Wilderness Wanderings

The people stood watching, and the rulers even sneered at him. They said, "He saved others; let him save himself if he is God's Messiah, the Chosen One." The soldiers also came up and mocked him. They offered him wine vinegar and said, "If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself." There was a written notice above him, which read: THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS. One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him: "Aren't you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!" But the other criminal rebuked him. "Don't you fear God," he said, "since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong." Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." Jesus answered him, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise." (Luke 23:35-40)

The king who saves? What a joke.

Jesus hung there on display for all the world to see: labeled as a king. A king with no kingdom. No power. No authority. It was a mocking statement in itself. Pilate may have thought it humorous to nail up the figurative king of the Jews and stick the religious leaders with their own words. They may have coerced him into crucifying the innocent Jesus by stirring up the crowd, but Pilate would get the last laugh as they found themselves humiliated, again. Their people made into a mockery: here hangs the Jewish king. A king who can't save anyone, not even himself.

And yet, humiliated or not, the rulers would not be humbled. Instead, they put on strength by throwing their own angry insults at this messiah king. They admit that he had saved others, but they use it not as an article of belief, but as a barb. "Save yourself, messiah!" His saving of others had, in fact, been the very barb that had so unsettled their power. Now they stood condemned by their own words: conspirators against the Lord's salvation. They should've known better.

The soldiers and criminals perhaps less so, though. They didn't have theological degrees. The Roman soldiers didn't even know what a messiah was. They just use the term "king." Ignorant brutes who jumped on for a good time.

Then there was the first criminal. He had not become humbled by his own crucifixion, but cynical: putting on strength as the religious leaders had to cover his guilt. Defiant, he shouts out with the rest: "don't just save yourself, but us too!"

But one person wasn't laughing. One person still feared God. He's the only person that doesn't ask to be saved. And yet, he's the only person who was. He did not make a mockery of salvation or the kingdom of God, but humbly sought both.

The criminal on the cross is another paradigm of discipleship in Luke's account, along with Simon of Cyrene and the women. This criminal recognizes his sinfulness which had won him punishment by death. He, like Jesus, had taken up his cross and was dying to himself and his sin. And it is here, in humility that he seeks—not to be saved—but merely to be remembered by this Messiah and coming King. This little prayer in faith though, wins him more than he could've asked or imagined. "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise."

It is not in putting on strength, but in giving it up that we find the humility to ask for what it is that we most need from God: saving.

It's the hush in middle of the storm.

Here stands the crowd of thugs who arrested him in the garden – they knew what they were doing, – earning a night's pay. Its likely they didn't know Jesus well, if at all, indifferent to his guilt or innocence.

Here stand the disciples who abandoned him -- they knew what they were doing – they had sworn to stick with him, to intervene, not to let this happen. But it had happened. They had run when Jesus needed them.

Here stands the high priest, surrounded by his minions, they had brought false charges against him – they knew what they were doing – getting rid of him. This Jesus had constantly eaten away at their control over the Jewish people, he didn't mind pointing out their hypocrisy and abuse of power, it was time to be rid of him. Death by crucifixion was the surest way to be rid of him. No one had yet survived.

Here stand the soldiers who had beaten him to inches of his life – they knew what they were doing – they had been trained for this – this beating – this torture – this humiliation – it was their game, their thing, it was the one thing they were good at, very good at. All in a night's work.

Here stand the women who had cared for his needs and followed him – maybe they weren't quite sure what they were doing here. They had followed him and cared for him; quietly, in the shadows mostly. They would stick with him to the bitter end. Among all those at the foot of the cross, they illustrate for us what discipleship truly looks like (see yesterday's WW for more on that).

In that moment of silence, when all the cruel work of trial, torture and crucifixion was finished, Jesus gasps for breath, they all hush, he seems to look at each in turn: the disciples, the women, the soldiers, the leaders, he's going to say something, but what …

"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Suddenly, we become bystanders, eavesdroppers of a deep conversation in the heart of the Trinity…this is not about all those people, not about us, for us, yes; this is about God, the Triune Creator God.

