to get me... they had a tone of desperation, a sense of sadness. He sounded to almost be sobbing. Catching my curiosity, I turned to look back as I ran for freedom. Before my chin could even touch my shoulder, my foot hooked the root of a tree and I was headed down in flames. My arms stretched out, fingers open and palms ready to eat the road; I prepared for impact. All my 5 senses turned off, the noise of the world stopped, everything was dead silent and seemed to flow in slow motion...then...I hit...But it didn't hurt, I laid there for a minute to regain my composure. As I unlocked my tightly clenched eyes, I looked to my palms and realized they were un-harmed. I checked my knees and shirt, brushing both off with speed and dis-belief. As I started to look up I realized I had been caught by the figure chasing me. But I wasn't caught like captured, or red handed. I had been caught and protected from the fall. He spoke again and said,


“Please surrender, I want so badly to stop chasing you. I want so badly to be with you.”


It's then that I realized the one who had been pursuing me was not after me to punish or hurt me. He was trying to help me. He was the man who died for me years before. The one who longed to be with me, and to share life with me...and this whole time I had been running out of guilt...out of shame and out of FEAR! As I sobbed in his arms, let my guard down and dropped my masculine mask. He again spoke and said,


“This is what it means to surrender..."

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Faith

I want a faith that bleeds
that opens up and scars

I want a faith that chokes
that coughs and struggles for air

I want a faith that bruises
that swells and hurts to touch

I want a faith that's abused
I want a faith that takes a beating
I want a faith that is tangible and real
I want a faith that's used and broken but never dies and never quits
I want a faith that will collapse to it's knees with fatigue and pain just to slowly stand back up to its feet, look it's challenger in the face and say in a Kris Kristofferson tone... "Is that the best you can do?"