The premise is pretty simple. For the past few weeks many of us have been participating in something called Lent (more about Lent). Lent is an ancient Christian tradition where, in the weeks leading up Easter we do a bunch of stuff to prepare our hearts to celebrate the resurrection. Prayer. Service. Fasting.

It is, in a way, a time of mourning as we think about the sacrifice of Jesus, and we mourn the fact that he had to die to atone for our sins.

Now, here’s what we’ve decided to do the for the next forty days: we’re going to take the idea of Lent, and flip it inside out.

And now that we’ve taken away something that’s meaningful to us for 40 days, let’s add something meaningful for the next forty days.

• Maybe it’s extra time of worship
• or sending one encouraging email a day
• or studying the book of Acts to learn about what happened in the days that followed Jesus’ resurrection
• or posting on Facebook why you’re grateful

Each Sunday we’re going to celebrate Jesus’ resurrection and study it’s implications (there’s plenty!).

And, as you may know, Lent Kicks off with an Ash Wednesday service, during which we’re reminded of our mortality. Well, we’re going to wrap this up with an Ascension Thursday service, during which we’ll be reminded of our immortality.

Why have 40 days of mourning, and only one day to party? This is going to be fun!

…looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.

Despite the agony, it was his joy to rescue us.

One of my favorite guides in considering the loss and the victory of the cross, is a 19th Century hymn by  Anne R. Cousin. I hope it will lead you into deeper gratitude today, as it has for me.

O Christ, What Burdens Bowed Thy Head.

O Christ, what burdens bowed Thy head!
Our load was laid on Thee;
Thou stoodest in the sinner’s stead,
Didst bear all ill for me.
A Victim led, Thy blood was shed;
Now there’s no load for me.

Death and the curse were in our cup:
O Christ, ’twas full for Thee;
But Thou hast drained the last dark drop,
’Tis empty now for me.
That bitter cup, love drank it up;
Now blessing’s draught for me.

Jehovah lifted up His rod;
O Christ, it fell on Thee!
Thou wast sore stricken of Thy God;
There’s not one stroke for me.
Thy tears, Thy blood, beneath it flowed;
Thy bruising healeth me.

The tempest’s awful voice was heard,
O Christ, it broke on Thee!
Thy open bosom was my ward,
It braved the storm for me.
Thy form was scarred, Thy visage marred;
Now cloudless peace for me.

Jehovah bade His sword awake;
O Christ, it woke ’gainst Thee!
Thy blood the flaming blade must slake;
Thine heart its sheath must be;
All for my sake, my peace to make;
Now sleeps that sword for me.

For me, Lord Jesus, Thou hast died,
And I have died in Thee!
Thou’rt ris’n—my hands are all untied,
And now Thou liv’st in me.
When purified, made white and tried,
Thy glory then for me!

A dark night in the garden The Garden of Gethsemane

THE WIND WAS picking up now, blowing clouds across the moon, shrouding the garden in darkness.

“Stay up with me?” Jesus asked his friends. They said yes and waited under the olive trees, but they were tired and soon they fell asleep.

Jesus walked ahead alone, into the dark. He needed to talk to his heavenly Father. He knew it was time for him to die. They had planned it long ago, he and his Father. Jesus was going to take the punishment for all the wrong things anybody had ever done, or ever would do.

“Papa! Father!” Jesus cried. And he fell to the ground. “Is there any other way to get your children back? To heal their hearts? To get rid of the poison?”

But Jesus knew—there was no other way. All the poison of sin was going to have to go into his own heart. God was going to pour into Jesus’ heart all the sadness and brokenness in people’s hearts. He was going to pour into Jesus’ body all the sickness in people’s bodies. God was going to have to blame his son for everything that had gone wrong. It would crush Jesus.

But there was something else, something even more horrible. When people ran away from God, they lost God—it was what happened when they ran away. Not being close to God was like a punishment. Jesus was going to take that punishment.

Jesus knew what that meant. He was going to lose his Father—and that, Jesus knew, would break his heart in two. Violent sobs shook Jesus’ whole body.