We think we know ... we know how to live ... but look at our lives ... we know how to love ... but look at the hate in our hearts ... And Jesus cuts across all our puny efforts to play nice to God and says, Father forgive them for they know not what they do.

Its so counter intuitive, so astonishing. We don't do it this way. We want people to know first, how much it hurt, how deep, how lasting, how permanent the scars they have inflicted on us. People must know, they must earn the right, they must demonstrate they won't hurt us again. Then we will think about forgiving.

Yet here, from the cross, is pre-emptive forgiveness. We end with forgiveness. Jesus begins with it. All those scoundrels, and deserters and false accusers gathered around the cross…The first words out of his mouth, Father, forgive…

The first word of God was, "Let there be light". The first word of redemption is "father, forgive." The first word into our darkness, "father forgive." This is not about us, for us yes, but not about, it is about God, about His desire to have us back, about the depth of pain he endured to bring us back.

If God is going to wait until we know the wrong that we do, God will wait forever. If God's going to wait to talk with me until I first admit that I'm a sinner, the conversation will never occur. I'll be too defensive, too deceitful in my guilt. I'd rather die. "Did you conspire to crucify the Son of God?" "Who, me? Why are you always picking on me? I'm doing the best I can."

Our salvation begins with these words. "You are forgiven." Hear Jesus anew, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

As the soldiers led him away, they seized Simon from Cyrene, who was on his way in from the country, and put the cross on him and made him carry it behind Jesus. A large number of people followed him, including women who mourned and wailed for him. Jesus turned and said to them, "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep for yourselves and for your children. For the time will come when you will say, 'Blessed are the childless women, the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!' Then "'they will say to the mountains, "Fall on us!" and to the hills, "Cover us!"' For if people do these things when the tree is green, what will happen when it is dry?" (Luke 23:26-31)

As it turns out: not all the crowds of Jerusalem shouted "crucify!" And not all the disciples fled.

In fact, this is perhaps the panicle of discipleship in Luke's Gospel. Simon of Cyrene, a city in Northern Africa around modern-day Libya, does precisely what Jesus has called all disciples to do: he takes up the cross and follows Jesus to his death. Luke means for us to see the picture.

Similarly, while all of his male companions among the 12 may have fled, betrayed, or disowned him, the women who had followed Jesus all along, followed him still. All the way to the cross. They would also be the first to witness the empty tomb.

It is women who faithfully bear witness to these central moments of our faith. While Simon may have been "seized" and "made" to carry the cross, the women follow willingly. They are no strangers to suffering, and they do not turn away from Jesus' moment of pain, humility, and loss. Instead, they bear it with him—humbling themselves to grieve with him in a strength of emotional maturity the male disciples could not muster.

Do I make too much of this point? I don't think so. Luke and the other gospel writers point out consistently that it was the women, also a few men, but mostly the women who were present in Jesus' greatest hour of need.

Peter had boasted: "Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death!" But when it got hard, Peter disowned his Lord and fled. Not so with the women.

When it came right down to it: the women were the disciples who were ready to face death. They were the ones willing to face down and witness the brutally agonizing moments of Jesus slowing dying on the cross. They were willing to accompany his body to the tomb with Joseph of Arimathea. They were willing to face his dead body again on the third day to offer it the dignity of a proper burial.

Had the women not been consistent witnesses of all these central moments of our faith, would we have known today what happened there on the cross? Would there have been sufficient witness to the event to prove that he had really died, and that his body really was buried rather than stolen away? And what about the resurrection? If the women hadn't gone to the tomb, would anyone else have?

