Real Peace. Real People.

15:1-11 Now, brothers, I want to remind you of the gospel I preached to you, which you received and on which you have taken your stand. 2 By this gospel you are saved, if you hold firmly to the word I preached to you. Otherwise, you have believed in vain. 3 For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, 4 that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, 5 and that he appeared to Peter, and then to the Twelve. 6 After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep. 7 Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles, 8 and last of all he appeared to me also, as to one abnormally born. 9 For I am the least of the apostles and do not even deserve to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. 10 But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect. No, I worked harder than all of them—yet not I, but the grace of God that was with me. 11 Whether, then, it was I or they, this is what we preach, and this is what you believed.

Confucius is dead. History knows it. It’s well documented. You can still find his grave in a large cemetery in his hometown of Qufu. L. Ron Hubbard suffered the same fate. The founder of Scientology was cremated and his ashes were scattered in the Pacific. I suppose could keep at this. I could keep listing off the founders of world religions and how their bodies are all in some form buried, but I think you get the point. A depressing one, I know. So many people have come through the world, have taught their version of truth, and then they’ve died and been buried. And where does that leave us? With nothing solid. Nothing definitive. And nothing to set our souls on with any real confidence.

It’s always been like this. People have always been on the search for the most credible voice. The best stab at truth. Anything that will give us purpose for our lives and ultimate hope for our future. Anything that will help us believe there’s more to this life than watching imminent death bare down on us like a semi-truck. You know what we need? We need a claim to truth that rises above the rest. We need a claim to truth that totally impresses us with the evidence of its life-giving claims. We need a claim to truth that captures our hearts with the proof of its power.

Paul held that trump card. The problem was that not everybody knew it yet. Not everybody knew that Christianity wasn’t just one voice among many. It was the only voice. And why? Because its founder didn’t stay dead. That wasn’t yet clear to all the Corinthians to whom Paul was writing. You know what was? Death. Corinth was a place where saying, “I think a guy can die and then physically come back to life,” sounded just as likely to happen as seeing a pig wing it’s way off on the horizon. They knew how the world worked. You swat flies and watch them drop. You get steaks in no other way than dispensing with the cow. You go to funerals, attend wakes, and bury loved ones never to see them again. They were living in a world where their hairlines were receding, their arteries were clogging, and their minds were dulling. They saw this life as followed by death and then nothing after that. Nothing.

At least, that’s how it looked. And that’s the way people thought. People still do. Lots of them. It’s hard to get the head and certainly the heart around the idea that a human being can be laid under the sod only to rise and shine again afterwards. Death feels too final to us. Too ultimate. And too powerful. It did even to Jesus’ first disciples. And this after they had been told by Jesus that he would be rising! But they clearly didn’t buy it. When I read you the history of Easter morning just a little while ago did you catch why those women decided to show up at Jesus’ tomb? It wasn’t to celebrate the resurrection. I can tell you that much. They showed up to give poor, dead Jesus a proper burial. It didn’t even cross their minds that maybe, just maybe he would do what he said he was going to do… that he might rise. Not once.

That’s our battle too. We’re still fighting for that truth just like those first Christians were. It totally makes sense if you think about it. We all live in a world that always seems to be dying, but never rising. And so sometimes we end up believing that that’s how it always works. The most current statistics bear this out. 1 out of 2 people who regularly attend mainline churches - we’re talking three out of four Sundays - don’t believe people physically rise from the dead. Even in the most vigorous and Christ-centered churches like this one, only 85% of people who regularly attend think Jesus bodily rose. And I’m not picking on anybody. I’m really not. Even people in the Apostle Paul’s church were struggling with this.

You know what Paul did about it? It’s not what you might expect. He didn’t bust out a scientific thesis. He didn’t hand out scholarly abstracts explaining how it’s possible for a man to rise physically from death. He didn’t fight back with a legal analysis examining all eyewitness testimony to make the case. He didn’t even berate people for their creeping doubts. You know what he did? He doubled down. He doubled down on the same truth that had initially convinced them of it. He doubled down on the same ideas that they had first believed. He doubled down on the same power that had first knocked their spiritual socks off.

See if you can catch how Paul does that here, “For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures.” (v. 3-4) If you asked me what I was going to eat next Thursday, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I’m not even sure what I’m going to put on my plate for brunch after worship let alone tell you what I’m going to eat next Thursday. Put that in perspective for a moment. I’m so abundantly human and so completely finite that I can’t even make a concrete and accurate prediction about what I’m going to be doing in the next hour let alone in the next week. Let alone hundreds of years from now. Let alone be so confident of my power to make a prediction like that that I put it down in writing. Did you know that that’s what the word “scriptures,” means? It means, “writings.” In other words, Christ is so powerful and so important that he predicted true happenings in his life hundreds of years in advance, put them into writing, and then pulled them off in real time.  

You see what Paul’s saying here? He’s saying, “I didn’t hallucinate this resurrection story while on some ancient drug. I didn’t originate this amazing myth hoping you’ll somehow buy it. I'm just handing out facts that were put into writing millennia ago and now have actually come to pass.” I remember how my heart jumped into my mouth when I “caught” this truth in my own mind. I went to see a massive historical display called The Dead Sea Scrolls a few years ago. I will never forget seeing ancient scraps of prophecies from the Old Testament about Jesus. And I mean specific, concrete ones that can’t possibly be talking about anyone or anything else. Like Psalm 16:10 that says, “You will not abandon me to the grave, nor will you let your Holy One see decay.” Do you see what that’s saying? God’s Holy One will have a body and it won’t stay in the grave long enough to decompose. Scientists carbon dated those scraps to back before Jesus was even born. Mind blown. I saw it with my own two eyeballs. Jesus’ resurrection isn’t some mythological story accidentally gone viral. It’s the real deal. It’s been in the cards for millennia. God put it in writing.

Then the personal witnesses of Jesus’ resurrection come flying at us. It’s honestly a bit overwhelming both in terms of quality and quantity. That’s the deal, right? Witnesses to a fact are not all created equal. You’d likely take the word of a 30-year-old quicker than you would the word of two-year-old. (I’ve got a two-year-old. I can tell you she’s not always trustworthy.) So quality matters. Quantity does too. Having one person make a claim about seeing something feels a lot different than having six people make the same claim. Both quality and quantity matter to us when it comes to formulating an opinion about what actually happened. Watch how Paul stresses both to us, “He appeared to Peter, and then to the Twelve. After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles, and last of all he appeared to me also, as to one abnormally born.” (v. 5-8)

There is enough eyewitness proof here to pile it higher than Mount Everest in terms of real legal witness. This could land in the Guinness Book of World Records for eyewitness proof. Do you see that? You’ve got high, high quality - not going to lie kind of people here. You’ve got your spiritual titan Peter saying it. You’ve got Jesus’ trusted inner circle, the Twelve, broadcasting it. And it’s not just the top quality eyewitnesses getting Jesus sightings. It’s a whopping 500 plus people to whom Jesus simultaneously appeared. And get this, most of them were still alive when Paul wrote this. You think people wouldn’t fact check that? These were people you could take to an ancient Starbucks and they’d tell you, “Oh yeah, I saw him.” We’ve got eyewitness testimony coming out of our ears here.

And I didn’t even tell you about the most convincing one yet. The guy writing this. Paul. The one “abnormally born.” The hostile witness. The one who not only was a skeptic of Jesus, he was an attacker of him. He was so into attacking Jesus that he strategized and carefully planned how he would murder people who actually did believe the resurrection. Paul is a hostile witness if there ever was one. He would’ve been the last person on earth to make claims about Jesus rising from the dead. There is only one thing that can explain a man like that writing words like this. Only one thing. You don’t go from being a stark, raving Christian hater to the resurrection’s greatest proponent. You don’t go from strategizing how to kill the Christian movement to joining it. You don’t go from devoting your life to killing people who make claims to Christ’s resurrection to a life devoted to promoting it unless you saw it yourself. It’s just that simple. Only Christ’s real, historical, and physical resurrection explains Paul’s 180 degree shift. Only that.

In summary, you know what we’ve got here? Overkill. Can you imagine a prosecuting attorney trotting out 513 plus witnesses into a courtroom? Can you? Can you imagine him on top of that busting out words put into writing hundreds of years ago? Can you imagine how convincing he’d be with a hostile witness admitting to it like Paul? This is overkill. This is overwhelming evidence. It’s like getting buried in an avalanche of mind-bending truth. It’s like getting slammed with a 100-foot tidal wave of worldview shaking evidence. It’s an open and shut case.

You know why God delivers with so much overkill? I think you already know why. Because I’ll bet you already sense it happening inside you. For the joy. For the gospel. For you. That’s what this is about. This is about dealing the deathblow to despair and watching the joy begin to grow. This is about not wondering where to find truth or if there is any. This is about coming to see that truth is found and will be found in the man who was the first to walk out of a tomb alive again. This is about knowing that this man has the truly unique ability of doing everything he said he was going to do. Up to and including his promises of reversing the whole world order. Gone is the world where sin is counted against you. Gone is the world where you live for a time only to die. Arrived is a world where sin is forgiven and where you will live a life only to live more life.

That’s the kind of truth to set the heart on. That’s the kind of truth to live life with. I’ll be honest. We haven’t even begun to dig into the massive, craterous impact Easter can have on the way you do your daily life. Not even begun. We’re just getting warmed up here at Peace. We’ve got a whole sermon series lined up for you called Easter Impact. Actually, Christians have always thought of Easter this way. Easter’s never been just a day. It’s always been a season - a whole period of time for us to process and appreciate everything Jesus’ resurrection means for us.

For now, it’s time to be pragmatic. There’s only one religious leader who rose from the dead. Just one. There’s no one to compete with him. I’m not going to trust Confucius to give me something I need when he clearly can’t even help himself. I’m going to trust the man who put it in writing that he would die and rise and then pulled it off. I’m going to trust the man who actually has done what I want done to me. If I’m after trying to erase the date that will inevitably show up on the right side of my gravestone, I’m sure as shootin’ going to pay attention to the guy who erased his. Let me say that even more clearly, I’m sure as shootin’ going to pay attention to the guy who already did erase the date on the right side of my gravestone. More on that great news next week. Amen.

Zechariah 9:9, 10 Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey. 10 I will take away the chariots from Ephraim and the war-horses from Jerusalem, and the battle bow will be broken. He will proclaim peace to the nations. His rule will extend from sea to sea and from the River to the ends of the earth.

There’s a way to a person’s heart that Santa Claus knows about. He’s got that bright red coat to get everybody’s attention. He’s got those cheery cheeks, that graying beard, the perched glasses, and the comfortable belly that just screams, “I’m a regular joe, nice guy.” It’s this image that draws. Malls instinctively understand this. That’s why every December they haul Santa in on the weekends. They know he will draw kids and their parents in droves. It’s an incredible phenomenon if you think about it. Santa Claus oozes niceness, acceptance, and approachability. It’s his secret sauce. And it keeps kids coming back to him year after year after year.

I also have an inkling that that’s why adults keep passing him on. It’s a chance for us to imagine and even hope for a god – small g – like him. Here’s what I mean. As approachable as the man, the legend, Santa is, he wouldn’t feel as nearly as approachable if he actually checked his list twice to see who was naughty or nice. He just wouldn’t. Because no matter how nice and cheery he may look, I will know that he doesn’t feel that way about me if he skips me on Christmas Eve. It’s an incredibly important part of his draw that he never skips me. It’s what makes him an approachable figure. It’s not just his looks. It’s also how he acts toward me. He’s the quasi divine, sort of supernatural being who consistently and cheerfully says, “ho, ho, ho,” to us from his sleigh despite what he knows we’ve done this year.

He’s a bit of welcome relief from a life we sense doesn’t work that way. Relief that Zechariah’s Jewish brothers and sisters needed. They craved relief from the idolatry that plagued their inner lives. They longed to be free from the consequences of their greed and lust and injustice and hatred and - well - you get the picture. The trouble is that the relief didn’t seem to be coming. God seemed to be refusing to just, “ho, ho, ho,” his way past their sin. He had allowed the Temple to get trashed, the people to get run out of dodge, and the country to be overrun by pagans. It was discouraging in the worst sort of way for Zechariah’s first audience. They felt stuck. They were tired of being exiled away from home. And they were exhausted from their never-ending Temple building project. They were looking for their knight in shining armor to come riding in.

That’s the discouragement, which Zechariah was treating, with the perfect medicine: spiritual excitement. If you watch March Madness, it’s like watching the starting line-ups where the announcer gets everybody hyped about the game that’s about to be played. Zechariah’s building anticipation for God’s starting lineup. He says, “Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem!” (v. 9) Can you sense his excitement? This was for him, spiritual caffeine. Or, if you want a more striking and probably better metaphor, the announcement of God’s starting line-up was the spiritual equivalent of sticking a fork into an electrical socket. That’s the kind of electricity that this starting line-up was going to give to God’s people. And he was asking – no commanding! – everybody to join him in his rejoicing and his shouting. And I’ll bet it started to work.