Then Jesus was quiet. Like a lamb. “I trust you, Papa,” he said. “Whatever you say, I will do.”

If we truly want to follow God we must seek to be other-worldly. This I say knowing well that that word has been used with scorn by the sons of this world and applied to the Christian as a badge of reproach. So be it. Every man must choose his world.

Last Sunday I prayed with a woman who was having severe chronic pain in her right hand and arm. I asked her to place her hand on mine, and her husband placed his hand on hers.

We’re all friends, so there was some lighthearted banter. Then we simply asked God to heal her. No theatrics. No hype. The sanctuary was mostly empty. I don’t think anyone even noticed us. My hand began to tingle intensely, not unlike it was ‘asleep’ (this has happened to me many times before). She felt heat throughout her arm, and then a tingling. The pain went away, and it’s been gone ever since.

I emailed her this week and asked her how it was feeling. She replied:

So, God’s pretty amazing!  =)  Until last night, I’d had no pain at all, just some odd tingling that was there when we prayed over it.  As I was sitting on the couch last night, I was thinking over the week and how much baking and decorating that I’d done, and looking ahead at all the baking and decorating still to do and wondering if it would start to hurt.  And I’m so not kidding here when I tell you that I felt a sort of squeeze on my hand that wasn’t necessarily pain, but as if someone was squeezing my hand as a reassurance.  I clasped and rubbed my hands together, and just thanked the Lord for His healing touch.  Isn’t that COOL?!?!?!

Yep. Pretty cool.
So, here are a couple possible explanations:

• Option A: Maybe the tingling was just a product of my imagination, and maybe the heat was just a product of hers, and the alleviation of pain was just a psychosomatic anomaly. Or,
• Option B: Maybe God just showed up healed her because he wanted to.

I’m going with option B. Believing option A takes way more faith than I’ve got.

Tozer had it right: “Every man must choose his world.” I’ve chosen mine, and it’s far more real than anything you can see or touch.

What about you? Leave a comment and share your thoughts. Or, better yet, share your stories!

At a certain get together, a certain person botched the soup (details are being withheld to protect the innocent). They had misread the recipe and put in ten times the required amount of salt. It was close to go time, and visitors would arrive soon. What could be done? What could counteract the effects? Their solution: dump a bunch of sugar in the pot and hope for the best. It was historically bad. Awkward silence bad. Sneak out and dump it off the side of porch bad.

Granted, there was a note of sweetness to it, but it was full on disgusting.

A similar approach seems to be used in resolving marital conflict. Something goes wrong. The recipe called for a pinch of confrontation and ten times that amount was used. Or a tablespoon of trust is replaced with two cups of thoughtlessness. Enough with the cooking parallels, let’s just put it this way: somebody screwed up, and there’s a really bad aftertaste.

Don’t believe the lie that you can fix it by dumping a bunch a sugar into the batch. If you threatened divorce, a box of chocolates won’t un-say it. If you lost your temper, cleaning out the pantry or having lots of sex won’t change history. If you’ve been unfaithful, a diamond or a sports car won’t erase anybody’s memory.

Granted, there may be a note of sweetness to it, but it only serves to make something that was already bad full on disgusting.

That night when the soup went terribly wrong, the answer wasn’t to try to cover it up with a cup of sugar. The mistake couldn’t be undone. They should have thrown out the soup, apologized to the guests, ordered pizza, and asked for a chance to get it right the next time. It would’ve taken more time, more money, and a lot more effort…but that was the only way to go.

Sugar can’t counteract the effects of salt.
Flattery can’t counteract the effects of screwing up.

If you blew it you don’t need a cover up, you need a fresh start. The Bible’s word for this is reconciliation. Reconciliation doesn’t mean the chance to pay penance, it means the chance to get a do-over…to go back and get it right this time. It’s not a shortcut. It’s the long route for sure. But it’s the only way to go.

6 The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them.7 They brought the donkey and the colt and put on them their cloaks, and he sat on them.8 Most of the crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road.9 And the crowds that went before him and that followed him were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!”