The women were the first witnesses and preachers of the gospel. They were also the first to live it. The first to face Jesus's death and cross. The first to receive word of his life. Will you join them as you take up your own cross and face down your own death in the death of Jesus? Will you stay with them long enough to die to yourself through the grief and pain of repentance and so find new life in Christ on the other side?

To see this sermon in the context of the worship service it comes from, find it here on YouTube. Or, head to our website to connect with the worshiping community of Immanuel CRC: immanuelministries.ca

Among the Evangelists, Luke has the most interesting cast of minor characters. Barabbas comes into focus here. His inclusion helps us understand what happened to Jesus, why it happened, and what it means for us. We need to enter his story to see the tragic day unfold from his perspective and to learn from him.

Barabbas was not a common criminal. He had been thrown into prison for his part in a violent rebellion that had taken place in Jerusalem. Such events were a regular occurrence. Political and social frustration would regularly spill over into violence, sometimes targeted, sometimes mindless and born of the apparent hopelessness of the cause. Because of such events both the Romans and the chief priests were nervous of popular or messianic movements, not least at the time of major festivals.

We know about Barabbas, but he was only one of many rebel leaders in the period. He escaped crucifixion that Passover time, but the cross claimed many, perhaps dozens or even hundreds, even when no major disturbance had taken place. Rebels were crucified. That was the Roman way.

Luke describes the event in such a way that we can hardly miss the point. Barabbas is guilty of some of the crimes of which Jesus, though innocent, is charged: stirring up the people, leading a rebellion. Moreover, Barabbas has committed murder; Jesus was never accused of that. We don't know whether Barabbas saw himself as a possible 'king of the Jews', but that is possible. One of them is to die, Barabbas or Jesus, and it turns out to be Jesus.

Either Barabbas or Jesus must die; either Barabbas, who stands for violent revolution, which Jesus has opposed from the beginning, or Jesus who has offered and urged the way of peace. Jesus ends up dying the death appropriate for the violent rebel. He predicted that he would be 'reckoned with the lawless' (22:37), and it has happened all too soon.

We are by now used to seeing Jesus in company with tax-collectors and sinners. We have been told, from many angles and with many parables, that this was the focus of his ministry. He embodied the outstretched love of God to all in need, going in search of lost sheep wherever they might be found.

But we were not quite prepared for it to end like this. It is one thing for Jesus to go in to eat with a man who is a sinner (19:7). It is a considerable step beyond that for him to go off and die the death of the violent rebel. But this is in fact the climax and focus of the whole gospel. This is the point for which Luke has been preparing us all along.

All sinners, all rebels, all humans are invited to see themselves in the figure of Barabbas. As we do so, we discover in this story that Jesus comes to take our place, under condemnation for sins and wickednesses great and small. In the strange justice of God, which overrules the unjust 'justice' of Rome and every human system, God's mercy reaches out where human mercy could not. Jesus not only shares in our life but goes so far as to take our place in death, receiving our punishment, our fate.

Though the sin we commit may not be murder, nonetheless Jesus suffers on the cross for our sin. Barabbas represents the position we are all in because of Jesus' death: we live because he died. Amidst all this injustice, the grace of God shines through. Jesus overcomes evil and injustice, even while in the midst of it.

Barabbas's story is our story. Jesus freed us by his death, just as Barabbas was freed. One who saves a life is owed a life. Our Christian walk is a statement of gratitude to the one who has taken our place. We willingly take up our own cross and follow him.

On hearing this, Pilate asked if the man was a Galilean. When he learned that Jesus was under Herod's jurisdiction, he sent him to Herod, who was also in Jerusalem at that time. When Herod saw Jesus, he was greatly pleased, because for a long time he had been wanting to see him. From what he had heard about him, he hoped to see him perform a sign of some sort. He plied him with many questions, but Jesus gave him no answer. The chief priests and the teachers of the law were standing there, vehemently accusing him. Then Herod and his soldiers ridiculed and mocked him. Dressing him in an elegant robe, they sent him back to Pilate. That day Herod and Pilate became friends—before this they had been enemies. (Luke 23:6-12)

The opening verses of Psalm 2 says "Why do the nations rage, and the peoples plot in vain? The kings of the earth rise up and the rulers band together against the Lord and against his anointed…"

Pilate and Herod eventually both agree that Jesus is innocent. That doesn't sound much like banding together against the Lord's Messiah. And yet Jesus still winds up on a cross, something only the rulers of Rome could order. This should remind us of something that escapes us far too often. Sin is rarely so dramatically clear.