Until the people actually heard the prophecy. That’s when not everybody was sure this was as exciting as Zechariah was making it out to be. “See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” (v. 9) There was no knight – at least not the one they had dreamed up in their heads. There was no shining armor – at least not the kind they could see. They got a king, yes, and apparently one that would be righteous and having salvation, but not of the variety that they had expected. He was humble and riding on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

It must’ve been all a bit tough to swallow. You can just see the heads of Zechariah’s audience spinning thinking, “Zechariah, you seem to be prophesying a king who has a massive image problem. I mean. Come on! A humble king isn’t going to inspire the way he needs to inspire. And let’s get serious here. He’s riding a donkey. That speaks all for itself.” And we can get that. Maybe here in Aiken we can especially get that. Maybe even especially during the month of March in Aiken, we can get that. Because while a donkey is a part of the equine family tree, he’s so - well - normal and utilitarian and boring.

You don’t go to the Aiken Trials and watch donkeys race. You don’t go the polo match this afternoon with your donkey in tow. And you definitely don’t show up wanting to make an impression at Steeplechase by having your trusted steed walk slowly around the obstacles while gorgeous, magnificent horses jump over them. What makes this scene even more appalling is that Zechariah’s king doesn’t even ride a stronger, older, more conditioned donkey. He rides a juvenile, unconditioned, “I-don’t-know-how-to-walk-with-someone-on-board” kind of donkey that to make matters worse was borrowed from somebody else. If you want to put this in perspective, imagine the President of the United State pulling up in a rusted out Chevy and you might begin to understand this transportation choice and what it might be communicating.

This is the king that Zechariah thinks should make us feel like we’re sticking a fork into an electrical socket. This is the king who is supposedly going to make us shout at the top of our lungs. This is the king who is allegedly going to make us ecstatic and turn our hearts to rejoicing. You know what the truth is? Nobody’s going to get excited about a king like this unless they believe they need a king like this.

That sure proved to be true in history. When this king shows up, only some of the people were excited. Some were just plain put off. Others were mad. That’s how this important event goes down in history. And this is an important event in history. Did you know that all four Gospels get this event down? All four. That is rare. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John all tell us about how Jesus rides in on this donkey. And, yes, it was the right kind of donkey. Matthew makes sure we know that. In fact, God wants us to know so surely and so certainly that it is Jesus who fulfills this prophecy that not only does God see to the disciples bringing the colt to Jesus to ride, God also sees to the disciples bringing the colt’s mother right along with it. If that’s not screaming to the world, “This man is riding Zechariah’s foal of a donkey (There’s the colt’s mommy, right there!),” I don’t know what does. And like I said before, some people were over the moon about this. Others – suffice to say for now – weren’t.

You know what the difference was between the two groups? The two groups had different ideas about how approachable the king needed to be. The people who weren’t so excited about Jesus turned out to be were the folks who thought the king should be a whole lot less approachable. They thought, “The king should ride in on a white stallion with all his military gear to boot. He should be powerful. He should be militaristic. He should make a statement so all of the rascals around me will start behaving better.” They thought this way because, as their thinking went, the real problems are all out there. They thought that a less approachable Jesus would be a Jesus who they could still approach, but would still be intimidating and powerful enough to change the political orders, to set the world straight, to deal with unjust policies, and to enforce the rules.

There are others, however, who think the primary problem isn’t just out there. My daughter crawled onto my lap a few nights ago and asked me to read a book to her. It was entitled Learn to Share. For what it’s worth, it’s a book in one of my favorite kid’s book series, The Berenstain Bears. The book started like this, “I’m Sister Bear. I’m here to say that what I like to do is play. I run. I skip. I jump. I climb. I have myself a great old time! Who’s the one I play with best, play with better than the rest? Just turn the page and you will see my favorite playmate - little me.” That turns out to be perfectly true. A bunch of other bears show up to play Sister Bear. Sister Bear shoves one of them and all the other bears go home. Do you see who is biggest sinner in her own story? Sister Bear was. If we’re honest with ourselves (Most of the time, I’d rather not be!), I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to sin. Just me, myself, and I. Or as my mom likes to say, “Wherever I go, there I am.”

People who understand that – like Zechariah – know that the crumbling temples in our lives are landmarks to our hearts that have sometimes run from God. People who get that know that the metaphorical foreign lands in which we sometimes find ourselves are testaments to hearts that have been foreign to God. That’s explains Zechariah’s fork in a light socket reaction to a king who comes riding in on a donkey. He knows he needs a king like that. A king who is coming – humble and riding on a donkey – to deal with him and everybody else like him like this: “I will take away the chariots from Ephraim and the war-horses from Jerusalem, and the battle bow will be broken. He will proclaim peace to the nations. His rule will extend from sea to sea and from the River to the ends of the earth.” (v. 10)

Zechariah’s king isn’t a king off in his ivory tower setting perfect policy. Zechariah’s king isn’t a king sitting high on his heavenly throne handing down just judgments to people who deserve it. Zechariah’s king isn’t a militaristic hero who rides in to set the rebels straight. He’s not even a king who says, “Let’s go fight this battle together. Fall in behind me!” Zechariah’s king is a king who rides to you and for you. Zechariah’s king is a king who rides in and says, “I’ve got this. It’s your job to rejoice!” He’s a king who doesn’t hand down the judgments I deserve. He’s a king who suffers under those judgments for me. That’s why Zechariah’s king rides in on a Chevy, rust bucket level donkey. He rides in on the perfect steed for work that involves cleansing my Chevy, rust bucket level life.

That explains why Zechariah told us – no, commanded us – to rejoice greatly! It’s why he told us to shout at the top of our lungs. Because a king came who wasn’t going to deal with us and anybody else with instruments of war. Gone are the chariots from Ephraim. Bye, bye go the war-horses from Jerusalem. Broken are the battle bows. He comes as a king proclaiming peace to the nations. He doesn’t do it by riding in on a chariot setting everybody straight with his power and might. He does it by riding in on a donkey drawing the whole world to himself with his humility. He does it not from the back of a white, gleaming stallion of a warhorse, but by hanging from nails on a cross. He does it not with a battle bow at the ready, but with his body accepting all the punishment and loss for sin. That’s how he secured the peace between God and us. That’s our Jesus. That’s our king.

It strikes me today that the hosannas that those first people shouted were a bit different in emphasis than ours are today. You know hosanna actually means, “Save me, please!” It’s a desperate prayer with hints of praise for the king who could answer it. Or, perhaps, I should say the King who did answer it. Just days… just hours later. Two thousand years later, I’m still shouting hosanna, “Save me, please.” I have just as desperate a need for help. You know what the difference is though? I’ve had all four writers of the Gospels show me that the help already came. And so for me, it’s less a desperate prayer and more just pure praise for my King.

A king better than I could’ve ever imagined. As heartwarming as Santa Claus may be on Christmas and as hopeful as we may be that he will overlook anything naughty when he checks his list, we have a king who’s better. With Jesus, we don’t have to wonder if he’ll ever check his list. He did. And it didn’t make him skip you with presents. It made him give you the greatest present ever: himself. That’s what Holy Week’s about. We’re just days away from celebrating history’s most significant events. With joy that we can barely conceal, our hearts will pound, “He rides for me.” Amen.

Matthew 27:11-26 Meanwhile Jesus stood before the governor, and the governor asked him, “Are you the king of the Jews?” “Yes, it is as you say,” Jesus replied. 12 When he was accused by the chief priests and the elders, he gave no answer. 13 Then Pilate asked him, “Don’t you hear the testimony they are bringing against you?” 14 But Jesus made no reply, not even to a single charge—to the great amazement of the governor. 15 Now it was the governor’s custom at the Feast to release a prisoner chosen by the crowd. 16 At that time they had a notorious prisoner, called Barabbas. 17 So when the crowd had gathered, Pilate asked them, “Which one do you want me to release to you: Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ?” 18 For he knew it was out of envy that they had handed Jesus over to him. 19 While Pilate was sitting on the judge’s seat, his wife sent him this message: “Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal today in a dream because of him.” 20 But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowd to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus executed. 21 “Which of the two do you want me to release to you?” asked the governor. “Barabbas,” they answered. 22 “What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called Christ?” Pilate asked. They all answered, “Crucify him!” 23 “Why? What crime has he committed?” asked Pilate. But they shouted all the louder, “Crucify him!” 24 When Pilate saw that he was getting nowhere, but that instead an uproar was starting, he took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd. “I am innocent of this man’s blood,” he said. “It is your responsibility!” 25 All the people answered, “Let his blood be on us and on our children!” 26 Then he released Barabbas to them. But he had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified.

“But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep in the affliction of these terrible dreams that shake us nightly. Better be the dead, whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, than on the torture of the mind to lie in restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave. After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.” Yeah, I know Shakespeare can be tough to understand, but did you hear his golden phrases in there? The affliction of these terrible dreams… Better be the dead… After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well. Do you know what Macbeth was talking about? He was talking about what guilt feels like when it rests on our souls. It’s one of the reasons that people have described William Shakespeare as one of history’s most brilliant psychotherapists who never once treated a patient. Shakespeare understood the power of guilt in our lives like few people do.

Even when people don’t quite have a Shakespearean grasp on guilt, everybody agrees that something has to be done with guilt. Nobody believes it’s ok to walk around with it. Even totally secular people see and understand the damage that’s done when we deny, repress, or suppress it. Guilt needs to be confronted clearly and dealt with honestly. Shakespeare understood the consequences of not doing so… the feeling of wishing to be dead… the terrible dreams… and the fitful fever that life becomes. Guilt needs to be dealt with.

And God knows that better than anybody else. That’s one of the reasons he spends so much time telling us about Pilate. And he does spend a lot of time on him. The amount of history and material on Pilate just in Matthew’s Gospel is significant. This section is a full sixteen verses long. That’s a big deal. And from beginning to end, it’s a story of Pilate’s rising guilt. Just look at how it begins. We’re told Pilate’s the guy in charge, the governor. He’s the only one who can legally pull the trigger on Jesus’ crucifixion. And from the very beginning it’s crystal clear to him that Jesus doesn’t deserve this.

The chief priests and elders dragged Jesus to him and immediately started lobbing legal grenades at both him and Jesus. And this is where we can give Pilate a little historical credit. There’s a reason why he rose to the governorship in this turbulent, tough to govern part of this world. He not only saw people. He saw behind people. And he certainly gets this gig too. Matthew makes sure we know this about Pilate, “For he (Pilate) knew it was out of envy that they had handed Jesus over to him.” (v. 18) In other words, Pilate knew better. He really did. This wasn’t a case of a witless guy caught up in a bad historical riptide. Pilate was tuned in. He understood what was going on.

What made it worse was that Jesus was - well - so amazing. Pilate had sat over hundreds of cases and he had never, ever seen anything like Jesus. The legal grenades fell right on top of him and he never once flinched. Pilate never saw a contemptuous or spiteful look cross his face or even an ounce of hateful body language. Jesus sat there silently. He had never seen anything like it - a man so perfectly at ease with his innocence and simultaneously perfectly willing to accept every false accusation thrown his way. Not even Pilate’s verbal jab, “Don’t you hear the testimony they are bringing against you?” (v. 13) got any reaction. Jesus calmly sat there and said nothing. Pilate totally understood the otherness of Jesus. We know this from the historical record. “But Jesus made no reply, not even to a single charge—to the great amazement of the governor.” (v. 14) Pilate was seeing his potential guilt rising sky-high minute by excruciating minute.

To make matters worse, Pilate’s wife piled on too. He was sitting there on his judge’s seat when she sent him a message. It must’ve been so out of the blue and out of character for her because it lands here in the Bible. The Holy Spirit isn’t prone to recording cases of lonely women who are trying to get the attention of their busy husbands. The Holy Spirit is in the business of telling us about incredibly important historical moments, of which this is one. This was a dream that had Pilate’s wife tied up in knots and desperately trying to get her husband to do the right thing. Her message said, “Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal today in a dream because of him.” (v. 19) All of this was incredibly problematic for Pilate. Pilate was generally used to offing folks who mostly or totally deserved it. What he wasn’t used to doing was taking out a harmless, amazing person. This was plowing new soil for him. He could feel the guilt rising.

He had just one great hope left. He had put into motion a political play that he hoped would work. Every year he told the Jews, “I’ll let a prisoner go. And you get to pick who it is.” It was his way of trying to make nice with them. But this year, he decided he needed to leverage this for himself. So he narrowed down their choices to two. He said, “I’ll let Jesus go or Barabbas go. You can pick.” Now we have to understand something here. Barabbas was one doozy of a bad guy. Not even the worst gangsters wanted to see him back on the streets. He was an FBI top ten most wanted type. Matthew calls him, “notorious,” for a reason. He was one bad dude and everybody knew it. Pilate was hoping and maybe even praying that when he came back to them and asked them, “Which of these two do you want?” that they’d answer as any thinking, life loving human might, “We’ll take Jesus.” When they didn’t, he was crushed and immediately started backpedaling. He asked, “What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called the Christ?” (v. 22) By then, he had lost control. The people started yelling, “Crucify him.” And Pilate realized that if he didn’t comply quickly that he’d have a full-blown riot on his hands.