Sunday is Palm Sunday. It also happens to be April Fool’s Day. There’s more symmetry to that than there should be.

The week before Easter pastor-types like me are supposed to teach about Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. We’re supposed to talk about the palms and the coats that were placed before Jesus’ donkey while all of the people were shouting “Hosanna! Hosanna!” (meaning, “Save us! Save us!”). This will be my 8th Palm Sunday as a pastor-type, and I’ve just never followed that rule.  This isn’t a story about worship, and there’s nothing to celebrate here. It’s a sad story. We tend to celebrate it because the worship got cranked really high, and that seems like a good thing. However the higher it cranked, the sadder the story became.

It was SO flawed! As you may know, it was the same overhyped crowd that only a few days later was demanding that Jesus be crucified. They’re shouting ‘hosanna” here, but in no time they were calling for his blood. It fits well on April Fool’s Day: It was a joke!

It was so enthusiastic, and it was such profound flattery. However, it just couldn’t have been any more shallow. It’s terrifying, actually. Because we typically use two metrics to gauge sincerity and devotion to the Lord:

1. Words
2. Enthusiasm

I recently wrote about how it’s not uncommon to see minister’s fall. It’s shocking every time. Almost invariably, people say the same thing: “I never saw it coming. They spoke such powerful words, and they spoke them with such enthusiasm.” Words and enthusiasm.

This story shows us that those aren’t reliable metrics. If that’s what we use to measure the sincerity of others, we’re asking to be deceived. Or, even scarier, to deceive ourselves. So, here’s a question: If all of the words, and all of the demonstrable enthusiasm were taken out of your life, what evidence would remain of your commitment to the Lord?”

To clarify: It’s not that our words and enthusiasm don’t have great power, because they absolutely do! But they can’t stand alone…they can never stand alone.

What were they discussing? Religious pedigree. Rank. They were vying for superiority. There’s a common obsession—we want to be noticed, we want to stand out, we want to be the next big thing.

C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity: 

“Pride gets no pleasure out of having something, only out of having more of it than the next man.  We say that people are proud of being rich, or clever, or good looking, but they are not.  They are proud of bring richer, or cleverer, or better-looking than others.  It is the comparison that makes you proud: the pleasure of being above the rest.  If I am a proud man, then, as long as there is one man in the whole world more powerful, or richer, or cleverer than I, he is my rival and my enemy…Pride is a spiritual cancer: it eats up the very possibility of love, or contentment, or even common sense.

How much energy do we spend making sure that we rank properly?  How much money do we waste?  How much of our hearts affections?  Of our mind’s contemplations?

If we’re just daring enough to consider it honestly, we may find that our lives aren’t lived for God at all. But instead for propping up our own names, building our own kingdoms, gaining acceptance and honor in the eyes of people…and not in the eyes of God.

C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity: 

He (God) and you are two things of such a kind that if you really get into any kind of touch with Him, you will be humble—delightedly humble, feeling the infinite relief of having for once got rid of all the silly nonsense about your own dignity which has made you restless and unhappy all your life.

I’ve often wondered what it would look like if we gave up the rat race. What if we gave up on winning and focused on victory? What if we stopped keeping score?

Like the story of Uzzah (Samuel 6). Uzzah was transporting the Ark of the Covenant-a very important job. The Ark held, in a sense, the presence of God. Rule #1 while transporting the Ark: don’t touch! It was too holy and they were too, well, not holy. It’s like I tell my son when he opens his own car door in a parking lot, “Cars are never supposed to touch.”

The Ark was being pulled on a cart. One of the oxen pulling the cart stumbled, and the ark was about to fall! Uzzah swept in, swift and decisive. He reached out and steadied the Ark. Good work, Uzzah! Except for rule #1. God killed him on the spot.

Really!?

You would think, under the circumstances, that an exception could be made. Perhaps I’ll write a letter. “Dear God, may I propose a rewrite?”

In God’s defense: the Ark was being transported on a cart, which was in violation of God’s directions for transporting the Ark. Does that make it feel better? Not yet? Yeah, me neither.