We see so many possibly redeeming characteristics in both Herod and Pilate across these episodes. We almost want to get up and cheer them on to make the right decision this time, because they seem so close and there's so much possibility that hangs in the air!

Herod is pleased, curious, and had been waiting a long time to see Jesus. Is that not the posture of seeking that could result in a genuine encounter? And yet the encounter sours.

Not because Herod was raging and conspiring against Jesus, but because he was more interested in his own amusement than doing the long, hard work of seeing justice through to the end.

Herod wants Jesus to perform some fancy sign. But, as "a sheep before its shearers is silent, so [Jesus] did not open his mouth" (Isaiah 53:7). So, frustrated that he could not ply Jesus open with his questions—frustrated in other words, that his plaything would not dance—Herod decided to have his fun in a different way.

The chief priests and teachers of the law were there, vehemently accusing Jesus. And though we later find that Herod finds no basis in their accusations, nevertheless he joins them. He and his soldiers begin ridiculing and mocking Jesus, dressing him up in a fine robe so that Pilate can join in the fun. "Here is your king" Herod jests back to Pilate. And just like that, joking over Jesus, the joke king, Herod and Pilate become friends.

The sin of Herod is a good time. Slander, mocking, cruel joking and laughter at another's expense. But on the basis of these boring sins, Psalm 2's conspiracy between the rulers of the age against the Messiah come to pass. On the basis of boring, workplace, schoolyard sins like these: Herod abandons justice, truth, and the only encounter he would ever have with Jesus.

Rarely are the bold, scandalous, or sexy sins the sins that cause we or the church to fall. Far more often it's something simple like a tasteless joke that wedges us away from a true love of God and neighbour.

Yet even for this, Jesus died. Though our love fails, Jesus' love prevails.

Then the whole assembly rose and led him off to Pilate. And they began to accuse him, saying, "We have found this man subverting our nation. He opposes payment of taxes to Caesar and claims to be Messiah, a king." So, Pilate asked Jesus, "Are you the king of the Jews?" You have said so," Jesus replied. Then Pilate announced to the chief priests and the crowd, "I find no basis for a charge against this man." But they insisted, "He stirs up the people all over Judea by his teaching. He started in Galilee and has come all the way here" (Luke 23:1-5).

Early in his gospel, Luke establishes that the question, "Who is Jesus?" is the key to his story. Readers must decide! This same question is still on full display in the trial that precedes Jesus' crucifixion. And as Pastor Anthony said yesterday, we need to make up our mind. Are we with him or are we not?

Its obvious that the whole assembly of the Jewish leaders are not with him. They cart Jesus off to Pilate with a three-fold accusation. 1) He is subverting our nation. This is one of those bland non-specific accusations which lawyers use so that they can tie all kinds of stuff to it (At least, that is what they do in crime novels and TV shows). The problem is that Pilate will shrug his shoulders at this, if its about the Jews, that it is your problem not mine.

The second accusation: "he opposes paying taxes" is an outright lie, since Jesus clearly told them to give Caesar his coin back (Luke 20:25). But this one does get Pilate's attention because his main job is to ensure that Rome gets its taxes on time. He cannot have a Jewish rabbi walking around discouraging the Jews from paying up.