And that’s when Pilate makes his play. It’s when he makes his attempt to deal with all the guilt that he knew he was about to incur. And he did know that. He saw past the grandstanding of the Jewish leaders. He saw the special otherness of this totally harmless and amazing man. He had even heard from his wife. He also was smart enough to know that soon the riot would calm down and it wouldn’t be long before the people would all go away. And he knew that in quiet moments to come and, finally, in some eternal moment before God he would have to face up to what he had decided to do. So Pilate makes his play. He makes his attempt to deal with guilt. Just watch him. “He took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd. ‘I am innocent of this man’s blood,’ he said. ‘It is your responsibility!’” (v. 24) Tell me that what he does here isn’t curious. I’ve never seen anything like this. I’ve never seen anybody do a washing in a court of law. Nor have I ever heard of anybody publically trying to transfer responsibility for guilt to other people in such a loud and ceremonial way. You can only imagine the frantic guilt that drove Pilate to do this.

Have you ever known that kind of gut wrenching guilt? The kind that makes you want to take a shower because you just feel the grime crawling through your skin. The kind that makes your conscience scream and you look for any excuse to say, “It wasn’t my fault. I was egged on to it.” I remember my first experience with guilt like that. My parents had told my friends and I not to play baseball in the street. They said, “You could break a window.” So, of course, me being the intelligent and wise child that I was I played baseball in the street. I still remember getting a hold of a pitch and watching the ball take off about 90 degrees in the wrong direction from my bat. I remember watching it sail - I can still see it in slow motion in my head - toward my neighbor’s big, gorgeous bay window. I remember hearing the crash and the tinkle of glass falling. And I remember the instant guilt. I ran behind my house and hid behind a bush. Literally I did. I ran. I hid and I hoped against hope that all of it was just a bad dream.

 It’s tough to look back at life like that – to take the time to do a moral inventory of our lives. It’s important to do that so we can deal with every kind of guilt God’s way. There are terrible consequences to not doing so. It can give us ulcers. It can put us into relationships where we rely too much on people or are too standoffish. It can keep us focused on the rearview mirror. Worse yet, it can destroy our confidence that God loves us. There’s a story about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle that he sent a note to five prominent men in England that simply said, “All is out. Flee at once.” And as the story goes, all five men left the country within 24 hours. We need to frame our lives and our guilt God’s way. It isn’t God’s way to hide from that one Friday night back in college. It isn’t his idea that we suppress that sin that changed the trajectory of another person’s life. It isn’t his way that we emotional duck the guilt about that one decision made at work that still keeps you up at night. God’s way is so much different. And better!

In a way, it’s Pilate who shows us the way. Here he was ordering God’s death even though he knew so much better. He had mind numbing and soul killing blood and guilt on his hands. Did you notice what he did about it? He washed his hands. You know why? He decided he wasn’t capable of carrying that guilt. He saw he couldn’t move forward in public or private life with this hanging over him. He just couldn’t so he washed his hands of it. And then he transferred responsibility for it. At least, he tried to. He realized that washing his hands wasn’t going to do it. Pilate realized that he needed to transfer the responsibility for guilt. He had to set it squarely on someone else, which is exactly what he did. Or, at least, he tried to.

Think about that. He wasn’t as far off as we might think. It may surprise you to hear me say that about a man who is rightly demonized for his role in Jesus’ death, but he’s not as far off as we might think. He’s right. There’s no moving forward with guilt hanging over us. We must be rid of it. He’s also right that that only gets done by transfer. You know where he got it wrong? He transferred responsibility to the wrong place. Pilate tried to set the guilt squarely on the shoulders of the crowd saying, “It’s your responsibility.” And he did that despite the fact that the right place was right there in front of his nose.

He didn’t know that that’s why Jesus was there. He didn’t know that that’s why Jesus stayed regally silent about the accusations everyone lobbed at him. He didn’t understand that Jesus was literally there to take them, to finish out a divine strategy to carry all guilt. He didn’t understand that Jesus was there to walk toward sin, to bear it, to carry it, to finally and eternally bury it. Pilate didn’t understand that Jesus was there so the spiritual transfer of guilt from us to him could be completed so that while he was tacked to a cross for it, we could move on and forward. He didn’t see that Jesus was there to receive, to take, and to forgive guilt so we wouldn’t have to hide, to repress, and to suppress it. He couldn’t grasp that Jesus was there so we could say out loud, “Jesus, it’s your responsibility.” And walk away and never feel responsible again.

But that’s why we’re not called Pilatians, after Pilate. We’re called Christians. We’re people who believe that God has piled all the responsibility for guilt on Christ. And we’re so excited about that stunning turn of spiritual events that we define ourselves and call ourselves by history’s guilt bearer, the Christ. We’re Christians. We’re the people who don’t live life in Shakespeare’s fitful fever. We don’t drink guilt away. We don’t deny it, run from it, or hide from it. We deal with it the only way that guilt can effectively be dealt with. We believe that it’s been transferred to the God-man who silently let all the accusations stick to him.

Sometimes I wish Shakespeare had captured what living the guilt free life looks like with his genius pen. I’m not sure why he didn’t. Maybe it’s because he couldn’t fathom that the gospel was so freeing or so pure. At any rate, he never did. Not in Macbeth. Not anywhere else either. Here’s what I say about that. That means we have our chance, our opportunity to make our lives something greater than a Shakespearean masterpiece. To live with joy. To live with great peace. To live gorgeous, guilt free lives in Christ. And to become (Picture it!) God’s masterpiece of peace. Amen.

Luke 22:31-34, 54-62 “Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. 32 But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.” 33 But he replied, “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death.” 34 Jesus answered, “I tell you, Peter, before the rooster crows today, you will deny three times that you know me.” 54 Then seizing him, they led him away and took him into the house of the high priest. Peter followed at a distance. 55 But when they had kindled a fire in the middle of the courtyard and had sat down together, Peter sat down with them. 56 A servant girl saw him seated there in the firelight. She looked closely at him and said, “This man was with him.” 57 But he denied it. “Woman, I don’t know him,” he said. 58 A little later someone else saw him and said, “You also are one of them.” “Man, I am not!” Peter replied. 59 About an hour later another asserted, “Certainly this fellow was with him, for he is a Galilean.” 60 Peter replied, “Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Just as he was speaking, the rooster crowed. 61 The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter. Then Peter remembered the word the Lord had spoken to him: “Before the rooster crows today, you will disown me three times.” 62 And he went outside and wept bitterly.

True story. It was late December a few years ago when I threw my skis in the car and drove to my winter wonderland. A foot of snow had just dropped out of the sky and nothing – not icy roads, not a busy Christmas schedule, and definitely not a little bit of cold – was going to stop me from hitting the trails. Cross-country skiing was and still is my favorite sport. The pure speed, the power, and the silent beauty of the sport just pull me. At any rate, as so often happens after a big snowstorm temperatures plunged to below zero. And I thought I’d be ok so I skied out of the chalet and down a rather large hill. On the way down, I felt the expected bite of the wind and experienced the bone chilling cold.

I’ll never forget what happened next. My body shut down. I only understood this later, but what actually happened is that the extreme cold sent my body into survival mode. The blood left my brain, my arms, and my legs. It all went to the core of my body. The result was devastating. I suddenly couldn’t think straight and my body fell apart. I couldn’t move my arms and my legs fell out from under me. I was forced to fall into the snow unmoving. I lay there – I’m not sure how long – fuzzily conscious of the fact that no one was going to come along and save me (Too cold to ski for everyone else!) and that although I didn’t feel cold my body was dying. It was that dramatic. I was alone in the woods in sub-zero temperatures and I was freezing to death cold minute by cold minute. I had totally overestimated my ability to ski in cold temperatures.

Overestimating ourselves is a big problem for our physical lives. In the same way, overestimating ourselves is a big problem for our spiritual lives. That’s why Luke introduces us to a man who overestimated his spiritual strength. He dripped overconfidence even during a desperate, cold spiritual winter. The man’s name was Peter. And this sure was a cold, cold spiritual time. Satan was trying to take out the whole kingdom of God. That much became clear. Satan was thinking, “I’m not just going to take out Christ. I’m going to take out each one of his disciples too starting with Peter.” So he makes his play for Peter. He goes to God and he gets permission to go after him. We know this because Jesus actually reports this directly to Peter. He says, “Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat.” (v. 31)

Jesus deeply is concerned. You can almost feel his concern bleeding off the page. He doubles Peter’s name. He says, “Simon, Simon.” This was moving for Jesus. It was emotional. That’s why he doubles up on Peter’s name in the moment. Not only does he double Peter’s name, he also drops Peter’s nickname, Peter, so that he can call him Simon – his given name. That’s sort of equivalent to my mom sitting me down and saying to me, “Jonathan Herbert…” so I can grasp that what she is about to say she really means. That she truly wants me to tune it and get it. That’s what Jesus is doing here. Jesus is deeply concerned and he wants Peter to be concerned too. He wants him prepped and ready for the spiritual sifting that Satan was going to lay on him.

But Peter just can’t grasp it. He had no idea how much potential he had for falling. He thought he’d be just fine so he blows Jesus off. He said, “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death.” (v. 33) He believed that. Deep down truly and sincerely Peter believed that. He believed he had it in him. He believed he was powerful. He believed he was strong. And he was so ingrained in that belief that not even Jesus’ solemn, emotional moment with him can’t shake him out of it. It didn’t strike a chord that Jesus had called him by his given name. It didn’t get past Peter’s spiritual overconfidence that Jesus was emotional about this coming attack. Peter blows it all off. He basically says, “Lord, I’ve got this. I’m ready to go all ten yards. Don’t worry about it.” He totally overestimates himself.

So Jesus just comes out with it. He had to. He couldn’t have Peter ignoring his warning, and spewing out false bravado about himself. So Jesus comes back to Peter with pure straight talk. “I tell you, Peter, before the rooster crows today, you will deny three times that you know me.” (v. 34) Do you see what Jesus is doing here for Peter? He’s lobbing at him the spiritual equivalent of a fat pitch. He’s telling him what’s going to happen before it happens. He’s giving him every opportunity to avoid, to stop, to break free, to beat the coming sin, and to have victory. And he does this just hours before it’s all going to go down. Jesus gave Peter every spiritual advantage for the coming fight. It’s like he put a parka, gloves, and an awesome winter hat on him before he lets him ski out of the chalet.

But even with all these helps, Peter almost immediately falls into a thousand spiritual pieces. The next time we see Peter, we already see him starting to fall apart. Jesus gets arrested and Peter follows – we’re told – “at a distance.” Why was he so far off? Why was he being so careful? Already, his fears are overcoming him. Next he cozies up to a fire outside the house of the high priest. As he stares into the glowing embers, a servant girl sees him and says, “This man was with him.” Think about that. It was a servant girl! The person with the smallest voice and the least amount of real power is the one speaking. And despite the fact that Jesus had tossed him a fat pitch – he had told him this was going to happen – bam! Down he goes. He says, “Woman, I don’t know him.” So much for being willing to go to prison and die for Jesus. And then it’s just like dominoes after that.  He becomes more adamant and the sin comes easier.  His final denial goes like this: “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Down, down he falls into the depths of denial.

He does this despite the fact that he had been emotionally warned this was coming. He does this despite the fact that the least authoritative person in the whole place, a servant girl, had approached him. He does this despite the fact that he wasn’t sitting in a courtroom of his peers; he was sitting quietly by a fireside. Peter had been given every spiritual opportunity to stay strong. And, yet, he still falls.

And God allowed this to happen. He had given Satan permission to sift Peter. What was God up to? Why would he allow this? You know what the answer is? God was teaching Peter an important lesson he hadn’t yet learned about himself. It’s a truth that God’s prophets and prophets deal with all over the Scriptures. That’s why they tell us so many stories of people gone haywire. The Christian faith teaches that we each have a lost and fallen nature.

Peter wasn’t grasping this so God allows him to experience a devastating personal fall. He does this to kill off his inner cowboy, to burn down his spiritual bravado, and to show him his complete brokenness. That’s not a bad, wrong, or unchristian place to come to. It’s actually a mighty spiritual work of the Holy Spirit to bring someone to the point where they throw their hands in the air and say, “Clearly, I’m lost and only getting more lost.” You may even find it interesting to know that on more than one occasion Jesus points out that the people who think they have it best together are the ones farthest from him. At any rate, God was showing love to Peter by letting him experience his lostness.