How about this: we don’t know anything about Uzzah leading up to this, maybe he was a terrible human being. Maybe he __________! (Fill in the blank, with whatever crime against humanity you find most offensive). Better yet?

Sort of.

Here I am thousands of years later with this look on my face, and this feeling in my gut- did he even consider giving more information to help us see his rationale…or, maybe, better explaining the no touching rule? Didn’t he realize that people would think that rule was weird, and that his punishment was harsh? Didn’t God think about how this story would read? Doesn’t he see how this makes him look?

And just like that I can feel myself extending my arm and running to steady that wobbly ark.

“Don’t worry God, I’ll catch you! I won’t let you fall! I’ll spin this story so that you don’t sound so mean.”

I won’t do it. Maybe Uzzah was a great guy with a beautiful family. Maybe he didn’t even know the rules about how to transport an Ark. There’s a lot about this story that I don’t understand, but I won’t assume the worst about Uzzah to keep myself from assuming the worst about God. I won’t assume anything about God. I’ll just stick to what I know: He is good, he is just, he is merciful, and he’s more loving than I could ever dream of being, and, when all of the mysteries finally unravel and we see him face to face, there won’t be a single choice that he has made that we’ll want to change.

There’s no need to protect God from himself. He keeps us from falling, not the other way around.

James 3:17-18

17 But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere.18 And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.

Do you have godly wisdom? Well, are you:

1. pure?
2. peaceable?
3. gentle?
4. open to reason?
5. full of mercy?
6. full of good fruits?
7. impartial?
8. sincere?

I hope you didn’t just skim the list. It’s too important for that. God just told us what it looks like if we have his wisdom. It’s a list worth spending some time with.

First pure, then peaceable.

The text emphasizes the order. The order matters. First pure, then peaceable. Purity can be offensive. If you’re in a group of people and all of them are doing something shady except for you, they’ll notice. And even if you don’t say a word, some or all of them will be offended.

• “Well, who do you think you are?”
• “Oh, I see, you’re too good to do what we’re doing. Pardon me, I didn’t know you were a saint.”
• “Do you think you’re better than me? Are you judging me?”

Even if they don’t say it, you know they’re thinking it. If you’re trying to represent Jesus well and encourage others to follow him, then this is a really bad start. Blessed are the peacemakers, right? And, “a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace,” right? How can we do that if we offend people without saying a word? Many have concluded,

“Well, if that’s the case I’d be better off just blending in.”

I understand the logic. Fortunately, this social dynamic is addressed in the text: First pure, then peaceable. If your purity ruffles a few feathers, then too bad. You’ll just have to be a feather ruffler. Don’t blend for the sake of being a peacemaker.

“OK, but then what? How am I supposed to connect with these people I’ve just offended?”

Answer: consult the ordered list. First be pure, and then be peaceable, and gentle, and open to reason, and full of mercy, and full of good fruits, and impartial, and sincere. If you’re first pure, and then follow it up with all of the other things on the list you’ll win over plenty of people.

Being pure, and then being a snob means you aren’t really pure, you’re a hypocrite. Being pure, and then backing it up with all of the decency and kindness that the rest of list requires is actual purity, and that’ll make you (among other things) a really good evangelist.

She’s one of those perfect people…and not the kind you resent for being perfect, either. She’s so humble, that you’re actually glad that she’s got it all together. You know the type.

I was having a conversation with her a few years back, and she said something incredible, something that still shakes me to the core every time I think of it. We were talking about high school craziness and teenage rebellion in general. I told her how awesome it was that she didn’t get caught up in any of that garbage.

I looked up at her, and to my utter surprise, she was crying. I knew for a fact that she hadn’t gotten caught up in any of that garbage, so why on earth would she be crying? Then she said it,

“It’s not enough that I didn’t go the way they went, I was supposed to change the way they were going.”

I think she underestimates the impact she had on her school. Nevertheless, she made an incredible point that I think very few Christians really get:

This isn’t ultimately about morality, its about mission.