But it is the third charge that Pilate focusses on in the trial summary Luke provides us. If Jesus intends to be king, than he is a direct threat to Pilate. But Pilate realizes the charge is laughable. Jesus does not look like a king, and he doesn't act like a king. Moreover, the only would-be soldiers he has at his command all fled at the first sign of trouble. At this point, Jesus is no threat to Pilate.

At the beginning of the trial, we have two responses to Jesus: the religious leaders outright reject him, and Pilate thinks he's a joke; innocent, but still a joke. What about you? How do you respond to this Jesus? I am sure that you know many people who have these same reactions to him. But why does that surprise us? Why do we tend to recoil when someone challenges or scoffs at our faith in Jesus?

Is it because, like Pilate, we do not understand him? Or don't like that way of his kingdom? Pilate asked, "Are you the king of the Jews?" to which Jesus replies, "You have said so." That's about as much of a non answer as we can get. What does it even mean?

We might have expected that, like Moses at the court of Pharaoh, the leader of the new Exodus would either threaten Herod with God's judgment or perform remarkable feats to demonstrate his claims, but Jesus does neither. He isn't that sort of prophet, and he isn't that sort of king.

Luke places this meeting of Jesus and Pilate in a sequence of scenes designed to reveal the truth of Jesus' kingship and the falsehood of all other types. At this moment, the truth is more eloquently stated by silence. Jesus made no threats, offered no resistance, and said hardly anything. Jesus was caught at the point where competing interests and agendas met. Not only the sins, but also the petty aspirations, of the world conspired to put him on the cross.

As Isaiah said, "We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all. He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth" (Isaiah 53:6-7).

Jesus is king of the Jews, but not in the way that Pilate meant. Not in the way of the world. Can we accept this King?

At daybreak the council of the elders of the people, both the chief priests and the teachers of the law, met together, and Jesus was led before them. "If you are the Messiah," they said, "tell us." Jesus answered, "If I tell you, you will not believe me, and if I asked you, you would not answer. But from now on, the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the mighty God." They all asked, "Are you then the Son of God?" He replied, "You say that I am." Then they said, "Why do we need any more testimony? We have heard it from his own lips." (Luke 22:66-71)

Odd things happen here in the Council chambers. The Council does indeed decide to make a declaration to the Roman governor that Jesus is claiming to be the Messiah King. They will attribute this to him, even though he does not "own" the declaration himself. "You say that I am," is all that Jesus will give them.

Jesus will not incriminate himself, except by allusion to scripture—in this case to the book of Daniel, which talks about the Son of Man, or Psalm 110 where the Lord says to my Lord: "sit at my right hand." Jesus calls Scripture to testify on his behalf rather than speak for himself. This scriptural testimony, of course, is testimony that each of the religious leaders will have to ponder and decide about for themselves... if they're so inclined.

But they're not. They've already made up their minds. Even still, Jesus confronts them with the truth and calls witnesses to testify on his behalf through his allusions to scripture. He loved them and offered them the means to hear and respond to his Messianic presence all the way to the end.

Those words of truth Jesus speaks are arresting though. When they ask him if he is the Messiah, he replies: "If I tell you, you will not believe me, and if I asked you, you would not answer." In one of the most consequential questions of the Jewish faith at that time—the identity of the Messiah—no one in the religious leadership was genuinely seeking an answer.

They were committed only to leaving their options open. If Jesus had asked them if he was the Messiah—they would not have answered him one way or the other, not even to say "no." And if Jesus were to tell them plainly who he was, that wouldn't inspire any faith either, because they didn't really care. They were committed only to keeping their options open.

Which is to say they were committed to other things. To keeping their power. Keeping control of their place in the Temple. Keeping the Romans or the crowds appeased.

If any of us are to be converted more deeply to faith in Jesus, to become more deeply transformed, we will have to hear Jesus' challenge to the religious leaders too. Do we really want to believe Jesus is the Lord of our lives? Do we really want to take on the implications of needing to change and be transformed because he is?