He does this so that Peter can finally get Jesus. That’s always the goal. Understanding ourselves is only helpful in so far as it helps us understand Jesus. That’s why God never does this tough spiritual work apart from the gospel. The whole goal is that at the same time we stop overestimating ourselves, we never underestimate Jesus. Watch one of the most gorgeous spiritual encounters in history play out right in front of your eyes. “Peter replied, ‘Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Just as he was speaking, the rooster crowed. The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter.” (v. 60, 61)

Do you see that incredible juxtaposition? Do you see how they sit right next door to each other? Peter falls. Jesus looks. The rooster crows. Grace captures.  What do you think was in the look of Jesus? What was there that was so powerful for Peter that he runs off and weeps? How exactly were the corners of Jesus’ mouth turned? How did his eyes change shapes? What visual cues did Jesus send Peter to help him get grace? Because he did get it. You know which disciple sprinted into Jesus’ tomb the fastest when he heard the news that the body was gone - no hesitation? You know who jumped out of the boat the quickest when he realized it was Jesus standing on shore after the resurrection? You know who tradition holds to be the man who ends up dying a horrific martyr’s death for Jesus? Peter. What kind of love for lostness, what kind of determination to give grace in place of judgment was in the look of the Lord? And how exactly did this all come together in Peter’s heart?

When I was lying there on the snow literally freezing to death, I remember fuzzily thinking to myself, “I can just lay here and die or I can get up and try to get back to the chalet.” The fact that I’m here tells you that I chose the latter option. I didn’t have the strength to stand or ski so I crawled. I literally crawled back to the chalet. I’m not sure how long it took me. All I know is that it felt like and eternity. What I do remember is what it felt like to watch the doors close behind me as I crawled up next to the stove that was pouring out heat. I’ve never appreciated heat more than in that moment. It saved my life. Literally it did. It had taken me from death to life. The difference was that dramatic. Overestimating myself hadn’t allowed me to properly estimate the value of heat. Correctly estimating myself allowed me to properly estimate heat’s value. That moment gave me clarity about my relationship to heat.

That’s what Peter experienced. That moment gave Peter clarity about his relationship to Jesus. Understand what was going on here. The more darkness you believe you have, the more you believe Jesus is your only light. The more sin and weakness you see in yourself, the more grace you must believe Jesus has for you. There’s a direct relationship between the two. That’s how it works. Overestimating ourselves always means underestimating Jesus. Correctly estimating ourselves means we can correctly estimate Jesus. That’s what Jesus was communicating to Peter in his look. At the same moment that his lostness became so painfully clear, Jesus’ saving work became even clearer. At the same moment that Peter saw his fall clear as day, he saw what Jesus was doing about it as he marched off to Calvary. At the same moment that Peter denied Jesus, he came to understand that Jesus would never deny him. That, in fact, Peter’s denial was leading Jesus to make a claim on him with his blood. When Peter stopped overestimating himself, he began to correctly estimate Jesus. He estimated that Jesus wasn’t just some great teacher. That he wasn’t just a Rabbi or a wonderful miracle worker. Peter estimated that Jesus was the huge and perfect Savior he needed.

It’s always been this way in the Christian church. It’s always the people who best understand their sin, who best understand Jesus. Peter is just one example of this. He’s a person, a story, and a history who gets Jesus. If you want to see how well he gets Jesus just go ahead and read 1 Peter and 2 Peter. There are others too. I suppose I could take you on a biblical excursion or an escapade through Christian history to show you hundreds of examples. I suppose I could do that, but I doubt I have to. Because today the Holy Spirit used what was written about Peter. It was written down for us. That’s why it’s in there. To show us that we’re made of the same clay. To show us that we have the same Savior. To help us estimate ourselves so that we correctly estimate the hugeness of our Savior. Amen.

John 19:38-42 (and other selected verses from the Gospel of John) Later, Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate for the body of Jesus. Now Joseph was a disciple of Jesus, but secretly because he feared the Jews. With Pilate’s permission, he came and took the body away. 39 He was accompanied by Nicodemus, the man who earlier had visited Jesus at night. Nicodemus brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds. 40 Taking Jesus’ body, the two of them wrapped it, with the spices, in strips of linen. This was in accordance with Jewish burial customs. 41 At the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb, in which no one had ever been laid. 42 Because it was the Jewish day of Preparation and since the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.

It’s strangely liberating to have nothing to lose. I know a guy who used to struggle with alcoholism. He couldn’t see it or understand it for years, but he was an alcoholic. He went about his life mostly in the bag and wrecking relationships along the way. He had a wife who had given up on him, a mother who was frightened of him, and friends who had checked out on him. One night, he headed to the bar like he always did and as he sat there alone with his bottle the weight of years of abuse crashed in on him and he hit his bottom. He came to realize he had nothing more to lose. That’s when he finally joined a recovery group. There’s something about having nothing to lose that frees us to get bold in life and make a needed change.

That’s the idea that captured John. And in Nicodemus he found his perfect illustration. Nicodemus was the man who seemed to have everything. He had Bible knowledge. Loads of it. He, after all, was a Pharisee. And he had position - the highest kind. He was a ruler in the Sanhedrin, a sort of Jewish Supreme Court. Nicodemus had it all. He was living the life. Could this man who seemed to have everything make an important spiritual change?

And so Nicodemus becomes for John an incredible case study. We have to understand what John is up to here. John writes much later than the other Gospel writers. The books of Matthew, Mark, and Luke were already out for years. And it’s not like they were missing any important content. The life and times of Jesus were in those Gospels in all their mind-bending, horrifying, and beautiful detail. All of it. But they don’t mention Nicodemus. Not once. But John does. Understand something. That’s not just a fun fact meant only for Bible trivia events. It’s showing us that John sees a wound within Christianity to which Nicodemus ministers. It’s not like Matthew, Mark, and Luke hadn’t heard of Nicodemus. They most certainly had. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John had access to the same information, but John is the only one who uses the story. Why John? John writes years later. He watched Christianity and Christians develop and he sees that we need Nicodemus’ story.

And just so we’re clear, it’s not only so that we’d have John chapter three. That’s an important part of it, but it’s not the only part. If it were only about chapter three, then Nicodemus wouldn’t have been named and he wouldn’t have been brought back up later in John. There are plenty of occasions when the Gospel writers don’t provide names, but John does here. And not just a name, he also provides timing. And he does this on three different occasions in John. Three! He just won’t let this whole Nicodemus scenario go. He begins his Gospel with it. He brings it back toward the middle of his Gospel and then he ends his Gospel with it. Just track with me through the book. This is from chapter three: “Now there was a man of the Pharisees named Nicodemus, a member of the Jewish ruling council. He came to Jesus at night…” (v. 1-2) Then John comes back in chapter seven and writes, “Nicodemus, who had gone to Jesus earlier and who was one of their own number, asked…” (v. 50) Then after Jesus dies you have this history in chapter nineteen, “He was accompanied by Nicodemus, the man who earlier had visited Jesus at night. Nicodemus brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds.” (v. 39)

Now you tell me. Why does John do that? Is John the vindictive apostle who is never going to let Nicodemus live down his fears? Is he the kind of person who will never let Nicodemus forget the cowardice he showed by visiting Jesus at night? I think we all realize that’s not what John’s up to here. What John means to do is to showcase God’s work. Nicodemus is one of his finest. Seriously he is. Nicodemus is a gem of spiritual reconditioning or of spiritual growth. It’s a beautiful thing. So each time, John mentions Nicodemus he also gives us Nicodemus’ reference point, his baseline. He’s saying to us, “This is the same guy. This is where Nicodemus started and this is how far God brought him as his faith grew.”

It is stunning how far down the path of Christian maturity God moved Nicodemus. There’s his baseline. He started by coming to Jesus secretly and quietly under the cover of darkness. Because he had to? No. He was a top dog. He was a member of the Sanhedrin. He had options, but he didn’t schedule a daytime appointment. He had too much to lose. He was afraid of losing his position. He was afraid of losing the respect of his peers. He had way too much to lose.

In our next Nicodemus sighting, we still find him battling his fears. This time his fellow leaders are raging at the people listening to Jesus only because they “know nothing of the law” and they’re breathing fire at the temple guards who wouldn’t arrest Jesus. And that’s when we watch Nicodemus edge toward the line of fire with this question: “Does our law condemn anyone without first hearing him to find out what he is doing?” (v. 51) Not too bad. Nicodemus was growing. He was willing to ask a tough question for Jesus, but not yet ready to make a clear statement. He tried to redirect the fire breathing, but he wasn’t yet ready to step into its path. He still had too much to lose.

And Nicodemus’ fear ends up having tragic consequences. The same council that Nicodemus sat on ruled on Jesus. They condemned him to death. I’m sure Nicodemus wasn’t happy about it, but his fear ends up making him an accomplice to deicide. Homicide is one thing. Deicide, or God murder, is another. By his silence and cowardice, Nicodemus became an accomplice in the ultimate crime - killing God. He watched it play out right before his eyes. It was after Jesus’ crucifixion that Nicodemus finally changed. He got bold. He stated his belief, and he grew in Christian maturity. It’s this change that we want to understand better.

You might think it was the guilt that drove him. You might think it was the shame that finally gave him the willpower and the nerve to break free of his cowardice. You might think it was doubled down inner conviction that allowed him to vanquish his inner demons and be bold for Jesus. That’s what you might think. You might even think that that’s what the rest of this sermon is about. You might be thinking to yourself, “I totally know where this one is going. The pastor is going to pound on us a while about how silent we’ve been about Jesus. That’s how we’ll finally get it through our thick skulls how bad it is. Maybe that’ll actually help us change.” And I suppose God could’ve done that with Nicodemus and with us, but he doesn’t.

He had every right to. I still remember being so embarrassed of my Dad. He was always such a loose cannon about Jesus when I was growing up. I’d never know when Jesus would come flying out. I remember once we were at the grocery store and the clerk made a comment about the food we were buying and immediately my Dad went into an extended doxology about the goodness of God in providing such a feast. It’s moments like that that the Apostle John must’ve been thinking about. He must’ve seen our inner Nicodemus who can be so small inside, so scared of losing what’s ours, and so fearful of what people might think of us. He must’ve seen that because he gave us silent Nic in his Gospel. He gave us a man who was afraid of rejection by his peers and of losing his position. He gave us a man who went at truth sideways ish or not at all. He gave us a man who hedged and hid, who would rather talk about the weather or the latest NFL scandal than breathe a word about his Savior. He gave us Nicodemus.

And he did it not to pile on, but to forgive. He did it not to guilt us into a better obedience, but to inspire us to it. He did it not to get us to push past our fears of rejection, but to rid us of them. Christianity is not a place to come to get relentlessly pounded until we finally get it right. Christianity is not place that has its endgame in helping people come to grips with the nastiness of sin so that we’ll finally decide to stop. Christianity is not a place that finds its ultimate joy in telling people you’ll lose everything if you don’t change. Christianity is the place to come to find out that we’ve been given everything despite the fact that we haven’t changed. Christianity is the place to relentlessly hear of Jesus.

That’s what Nicodemus found out and it’s also what changed him. It wasn’t pounding guilt that got him. It was the pounding of Jesus’ nails. It wasn’t the coming to grips with sin that finally did it. It was the coming to grips with the death of Jesus. Nicodemus watched Jesus hang on that cross. He heard Jesus say, “Father, forgive them.” He watched the centurion get it and go public saying, “Surely, this man was the Son of God.” He heard about and perhaps witnessed the tearing of the temple curtain, the earthquake, and the resurrections that happened at the moment of Jesus’ death. And through it all, Nicodemus learned truth. Nicodemus learned that God isn’t about naming and shaming the people who aided and abetted his deicide; he’s about releasing them from that guilt. That’s what changed Nicodemus. That’s what did it. Nicodemus became convinced that with a God like Jesus he had nothing to lose.

If you think about it, that’s exactly what happened inside Nicodemus. He was letting Christ’s crucifixion help him understand the rest of his life. He was thinking it through. He was understanding, “If Christ would go to all the trouble of forgiving me my accessory to deicide charges, then what will he not do for me with his grace and power?” That idea drove away his fears. Nicodemus could lose could lose his seat in the Sanhedrin because he knew he had gained a seat in the throne room of God. He could lose a close friend if he had to because he knew he would never lose the faithfulness of his God. Do you see it? Christ’s crucifixion taught Nicodemus that he had nothing to lose that truly mattered.

So he goes public in a huge way. Here’s what John tells us, “Later, Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate for the body of Jesus. Now Joseph was a disciple of Jesus, but secretly because he feared the Jews. With Pilate’s permission, he came and took the body away. He was accompanied by Nicodemus, the man who earlier had visited Jesus at night. Nicodemus brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds.” (v. 38-39) Understand how public this was. This wasn’t normal burial procedure. That’s why they had to go get special permission. Not to mention that they had to get special permission from Pilate. Who knows who Pilate would talk to. It was a risky, ambitious move for these guys and not at all private. They went and asked for the most politically and religiously toxic body ever to grace the face of the earth. And formerly fearful Nic did that with a knapsack of 75 pounds of myrrh and aloes. Believe me. You can’t just hide 75-pounds of that stuff inside a big coat. Nicodemus got out into the world big and bold for Jesus.

That’s the story of Nicodemus. He stands there on the pages of the Gospel of John as one of God’s finest works, an incredible example of spiritual development in the Bible. John curated and developed all of the material that he put in his Gospel and he just had to put Nicodemus in with it. Do you see why yet? There’s too much power there. We can’t be confronted with the cowardice and the grace, the sin and the forgiveness of this history and not be changed. You just can’t. You can’t look up and not be changed when you see Jesus be everything and understand that we literally have nothing to lose. That’s how Nic at night became the Nicodemus who strapped a 75-pound knapsack to his back to deal with Jesus’ body.  He had been freed. You have been too. There are bolder conversations to have. There are better blogs to share and write. There are relationships to fill with more truth. There are Facebook statuses to update and people to reach. And we’re going to do it because with a God like Jesus we have nothing to lose. Amen.

John 11:45-53 Therefore many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary, and had seen what Jesus did, put their faith in him. 46 But some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what Jesus had done. 47 Then the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the Sanhedrin. “What are we accomplishing?” they asked. “Here is this man performing many miraculous signs. 48 If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and then the Romans will come and take away both our place and our nation.” 49 Then one of them, named Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, spoke up, “You know nothing at all! 50 You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.” 51 He did not say this on his own, but as high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus would die for the Jewish nation, 52 and not only for that nation but also for the scattered children of God, to bring them together and make them one. 53 So from that day on they plotted to take his life.

I’m not sure it’s fun to think about, but I think it’s fair to say that scheming is as embedded in the American experience as baseball or apple pie. I’m guessing I’m blissfully unaware of most of the scheming that goes on, but sometimes schemes do show up on my radar. There’s Bernie Madoff and Aiken’s own Jay Brooks. There are the stories of people who buy a new house only to find out that the materials and construction are so cheap and shoddy that their house is falling apart already in year three. There are the smooth political operatives who say what they need to say not because they actually believe it, but because it keeps them in power. And there are the people who get phished on-line or once again get an e-mail claiming that someone wants to give me an inheritance from England.

Of course, while it is an American experience, it’s by no means a uniquely American experience. It’s a human experience. I think that’s why this history that John shares with us here is so immediately recognizable to us. We get it. We all know what it feels like to get played. Scheming is everywhere. You can just see it here. The power players in ancient Palestine have a “Jesus problem.” They don’t call it that because they don’t want to dignify it or give it power by naming it. So they refer to “this man” and talk about how “this man” is definitely a problem for them.

And why is “this man” a problem for them? The problem they have with Jesus is so backwards it’s almost laughable if it weren’t so evil. They don’t have a problem because Jesus is hurting kids or stabbing people or threatening leaders or anything horrid like you might expect. You know why they have a problem with Jesus? The religious leaders have a problem because Jesus raised a guy named Lazarus from the dead. Seriously. That’s why. Think of how backwards and twisted that is. “Jesus, how dare you stop a body from rotting in the grave. Jesus, how upsetting it is that you stopped up a whole clan’s tears and turned them to cries of joy. Jesus, how wrong of you to show that your power to help people extends to our greatest enemy, death. Jesus, how dare you!” And, yet, that was the problem. “Some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what Jesus had done.” (v. 46) Can’t you just picture that? The tattle tales run to the top religious folks and they breathlessly report, “Jesus has struck again. This time he raised a guy from the dead.” Like that was actually a bad thing.

And then the political and religious gears start to turn. “The chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the Sanhedrin.” (v. 47) They got together the political and religious top brass of the time for an impromptu meeting. And all their fear and anxiety about Jesus comes spilling out. It’s really interesting how poor their organization is. They have no agenda for their meeting. They have no direction for their conversation. They’ve got nothing, but their fear and anxiety. And it all comes out. “What are we accomplishing? Here is this man performing many miraculous signs.” (v. 47) They’re like trucks stuck in the mud. They’re just spinning their wheels with anxiety over what to do about Jesus and his miracles.

Meanwhile, you can just imagine Caiaphas, the high priest, presiding over what he views as these anxiety ridden, weak kneed, religious peons. You can just see how he intentionally lets them get all worked up into a tizzy so they’re ready accept his leadership and his ideas. Here’s the conversation that was playing out in front of him, “If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and then the Romans will come and take away both our place and our nation.” (v. 48) They named their fear. They were afraid they wouldn’t keep their place. They were afraid they wouldn’t keep their positions and their power. They were afraid they were going to lose their money. And in their fear, Caiaphas saw an opportunity. Pigs would fly before he would waste a good crisis. Caiaphas was that calculated. While everybody else was anxious about what the next move would be, Caiaphas was seeing the end game. It’s what he did. It’s why there were three high priests in as many years before he came on board. It’s why his tenure lasted a good thirty years so. Caiaphas was good. And I do mean good.

Finally, Caiaphas knows the moment has come. And it was a moment! Caiaphas drips swagger. He oozes condescension. This is what he says, “You know nothing at all!” (v. 50) No nice words. No poetry. No hearting winning. He douses the whole room with an insult. He wants to show them who the boss is. He wants to shut them down. He wanted to belittle them so they’ll all get in line. Only then does he lays out the end game. And make no mistake how brilliant he is in how couches it. He doesn’t just come out with it. He doesn’t just say, “Off the guy.” He’s smarter than that. He knows he has to get political cover. So he does. Here’s what he says, “You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.” (v. 49) Do you see the card he played? Caiaphas played the patriotism card. He said, “There’s really only one honorable thing to do in this situation. We need to be good patriots. He’s going to have to go for the good of the nation.”

So cold. So smooth. So calculated. And so murderous. He pulled the right strings. He led the right people. He gave himself the right political cover. You know what? Just a little while later Caiaphas actually pulls this off. He catches a massive break in the case when Judas shows up. Then he orchestrates a mock trial where he gets Jesus to claim he’s the Christ. And that, of course, gives him the perfect chance to show fake outrage by tearing his robes. It was just magnificent. He got to convince everybody how right they were to condemn Jesus to death. Genius. Perfect. Caiaphas won the day. Caiaphas got his checkmate. Caiaphas got what he wanted. At least, that’s how it looks.

And that bugs us. At least, it does me. Because it pokes at the traumas and hurts in our own life experiences. It reminds us yet again that it looks like evil wins. And that stings. I still remember when I was growing up how I had to run to the defense of my older sister. And why? Because she has Down’s Syndrome and kids would pick on her because of it. And that’s nothing to some of the stories I’ve heard about evil in this world. Fathers who check out on their kids or check in on them in all the wrong ways. Employers who squeeze their employees like oranges just ‘cause they can. Kids who get taken into a home not to be loved, but for a welfare check. You can’t even read a Dear Abby column in the Aiken Standard without hearing about a spouse who schemes to get away with cheating. It can seem like this is Caiaphas’ world.

That’s why we needed to hear about The Schemer. We needed to understand him. See him. Get him and appreciate him. We had to see The Schemer in this story. No, I’m not talking about Caiaphas. He’s actually not the Big Schemer in this story. Did you catch that? Caiaphas’ scheme got trumped. See if you catch it this time as I read this, “You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.” (v. 50) Do you see it yet? Caiaphas was right. He didn’t mean to be right, but nonetheless was right. He said that it was best that one man would die for the people. Do you see what Caiaphas just did? Caiaphas unwittingly and unintentionally shared the gospel. The whole nation shouldn’t get placed on the eternal trash heap. Just one man should. One man for the world. The just for the unjust. The Son of God in place of guilty sinners. He took the punishments. He suffered in our place. Better he should die for us than we should die in our own place. Caiaphas had unwittingly and unintentionally shared the gospel. Caiaphas wasn’t this history’s greatest schemer. God was.

And just so we’re clear about the power of God in this moment, John gives us some important commentary on how Caiaphas arrived to this gospel statement. “He did not say this on his own, but as high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus would die for the Jewish nation, and not only for that nation but also for the scattered children of God, to bring them together and make them one.” (v. 51-52) Do you see it? Caiaphas got used. The player got played. The schemer got schemed. Think of how beautiful that thought is. A guy who meant to speak only words of condescension, sarcasm, and murder unwittingly speaks the most life giving words on earth. A guy who is bent on evil is unknowingly bent on the greatest good. He didn’t even know this was happening. God didn’t possess him. God didn’t whisper these words in Caiaphas’ ear. Caiaphas spoke of his own free will. Think of what that means. God arranged the moment, the personality, and the perfect words to come from the mouth of Caiaphas and he did this at one of the darkest moments of human history.

Do you see what that tells you about God? God governs the worst moments and the worst people to do his saving work. That’s the power of God. God has a mind-blowing capacity to take evil and make it good. Or to say it another way, God is playing salvation level chess while everybody else is playing checkers. And that matters. Do the math. If God can arrange to preach the gospel out of the mouth of one of history’s most fervent Jesus haters, then he can also arrange to save you. And he has. Understand something. God used Caiaphas in this moment not only to share the gospel, but also to arrange for the gospel. Caiaphas became one of God’s pawns in making sure Jesus saved us. Did you notice how clear John was about that? I love this so much because it shows John was already thinking about us. He went way out of his way to say that Jesus would die not just for the Jewish nation, but also, “...for the scattered children of God.” (v. 52) I’m not sure how much clearer he could’ve been for us saying, “Hey Aikenites, I mean you. One man died for you. You’re off the hook. You’re saved. You’re in. Believe it.”

And now think about this. After saving you, everything else is like child’s play for God. Seriously it is. It’s like cutting through butter with a hot knife. It’s like adding 1+1 for a math genius. It’s easy. If you can take the thoughts and actions of one of mankind’s most sophisticated bullies and use him to spit out gospel truth. If you can take history’s most evil momentum and use it to make sure that one man dies in place of everyone else. If you can take Satan’s most diabolical plan and turn it into a perfect sacrifice. Then understand this: You are a God with perfect power. You are a God with ultimate knowledge. And you are a God with overwhelming grace for people.

There’s only one thing left for us to do. Trust that in our lives. The beauty of this dark history is that it doesn’t get any more diabolical. It doesn’t get any more sinister or chaotic or bad or evil. This is as bad as it gets. This was a plot on the life of God. And right there in the thick of that darkness God put the gospel in the mouth of a man who hated him. Do you see what that means? God makes light shine in the darkness. Always. That truth allows us to do life trusting God every day, and every hour. It allows us to say to ourselves, “If God orchestrated events and people surrounding Jesus’ death to save people including the words of one of history’s greatest Jesus haters, then I have every reason to believe that’s he’s doing the same for me right here and right now.” It’s child’s play for God. We can live safely in a world that can seem awful full of schemers because we’ve got The Schemer who’s got our back. Let me tell you about this Schemer. He’s playing salvation chess for you while everyone else is just playing checkers. Amen.

Mark 14:1-11 Now the Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread were only two days away, and the chief priests and the teachers of the law were looking for some sly way to arrest Jesus and kill him. 2 “But not during the Feast,” they said, “or the people may riot.” 3 While he was in Bethany, reclining at the table in the home of a man known as Simon the Leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, made of pure nard. She broke the jar and poured the perfume on his head. 4 Some of those present were saying indignantly to one another, “Why this waste of perfume? 5 It could have been sold for more than a year’s wages and the money given to the poor.” And they rebuked her harshly. 6 “Leave her alone,” said Jesus. “Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. 7 The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me. 8 She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial. 9 I tell you the truth, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.” 10 Then Judas Iscariot, one of the Twelve, went to the chief priests to betray Jesus to them. 11 They were delighted to hear this and promised to give him money. So he watched for an opportunity to hand him over.

It used to be cool to name your son Judas. Wow has that changed! In 2014, the top baby names for boys were Liam, Noah, Ethan, and Mason according to babycenter.com. On the other hand, the name Judas was used only 3 times for every 1 million baby boys that were born. It is the 403rd most popular name – one of the least popular names for boys used today. This wasn’t always true. Back around year 2 B.C., everybody and their brother was naming their  kid Judas. For good reason too. Judas in Jewish history is like George Washington to us. In the Apocrypha you can read accounts of more than one Judas leading Israel in revolt against oppressors. That all happened a little after 167 B.C. And that’s why by the time Jesus was born everyone was naming their kid Judas. It was a hot, hot name. Until it wasn’t anymore. Sometime after Jesus’ death that trend suffered a nasty reversal. It’s never made a comeback. Not once. Not even secular folks want to call their kids Judas anymore. I’ll bet you can guess why.

None of us want to get associated with the dark, traitorous activity of Judas. Not only do we not want to be associated with it, I’m not even sure we want to think too much about it. It’s tough stuff! And, yet, there it is. It stares out at us here from the Gospel of Mark in all too much detail. It’s worth asking why. Why is it there? What is it saying to us? How does it help us understand ourselves? And, more importantly, how does it help us understand Jesus better?