If he asked us, would we answer? If he told us, would we believe him? Or are we actually committed to other things?

In the story of Jesus arrest and trial, both Judas and Peter experience guilt. Guilt is a good thing, mostly. It is meant to be good, to act like a smoke detector, telling us that something is wrong. Of course, like everything else about us, it can be corrupted by sin so that we feel guilty about troubles we did not create. Let's leave that sort of guilt aside for today. In the gospels, both Judas and Peter feel the proper kind of guilt because they have both done wrong.

The question to be asked is, "What do we do with our guilt?" Its not guilt that is a problem, but how we respond to it. Judas could not deal with his guilt. Peter's story ends differently; let's consider it.

Surely, this is one of the most poignant moments in all of the scriptures, "Jesus turned and looked straight at Peter". As he looked into his master's eyes from across the courtyard, Peter must have remembered all his bravado: "Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you" (Matthew 26:35). Did he also remember that Jesus had prayed for him (22:31)?

He went outside and wept bitterly. He didn't kill himself, didn't disintegrate. He continued to hang around. A few days later he ran right into the tomb wondering "Is it really empty?" He swam ahead of the others to meet Jesus on the beach and after breakfast Jesus restored him.

There is no formula to it; Peter did no acts of penance. All we see in Peter is a new humility. He can't bring himself to answer Jesus' question, "Do you love me?" He knows he doesn't love Jesus enough. He knows that now. In Peter's story, we see that it really doesn't matter that Peter's devotion is insufficient. That's encouraging for all of us who wonder if our devotion is sufficient. What matters is that Jesus loves him, Jesus died for him, Jesus rose for him, Jesus stayed with him.

Guilt. What do we do when the guilt alarm goes off? It depends on which gospel we believe in. Many Christians buy into the gospel of self-improvement. We tell ourselves that we must try harder to be good and we must fix things. This is where we begin incorporating guilt for things that we had no hand in breaking. If only we had been a better parent, a better spouse, a better friend…this bad thing would not have happened. This only leads to despair and loneliness and, yes, sometimes, even death, as in Judas' case.

This is the kind of guilt that says, "if I feel really bad for a long enough time;" or, "If I give a little more time to Bible study or to some other religious activity;" or, "If I try really hard to do better, come up with a series of goals and become accountable to someone to achieve those goals;" or, "If I work hard to undo the consequences for what I have done," then God will know that I am serious, and he'll let me off, and I won't feel so guilty anymore.

Do you think that is what Peter saw in his master's eyes from across the courtyard? An accusation and a command to try harder. Trying harder has never set anyone free of guilt.

Here is what Peter saw in those eyes, "Yes, you did it. You denied me, even though you vowed you never world. But I am going to die for what you did. You don't have to live with it. So go out and weep your bitter tears of repentance. That's appropriate because you've done a terrible thing. But then turn back to me in faith. Enjoy your salvation and dry your tears of regret, because for those tears I died!"

NO! Peter did not understand all of that yet. But he would. Latter, he would quote Isaiah, ""He himself bore our sins" in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; "by his wounds you have been healed" (1 Peter 2:24).

When guilt fills your soul, hear those words, "by his wounds we are healed."

To see this sermon in the context of the worship service it comes from, find it here on YouTube. Or, head to our website to connect with the worshiping community of Immanuel CRC: immanuelministries.ca

DIVE IN QUESTIONS

1. What is Gluttony?

2. What does Gluttony have to do with our lifestyle? Where do you see gluttony in your own lifestyle?

3. How do our habits condition our hungers? Do you see places in your own life where this has happened?

4. What "spiritual disciplines" do you practice in your life and what god do they form your hungers into desiring? What reduction of your humanity do they result in?

5. How might you re-order the Spiritual Disciplines of your life to seek God, His Kingdom, and his righteousness first? What other "disciplines" might you have to abandon to do so? How do you think that action might shape your trust and form your hungers for God?