We don’t know boatloads about Judas, but we do know some key details. We know it was him who got upset about this perfume-pouring incident. And we know why he got upset. He saw it as cash flow. As keeper of the moneybags, we can almost picture him taking coins and taking, “Two for me. One for Jesus and the rest of the disciples. Two for me. And one for…” You get the picture. At any rate, he had some status among the disciples because he kept the money and he became their spokesman on this occasion. We have a pretty good guess as to why he did. He probably wasn’t from backwater, hickville Galilee like the rest of the disciples. He was probably from Jerusalem. That’s why he got such a trendy, important name like Judas. He was richer, better educated, and more culturally refined than the rest of the disciples. Here’s the point of me telling you this. As far as people go, Judas seems to have been a pretty decent guy. He had a good upbringing. He was well respected among his peers and capable of responsibility.

And then somehow a switch flips at Simon the Leper’s house – a guy Jesus had healed. Lazarus is there too – a guy Jesus recently raised from the dead. And then there’s Mary. She understands Jesus is heading to the cross. She’s so blown away by Jesus’ resurrection of her brother, Lazarus, and so overwhelmed by Jesus’ coming sacrifice that she does the unthinkable. She “…came with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, made of pure nard. She broke the jar and poured the perfume on his head.” (v. 3) Immediately everyone in the room reacts. Judas leads and speaks from his gut. He says, “Why this waste of perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year’s wages and the money given to the poor.” (v. 4-5) You can just see his gears turning. He smells that awesome, expensive perfume and seethes to himself, “She just sent $60,000 up in smoke. Ridiculous.” And he blurts out his frustrations even as that beautiful, incredible smells fills the room.

But John lets us in on Judas’ nasty little secret. He wasn’t upset that the money was being spent. He was lying when he said, “I want the poor to get it.” He wasn’t upset that the money was being spent. He was upset that the money wasn’t spent on him. “He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.” (John 12:6) Do you see it? Judas was an opportunist. Judas had latched onto Jesus for all the wrong reasons – for the opportunities he thought Jesus could provide. He had likely latched onto him for the political liberation he hoped for and the financial rewards he believed would come. And then this happened. He saw $60,000 go up in smoke. It was the final straw for him. He couldn’t wait anymore. He wasn’t going to dilly dally around waiting for Jesus to deal with the Romans. He wasn’t going to watch Jesus burn through money like that. Jesus’ usefulness had run out. It was time to cut ties and get out of the relationship what he could.

So Judas goes and he hammers out a contract. That’s literally the word used in the original language. Judas contracted out his services of handing over Jesus privately to Jesus’ enemies. Sad stuff. What was that conversation like? “I’ll do it for 50 silver coins,” Judas says. He thinks to himself, “I should at least get a solid payday for handing over someone I consider to be a friend.” They counter, “25 coins. We’re not made of money here.” They finally settle on the biblical price you pay for a Hebrew slave, 30 silver coins. Here’s how the history reports it, “Then Judas Iscariot, one of the Twelve, went to the chief priests to betray Jesus to them. They were delighted to hear this and promised to give him money. So he watched for an opportunity to hand him over.” (v. 10-11)

So, why did he do it? Judas had wrong belief about Jesus. Judas mistakenly thought Jesus was sort of like a coke machine. You put coins into the machine. You get a coke. You put something into Jesus and you get back out what you want. “Jesus, I’ll follow you and you remove the Romans from my homeland.” “Jesus, I’ll follow you and you give me a sweet house overlooking the Mount of Olives.” Judas hoped that following Jesus means political victory and financial success. It’s when it doesn’t play out like that… it’s when Judas’ dreams get dashed that he flips on Jesus and sells him for the price of a slave.

That’s the story of Judas. What should we say about it? Should we say, “Too bad so sad?” Should we think, “Let’s just forget the poor soul?” Should we refuse to name our kids after him and get on with life? What, if anything, is there to learn from Judas? Don’t you think it’d be nice if we could look down our noses at him, shake a disapproving finger at him and think, “I never in a million years would’ve done that. Not me.” But can we really do that? Is that honest? Can we say that unlike Judas money has never had too much power in our lives? Can we say that when it comes to Jesus we’re ready to pour $60,000 out on his feet just because he’s there? Or if we were in that room, would we have had the same feeling as Judas? “Mary, what in the world?” Can we go even farther than that? Can we say that we’ve never been disappointed when we find out that Jesus isn’t the coke machine that we imagined? “Jesus, why don’t you get on board with my agenda for my life?!”If you’re ok so far (I’m not!), then can we still pass the final test and say, “I’m not a big, bad sinner. I’m truly different.” Here’s the deal. We need to be honest about Judas. It’s too easy to make him the scapegoat. It’s too easy to say, “It’s all and only Judas’ fault that Jesus died.” The uncomfortable truth is that we caused Jesus’ death just as much as Judas did. Or so say it another way, our sins nailed Jesus to the cross just as much as Judas’ did.

Judas came around to understand his sin. He really did. It gripped him. You know what he did about it? He ran to the religious authorities and blurted out his sins. He said, “I have sinned. For I have betrayed innocent blood.” (Matt. 27:4) You know what those religious leaders said to him about that? It still haunts me to this day. They said, “What is that to us? That’s your responsibility.” (Matt. 27:4) Those words just haunt me. I want to tell you why. That right there is one of the greatest missed opportunities in history. It was just missed. Here was a guy who understood his sin. He got it. And wanted to know what to do with it. He wanted to know how guilt gets gone. He wanted to know how to arrive to a clean conscience. He wanted to know how sins get forgiven. He truly did. That’s why he was there. And nobody told him.

Nobody told him that it wasn’t his job. Nobody told him that was Jesus’ job. Nobody told him it wasn’t his responsibility. Nobody told him it was Jesus’ responsibility. I wish I could have been there, don’t you? I wish I could have told him the truth. I wish I could’ve pulled the lead weight off his shoulders. I wish I could’ve spoken truth to his torn-up soul saying, “Jesus was betrayed so he could go on and win you forgiveness.” I wish I could have taken him literally to the foot of the cross and said, “Do you see it? Jesus paid and ransomed you. You’re safe, clean, and forgiven. That’s true for you right here and right now. That’s what Jesus is doing up there.”

I didn’t have that chance with Judas, but I do with you and I’m not going to miss it. If there’s a big, bad, Judas-level sinner in this church today, then listen to what I’m saying. Look up at Jesus’ cross. Understand why he’s up there. He’s up there to give grace. He’s up there to win forgiveness. He’s up there to make you safe, and clean, and new. Understand something. There is nothing in your life that is so evil, so deeply wrong, or so guilt producing that it’s not covered by the death of the Son of God. Nothing. Here’s what that means. It’s time to quit harboring guilt. It’s time to stop torturing the conscience. It’s time to see and believe that forgiveness is yours in Christ. It’s time to see that big, bad sinners have a real, live, big, huge Savior. That’s gospel truth.

In fact, don’t you see that this was God’s plan for Jesus to die right on this particular timeline, right in this particular way? It actually didn’t happen the way the religious leaders planned it. Did you notice that? They said, “But not during the Feast…” (v. 2) They didn’t want to upset the people too much. They didn’t want to get out of the religious routine. They wanted to kill Jesus without any fuss. But God had a different idea. Jesus would die during the Feast. And why? Because God wanted all those people on pilgrimage to Jerusalem to see it. Because God wanted all those people to get stirred up and to believe what was happening there. Because God wasn’t concerned with letting them keep their little religious routine of killing an innocent, perfect lamb on the Passover. God was concerned with replacing that lamb with a better one. He wanted to give them a Lamb for the sins of the world.

That’s what this is all about. One of the things that I’m hoping that you’re beginning to see at Peace is that when the Holy Spirit talks to us he doesn’t talk to us about a lot of different things, he talks to us about the same things in a lot of different ways. And he does this so that in a lot of different ways and at a lot of different places we are confronted with the sin and grace, law and gospel, ourselves and Jesus. That’s what the Bible is all about. And that’s what you’re going to see in this sermon series called People of the Passion. You’re going to see real people who are really saved through Jesus and you’ll grow in faith through it.

Judas the Opportunist is just step one. Here he is – arguably the biggest, badest sinner in world history. He is, after all, the guy who betrayed the Lord. Tough to top that one. And, yet, Jesus loved that man. Jesus made him one of his disciples – spent years with the guy. And Jesus went to the cross not just because of him, but also for him. Jesus had a huge heart and he bought grace for that big, bad sinner. That’s the lesson of Judas. Big, bad sinners exist. Maybe you’re like me. Maybe you’re one of them. If you are, then I’ve got great news. We’re why Jesus came. Jesus came to be an even bigger Savior. Amen.

Colossians 3:13-4:6 Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord. 19 Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them. 20 Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord. 21 Fathers, do not embitter your children, or they will become discouraged. 22 Slaves, obey your earthly masters in everything; and do it, not only when their eye is on you and to win their favor, but with sincerity of heart and reverence for the Lord. 23 Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, 24 since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving. 25 Anyone who does wrong will be repaid for his wrong, and there is no favoritism. Masters, provide your slaves with what is right and fair, because you know that you also have a Master in heaven. 2 Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful. 3 And pray for us, too, that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ, for which I am in chains. 4 Pray that I may proclaim it clearly, as I should. 5 Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. 6 Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.

Alright coffee drinkers, how long have you been at it? I’ve been at it now for about a decade. Ever since the Seminary’s early, early mornings I’ve started my day with a cup of java. I never even think about how that coffee arrives to me. Not like I should. I did the other day for the first time. It was an article on Yahoo that helped me think it all through. This how it started, “For each cup of Colombian coffee, there is the wonderful and inspiring story of every bean.”

It’s humbling to think how dependent I am on other people for that coffee. Somewhere in Colombia a coffee farmer grew a coffee bean. One day someone trucked it off that farm, and shipped it to the United States. Another day a worker at Kroger put those beans on a shelf after getting shipped all the way to Aiken. And then last night my wife put that little ol’ coffee bean from a farm in Colombia through a grinder (who knows who made that and how it got to our house) and into our coffee maker (who knows who made that and how it got to our house) all so that I can pour that filtered coffee into a mug (who knows who made that and how it got to our house) and have my coffee first thing in the morning.

And I haven’t even told you about the rest of my morning that is also dependent on other people doing their jobs. There’s the computer I type on, the word processing platform in Google Drive that I type into, the cereal I eat, the Honda I drive. You get the picture. We are tied to other people. God made us that way from the very beginning. Maybe you remember that this traces back all the way to creation. Do you remember how after each day of creation God would sit back, survey what he had made, and think the same thought? He’d think, “This is really good.” At no time did he think anything different except once. You know when he thought that? After he made Adam. After he made Adam, he thought, “It’s not good for the man to be alone.” (Genesis 2:18) So God made Eve a helper suitable for him. It was the first human network, the first helper of another human.

That’s why we have this section that my Bible calls Rules for Christian Households. That’s how we know that this isn’t a toss in or closing fluff. It’s not like Paul was going along with his letter saying, “Ya know? I’ve said a lot of things about Jesus, how to think about him, and how to do life with him, and now I’ll just lob a few quick and easy, concrete instructions at people to wrap this baby up.” God is invested in his human network. It’s one way he sends us grace after grace after grace. That’s why he has anything to say about it at all in this airtight, incredibly important letter to the Colossians. He makes the world turn with wives, husbands, children, masters (now known as employers), and servants (now as employees).

But you know what? He couldn’t talk about any of this before he talked about our sin and then the gospel’s solution to it. It wouldn’t fit into our lives correctly. We had to understand that we as wives, husbands, children, employers, and employees don’t live out these roles to win grace, but because we already have it.

I have a theory about this that I think it’s safe to say is more than a theory. We sin more often and most grievously against the people who are closest to us in our lives. I’m the best example of this today. Don’t let the irony pass by that as I preach on verses from the Colossians that talk about children obeying their parents that here my parents sit - probably the only Sunday they’ll be able to be with us this year. That was God’s plan not mine. This sermon series and this Sunday were already set when they decided to fly in. How many fights did they have to break up between my twin and I? How many times did they have to discipline me for chasing my sister or hear about what I had done while I was away at school? God had to pour out his grace in Jesus before he could breath a word about wives, husbands, children, employers, and employees because if you think about it it’s for these roles that we need forgiveness and grace the most.  

It’s grace that allows us to say, “yes,” to something as counterculture as this, “Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord.” (v. 18) I’ve praying all week that God gives me sensitivity and grace to handle this tough subject. I seriously rewrote how I was going to talk about this about four times. I’ve been a pastor long enough to know how difficult this verse is to deal with. It’s really tough to hear this and not have your eyeballs pop out of your head thinking, “Did I just hear what I think I heard coming from Paul’s pen?” Honestly, it’s tough not to turn tail and say, “I’m not so sure about this. I think Paul might be taking us back to the Stone Age here.” I get that.

In my heart of hearts, I think objections to this like the feminist movement happen because men aren’t being men. Being a man means that you love and you protect women and children. That’s true masculinity. I’ve sat with enough couples in premarital counseling to know that brides want this. I usually say something like this to future brides, “If he comes home and hugs you. If he listens to you. If he thinks of you and sacrifices for you and for kids. If he seeks your opinions and most of time follows them. If he protects you, loves you, and builds you up, do you think you’ll appreciate his leadership?” You know what happens each time I say that? Her eyes glow. She sees it. She sees how God wants it to be. And she not only accepts it, she wants to see it happen. I’ve also sat with enough women who are married to men who don’t know a godly manhood. They wonder how they can be safe. They wonder how they can be ok to do life. There’s a lot to be said about that too and I think it’s best to handle that in the context of a pastoral relationship.

That’s why it’s so important for husbands to hear what God wants for them. “Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them.” (v. 19) Love your wives, which also means harshness – one of love’s opposites – is out the window. Now I want you husbands to think about this in light of the gospel. Jesus only calls us to do what he did first. He flipped leadership on its head with his leadership for us. He led by leaving his heavenly mansion to become one of us. He led through hanging on a cross. For you HGTV fans, what do you think those home buying shows would look like if husbands on that show followed God’s kind of leadership? Godly leadership happens through service and sacrifice.

And a godly childhood happens through obedience. Paul said, “Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord.” (v. 20) Do you see it? The Lord Jesus is the target of a child’s obedience. It’s about putting a grin on his face. It’s about putting a sparkle in his eye. It’s about a child having a big way to say thanks to their big Savior. It’s no different for employees. They literally get to “to obey their earthly masters in everything,” and, “not only when their eye is on you… but with sincerity of heart and reverence for the Lord.” (v. 22) Jesus turns doing the most boring, mundane jobs like growing coffee plants into one massive, almost daily opportunity to say to Jesus, “Lord Jesus, thanks for being my Savior. I’m sending this one up to you.”

Not that that makes it a cakewalk. It doesn’t. There’s a reason why Paul had to write to the Colossians about these matters. There’s a reason why we have to say this stuff out loud. To preach it. To teach it. To emphasize it. I actually read a pretty good blog that got at this truth the other day. It was a blog put out by a firm that raises money for churches. This is what it said, “To begin with you have to ask the question, ‘How is God going to provide that funding?’ The obvious answer is through people. I think we can all agree that the primary means through which God funds his work on earth is through people. So we then need to ask two questions, ‘Is giving the natural inclination of those who follow Jesus?’ And ‘Are God’s people so in tune with what God’s doing that they will therefore naturally give wherever there is a need for funding?’”

Do you see what that blog is saying? There will come a time when we don’t need to be told clearly how we can live for God. There will come a time when preaching and teaching will cease. There will come a time when we’ll be so connected to God’s will, so full of the Spirit, and so full of light and truth that all of our thoughts all the time will be about how God wants us to be for each other. That time is not here and now. That time is heaven. For now, we’re still growing in love and truth so God clearly tells us how he wants the world to turn.

Not that clarity is the only answer. It’s not. Clarity points the way, but it doesn’t empower. It guides you how to get there, but it doesn’t take you there. It can tell you to follow the orders of a nasty boss, but it can’t make you want to do it. It can point out that as a husband you must sacrifice for your wife even when she’s coming at you like a freight train, but it can’t make you want to do it. It can remind you teenagers to obey your parents, but it can’t help you do that when your parents are driving you nuts. Only one thing can empower us to do what God clearly tells us to do: get an ever-firmer grip on why we do what we do. Did you notice how Paul liberally sprinkled and doused this whole section with those reminders? “Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord.” (v. 18)  “Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord.” (v. 20) “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men.” (v. 23) “It is the Lord Christ you are serving.” (v. 24) Do you see it? We fill the roles God gives us not because we’re working for such wonderful people, but because we work for a wonderful God.

That’s what changes everything. True story. I walked out of my office halfway through writing this sermon and met a guy who sells insurance. He started telling me how he was thinking about leaving his job. And why? It wasn’t for the reasons you might think. It wasn’t the work environment. It wasn’t the salary or the benefits, the commute or even boredom. He told me he wanted to leave so he could, “serve the Lord.” He literally had no idea he already was. He didn’t yet understand that God was using him to help families and businesses when disaster strikes them. He had no understanding that his day-to-day work activities could be aimed at God in faith. He had mistakenly emptied a major part of his life of all the divine significance that God had given it. There’s too much grace here to live without that understanding. Grace not only means that we are forgiven in Christ when we fail in these significant roles, but also that God still wants to use us to make his beautiful world turn. And so wives, husbands, children, and workers do what God tells them to do.

In that article about coffee beans that I caught on Yahoo, I read about Sergio Fajardo. He developed a program called Origen de Cafes Especiales, or, the Origin of Special Coffees. He trains young coffee workers to grow the coffee and get the best roasts. He trained Carmen Patino who used to be just another ordinary coffee farmer. Now she makes some of the most sought after specialty coffee in the world. Apparently it has a gorgeous honey and caramel aroma. God uses a lady named, Carmen, who does her job well day in and day out to deliver the grace of a cup of coffee to people. We get to do that too. That’s what a wife is doing when she sits with her husband after a tough day of work. That’s what a teenager is doing when she listens to her parents without arguing. And it’s what this daddy is doing when he gets a belly laugh from his daughter. It’s a beautiful system God has put in place. You know what the best part it? We get to do it for him. For him. Amen.

Colossians 3:1-17 Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. 2 Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. 3 For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. 4 When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory. 5 Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. 6 Because of these, the wrath of God is coming. 7 You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived. 8 But now you must rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips. 9 Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices 10 and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator. 11 Here there is no Greek or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all. 12 Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. 13 Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. 14 And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. 15 Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. 16 Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. 17 And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

I have figured it out. I now know which spot in Aiken has the highest incident rate of road rage. It’s that spot on Whiskey Road just across from the Fermata Club where the road narrows from two lanes to one. That’s where it all hangs out. I read a Talk Back about that spot in the Aiken Standard soon after we moved here and then experienced it earlier this week. I was driving north in the left lane and I was packed in tightly with one car in front of me and one car behind me. We were like sardines. And the car ahead and to my right had nowhere to go as his lane ended. The driver of the car tried to merge in front of the car that was in front of me and that driver didn’t let him. And I saw rage boil. There was vicious tailgating, and scary acceleration right in front me - you know - basically all the road raging stuff that we know too well.

But now let’s admit something: road rage is a weird phenomenon. I’ve seen lanes narrow from two to one in Food Lion, but I’ve yet to see anybody aisle rage with their shopping cart. It just doesn’t happen. You know why that is? It’s not because people don’t experience frustration and annoyance in Food Lion. It’s that they know they can’t express it there. They know they can’t get away with it. Unlike the person who feels anonymous behind the wheel, social norms force people in Food Lion to contain what they’re feeling.

Which, of course, leads to a key question. How do we change not only the way we treat other people, but how we feel about other people? How do we live with peace in the world and brotherhood in our hearts? That’s exactly what John Lennon was wrestling with in his mega hit called Imagine. He struck a worldwide nerve with that song. We want a world where people are treated like people. We want a world where people are considerate, kind, giving, and compassionate. We want a world where the weak get helped, and the strong think it’s worth helping. We want a world where power serves and money gives. In short, we want a world where people treat people like people. We’re just not sure how to get there.

We’re rightfully cynical of John Lennon’s ideas. Remember what he said? He said, “Imagine there’s no heaven. It’s easy if you try. No hell below us. Above us only sky. Imagine there’s no countries. It’s not hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for. No religion too.” Do you see what he’s saying? John Lennon’s saying, “You know what our problem is? It’s religion. It’s country. It’s property owning. That’s our problem. If that would all just go away we’d all live in peace and harmony.” We’re rightfully cynical of that because we all sense that neither country, nor religion, nor property owning caused that person to act so dangerously earlier this week on Whiskey Road. Lennon didn’t identify the problem correctly and, therefore, he doesn’t have the right solution either.

Paul points out what the real problem is. He says, “Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and covetousness, which is idolatry.” (v. 5) The problem wasn’t who owned the car, or the religion the driver had, or what country the cars were in. The problem was what was the earthly nature of the driver. Now notice what Paul said about that earthly nature. He gave a list that worked from the outside of a person to the inside. Sex immorality is something you do with your body. So is impurity. Then Paul goes after what’s beneath the skin. There’s lust there, evil desires and finally covetousness, or, the desire to take what’s not yours. Paul calls that idolatry.

Why’s that idolatry? If you think about it, the entire list Paul gives is a list of things you take from other people. Sexual immorality is the wrong use of some else’s body. So is impurity. Evil desires and covetousness come with how you look at someone. It’s using them or objectifying them with the eyes. At the end of the day, it’s treating people like they are there to serve you, make you happy, and give you what you want. That’s the very definition of idolatry. If you think about it, that’s what Paul’s next list is about too. He says, “But now you must rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips.” (v. 8) Think about that. Why does a man get angry with his wife? He’s not getting from her what he wants. Why did that guy road rage in front of me? He didn’t get the piece of pavement he thought he deserved. Why does a person slander another person? It’s so that the slanderer can rise in power and might over the person being slandered. Everything Paul lists comes from the idolatrous idea that other people exist to serve me.

You know what the scary part is? Idolatry resonates powerfully with the earthly part of us. I still remember the day the trailer came out for a movie called 50 Shades of Grey. My Facebook feed lit up with it - even Christian people were sharing it. The main character’s name is Christian - an awful twist of irony for sure! The whole concept of the movie is that Christian can use his female companion however he wants. He even forces her to sign a contract that says he has the right to hurt her in whatever way he wants. According to the blogs, he does just that and buys her jewelry to cover up the bruises. Christian brutally uses her, objectifies her, and ruins her. It’s pure idolatry. And you know what? The word on the street is that advance ticket sales for this movie are booming.

Honestly, I don’t like talking about it anymore than you like listening to it, but these are the ideas that Paul talks about here. Why? Because Paul wants us to grapple with the ugliness of sin and idolatry. He wants us shake off the excuses and see the earthly part of us for what it is. Ugly, messy, and destructive. That’s why Paul says, “Because of these, the wrath of God is coming.” (v. 6) Think of how offensive all this must be to God. God made people to be in beautiful, loving relationships with each other. He made us for harmony and brotherhood, for sharing and humility. And then we use each other to get what we want. It’s ugly and it’s why God’s wrath coming.

You know what’s also true? It’s why God sent Jesus. It’s why he sent his Son. God knew it was bad. He saw it clearly. That’s why he didn’t send us a teacher. We need a lot more than the right set of instructions. It’s why he didn’t set up a reform school. We needed a lot more help than a strict regimen. It’s why he sent us a Savior. He sent us a Savior who absorbed all the wrath that was looming. He sent us a Savior who took and took and took for all our taking. He sent us a Savior who was used and used and used for all our using. He sent us a Savior who for the first time in world history treated everybody like they were people.

Did you notice what Paul said about that Savior here? He said, “Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God.” (v. 1) Did you catch it? Paul said that Christ is seated. You know why he said that? Because his work of saving you is done. I was watching guys work their tails off in my neighborhood the other day. They were building a fence. That is some hard work - especially post holing. They went after it for hours. They dug and nailed and then dug and nailed some more. They just went after it. They never sat down once. Until they were done. Christ is seated. The work of saving us in done. There’s nothing more to be done for us to get in with God. Nothing. You know what’s left to do?

Enjoy the victory. That’s what Paul is saying here. “Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.” (v. 2-4) Do you see what Paul is saying? He’s saying, “Be like a dog gnawing on the world’s juiciest bone.” He’s saying, “Be like a rabbit that just can’t get over carrots.” He’s saying, “Be like the ridiculous husband who 10 years later still can’t believe that he married the most wonderful, beautiful woman in the world.” He’s saying, “Think about the gospel. Gnaw on it. Go back to it. Be ridiculous about it. Ruminate on it. Mull it over. Enjoy it. Spend time with it. Set your heart on it. Get all bound up in it.” And why? Because it tells you who you are. You are a person who died with Christ and who now has a life that’s hidden with Christ in God.

You’re hidden. There’s a reason why a dog will go and dig a hole and hide his bone. It’s so that’s he can keep it. It’s so that the bone will be safe. You do something similar in other parts of life. You hide and lock your social security cards, your birth certificate, the titles for your cars, and your treasury bonds. Why? So that they’re safe. We do that with people too. When the Nazi’s were coming to kill Jews, people hid them to keep them safe. Do you see what the gospel is saying here? Your life is hidden with Christ because it’s safe there. And it will be kept safe there until it needs no safekeeping because Christ has finally appeared.

And no, I didn’t get off track. You may think I did, but I didn’t. We’re still talking about how we treat people like people. We’re still talking about how we become the person God wants us to be. We’re still talking about moving to a place where - to use Paul’s language - we clothe ourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, and patience. We’re still talking about getting to a place where we see others not as a wallet to open, or a body to look at, or a lightning rod to strike. We’re still talking about getting to a place where we see people as beings to be loved and served, forgiven and helped. You know how get there? It’s so counterintuitive - the gospel always is - you set your mind on things above. You gnaw on the Jesus’ love. You ruminate on your life that’s kept safe hidden in Christ.

You know what the flipside to that coin is? You don’t ruminate on what’s earthly. You kill it. You murder it. You put it to death. That’s what Paul told us to do. Think of how important this is for the health of your soul. You can glance at a certain magazine that objectifies people and then turn away, or you can buy it, take it home, and spend time looking at it. You can let an angry thought enter your mind and you can send it packing, or you can ruminate on it, nurse that grudge, and turn it into full-blown hatred. Which one gives you life and health? You tell me. And, yes, it has to be a violent and quick death that you deal to earthly stuff. Letting the earthly part of you ruminate on earthly stuff is like putting yourself in a cage with a hungry tiger and you’re the raw meat. You don’t get into that cage and say, “Nice kitty. Nice kitty. Please don’t eat me.” You shoot it dead on the spot. You run from them and you run to Jesus in your thinking. When you set your mind on Jesus and the life he’s given you, the flipside is that then you won’t think about how to use people. You’ll treat them as people.

I’m sure a lot of you know this already, but 50 Shades of Grey is opening this weekend. What do you think should be done about it? And, no, I’m not asking anyone to think in an activist way right now. It’s worth thinking about joining the Facebook effort that’s trying to get people to boycott the movie. It’s worth listening to the people Time Magazine is reporting about who are telling us to give donations to domestic-violence shelters instead of paying to watch domestic violence saying, “Hollywood doesn’t need your money; abused women do.” I’m not bringing this up in an activist sense just a fully Christian one. Here’s what I mean: this Valentine’s Day, do the opposite of 50 Shades of Grey. Find a way this weekend to really see someone - I mean see them and care for them - instead of objectifying them. And do that because you’ve set your mind on the thought that Jesus saw you already in eternity and cared for you. Or, if you end up coming north on Whiskey Road this coming weekend and you’re at that spot by Fermata Club, let a driver in. Do that because you’ve set your heart on the idea that Jesus let you in on so much more than a chunk of pavement, he let you into heaven. Setting the mind on things above is the secret sauce. It’s what sets us free to finally treat people like they’re people. Amen. 

Colossians 2:16-23 Therefore do not let anyone judge you by what you eat or drink, or with regard to a religious festival, a New Moon celebration or a Sabbath day. 17 These are a shadow of the things that were to come; the reality, however, is found in Christ. 18 Do not let anyone who delights in false humility and the worship of angels disqualify you for the prize. Such a person goes into great detail about what he has seen, and his unspiritual mind puffs him up with idle notions. 19 He has lost connection with the Head, from whom the whole body, supported and held together by its ligaments and sinews, grows as God causes it to grow. 20 Since you died with Christ to the basic principles of this world, why, as though you still belonged to it, do you submit to its rules: 21 “Do not handle! Do not taste! Do not touch!”? 22 These are all destined to perish with use, because they are based on human commands and teachings. 23 Such regulations indeed have an appearance of wisdom, with their self-imposed worship, their false humility and their harsh treatment of the body, but they lack any value in restraining sensual indulgence.

I have a nasty habit - a really bad one. I’ve been dealing with it for years. And I want it gone. I suppose you’d never notice it by looking at me, but nonetheless I’ve got it. I fight and sometimes win. Other times I fight and lose. Other people with this same habit don’t have that same experience. You know they have this habit when you look at them. Genetics and one of my good habits, running, keep my nasty little habit on the down low. You might have already guessed what it is. I’ve got a sweet tooth. It’s bad. It’s one for the ages.

Fortunately, Kitchen Safe thinks it has what it takes to save me. My twin texted me a link to it. (Maybe he wants to save me too!) Shark Tank - the show where you can pitch your business to venture capitalists for funding - had the owners of Kitchen Safe on and apparently they must’ve gotten funding because they have a huge banner on the site welcoming Shark Tank fans. Along with that banner are some pretty nice endorsements from organizations that reviewed the product. TIME Magazine said, “the Kitchen Safe is brilliant. This locking cookie jar has a timer to save you from yourself.” Mashable said, “It curbs more than food cravings. It’s also useful for credit card safekeeping or smartphone collection during dinner time.”

What does it suggest to you about us that the Kitchen Safe is selling like hotcakes all around the world? It suggests I’m not the only one with a sweet tooth. It tells us there are others out there like me. They know it’s not a good idea. They know that damage is done over time and yet they are so prone to self-destructive behaviors that they like me might benefit from a locking, timed cookie jar to save them from themselves. Do you think something like that would work for you? Apparently an awful lot of people are hopeful it will or they at least want to try it because they’re buying it. Maybe the people on Shark Tank are right. Maybe there is a legitimate market for this product.

I know. I know. It’s just a sweet tooth. What’s the big deal? I get why you might think that. At first this whole discussion sounds trite, small-minded, and unimportant. It sounds as simple and easy as denying that fourth cookie because you’ve already had three. It sounds as snap easy as limiting sugar intake to keep diabetes at bay. But when you look under the hood at the mechanics of what’s going on you understand the real issues. This is about where a person finds their delight. This is about where a person finds their satisfaction and their life. Do I eat to live or live to eat? Which one is it? And more than that, it’s about the human will, an important part of our souls. Can I own my own will or is a Kitchen Safe the only way to deal with life?

This has so many applications in our lives. This isn’t only about what we eat and how we eat. It’s about every bad habit. It’s about every negative thinking pattern. It’s about changing what shows up in your recent browsing history. It’s about dealing with that lifelong quick and hot temper. It’s about sticking to financial budgets that you set and meeting the goals you’re going after. It’s about making that prayer life that you want actually happen. It’s about learning to how to deal effectively with our hurts, our hang-ups, and our sins that get after us in daily life.

There were some among the Colossians who came from a certain school of thought. They said, “You want to deal with bad habits, sins, and hang ups? We’ll tell you how. You legislate.” It was rule on rule and law on law. We don’t get all the details on the legislation just a vague sense of them, but we know enough to know that they said, “This is what you are to eat. This is what you should drink. These are the religious festivals you need to celebrate and how to celebrate them.” There were even instructions on how to limit your lifestyle and how to properly worship angels.

And you can bet that the promoters of that legislation shouted and hammered it right into the souls of those Colossians. They said, “We want you to straighten out your lives.” Honestly, that’s how it was. If you would have showed up to that church in Colossae, I’m pretty sure that you have been treated to their favorite sermon series. It was called, “Do Not!” Week one would have been about the five things you shouldn’t handle. Week two would have been about the seven things you must not taste. And week three would have been the top three things you should not touch. Paul admitted something about all these ideas. He admitted, “Such regulations indeed have an appearance of wisdom, with their self-imposed worship, their false humility and their harsh treatment of the body.” (v. 23)

Do you see what he was admitting? He was admitting, “It looks wise. It looks right. It looks like if you want to control the body, just legislate it. Just master it and tell it what to do.” But Paul was also wise enough to see that none of it would stick. He went on to say, “They lack any value in restraining sensual indulgence.” (v. 23) Paul’s right. There’s a reason why we have a Whiskey Road in Aiken. Rules about drinking couldn’t stop people from drinking. There’s a reason why NASCAR exists today. I learned this when I moved down here. Apparently NASCAR exists because people started building fast enough cars to outrun the people who were trying to enforce Prohibition.

Rules can’t change hearts. People will only find more ingenious ways to get what their heart wants. If I want to have sweets, rest assured I’ll get them. Just ask my wife. You can lock up yesterdays brownies in the Kitchen Safe, but you know what? Kroger is still open. You can hide the ice cream deep in the freezer, but Dunkin’ Donuts will still happily take my cash. My will has been so distorted and hurt and turned in on itself that even educating it saying, “If you do this, you’re going to get diabetes and you’ll have to give yourself injections,” doesn’t stop the behavior. Sin is that damaging. It always leads us to self-destruction. And rules can’t change that.

There’s only one thing that can: Jesus by the power of his good news. My dog, Callie, is a great example of why this is true. We always say about her that she’s very persistent and she is. If our dog gets it in her head that she wants to get a hold of something, she won’t quit until she does. She will jump up onto counters. She will slink off into corners and wait until we’re not looking. She will patiently wait and lurk until she gets whatever she eyeballed. She will get what she wants. We know how to deal with her now. Change what she wants. That’s the key. Legislation can’t take away the desire or empower the will to resist what a person is eyeballing. The heart has to be moved to something altogether different.

I hope you’ve seen just how Paul has been using the gospel toward that goal here in Colossians. He’s been after that the whole time. He’s gushed about Jesus, both he is and what he’s accomplished for us to draw our hearts to him. That’s been the goal. That’s why he burst into Colossians saying that Jesus qualified us to share in the inheritance of the saints. That’s why he wrote that Jesus is the one who cut the Grand Canyon, rose from the dead, sent demons packing, and all the while was still holding together everything that exists. That’s why he went on to talk about how that God - big G - entered our personal history to bury us and then raise us back to life to live for him and in him. Because the key to dealing with our hurts, hang ups, and sins isn’t to legislate. The key is to set the heart on something so much bigger and better: Christ himself.

And not to settle for anything less. There’s just one big threat. Paul knows that while legislation lacks the ability to save us, it does have the ability to pull us away from the one thing that can: Christ. Sometimes that can happen through something as simple as a theological misunderstanding of how God used rules in the Old Testament. It’s true. There was a time in world history when God asked his people to keep Saturdays holy, to keep the New Moon celebrations, to eat certain things, and not to eat other things. There was that time. And that time and those rules had important purposes. Paul said, “These are a shadow of the things that were to come.” (v. 17) The rules reminded people they needed a sacrifice. The rules reminded people they need to get cleaned. The rules reminded people that they needed a priest to intercede for them. And why? So that they could embrace the great and final sacrifice when it came. So that they could believe the great cleansing when they saw it. So that they could trust the Great High Priest to intercede for them when he arrived. That’s why Paul went on to say that, “The reality is found in Christ.” (v. 17)

A young man went off to fight in the Civil War determined to live to marry his bride. The day he left, she gave him her picture. He took it everywhere. He tucked it in his uniform when bullets were whizzing past. He pulled it out on cold winter nights when he was huddled with his buddies around the fire. He put it under his pillow so he could see her face first thing in the morning. He got out that picture so much that the image even began to fade. But you know what he did with that picture the minute he got home? He put it away and never got it out again. It had served its purpose for its time. It was no longer needed. Now he had his wife. He didn’t need to get out her picture on a cold night. He could hug her. He didn’t need to put the picture under his pillow anymore because he could actually give her a good morning kiss. The picture wasn’t any good anymore. Truthfully, the only possible role the picture - or shadow - could play is to take his attention away from the reality of his wife.

That’s what Paul is pointing out. That Old Testament legislation had a time and a place. That we grant. But it doesn’t anymore. The only possible role Old Testament legislation could play is to take our attention away from the reality we have in Christ. Frankly, that’s true of other kinds of legislation too. That’s why the Kitchen Safe isn’t coming to my house. I don’t need it. I don’t need a cookie jar to save me from myself. I just need my Savior and an understanding of how big a Savior he is for me. He’s the one who’s not only forgiven me my sins that can land me with a hypodermic needle pumping insulin into my veins. He’s also a Savior who changes my heart from one that wants to live to eat into a heart that wants to live for Jesus.

That’s the power we really need. Let me honest. When it comes to our hurts, sins, and bad habits, it’s often not a knowledge or a guidance issue. I’m well aware of my sweet tooth habit. Others know about their negative thinking patterns. They know they don’t want to foul up their recent browsing history. They know they want to lose that quick and hot temper, stick to financial budgets, and start a vibrant prayer life. Neither knowledge, nor guidance are the issues in play. Motivation is. We need a motivation so big, so winning, so compelling, and so central to our souls that it takes the place of whatever it is that has us hung up. Only Jesus can be that for us. Or to be more exact, only Jesus is that for us.

And he really is. One of my good friends is a testament to this. In his case, guilt was eating him up. Drinking, drugs, and a tortured conscience were only symptoms of a much deeper issue. He didn’t yet understand the fullness of the gospel. He didn’t yet know how accepted he was because of Christ’s cross. He didn’t yet know how free he was because of Christ’s resurrection. So when he had a guilty feeling he ran to a bottle. He self-medicated his way through life - anything to be done with guilt - at least for a while. That was his life until God got a hold of him with the truth of the gospel. And guess what. That’s when his self-medicating started heading for the hills. As for me - well - I’m not perfectly cured of my sweet tooth, but I am forgiven for it. More than that, I have real life, in-the-trenches power to spot that fourth cookie in the cookie jar and this time just leave it lying there. Amen.