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March 25, 2009

Scribble.

Photo My bible is a journal.  

When I was a kid, I remember the Family Bible.  Capital F, capital B.  This sucker was a good 10 pounds, 8.5" x 11" with gold leaf covering the edge of every page.  King James version, of course, and complete with "Airbrushed Jesus" affixed on the handcrafted leather front cover.

I never read the thing.  I was too afraid to.  God forbid I wrinkled, ripped or sneezed on one of those golden pages.  Later on in life, selfish, broken and short on cash, I may have considered what it would fetch at a pawn shop - especially in such pristine condition.

But as I got serious about following Jesus, the unhealthy value I placed on a bunch of paper and ink started to wane.  Spilling half a cup of High Octane on it definitely accelerates the process.

At any rate, as time has gone on, I've found myself making notes from sermons in my bible, jotting down thoughts, prayers or questions as I've studied on my own...even little flashes of wisdom from conversations overheard on the street.  And it's been pretty cool in a lot of ways looking back over the scribbles and getting rushed back into those moments; remembering where I was spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually in my faith.

I was reading through Mark this morning and found myself caught up in some old notes.  Timeless truths in fading ink.  

One of the notes said, "My picture of God determines everything else in my life."  Great reminder.

Another one was an old Jewish blessing, "May the dust of your rabbi fall upon you." I've used that one in a lot of conversations and sermons.

Next to Mark 1:3, I wrote "Make your heart ready for God so that you can be changed" and "remove the spiritual debris..."  I jotted down "The primal call of Jesus," where he says, "Follow me."

I've stopped worrying about keeping my bible neat and clean.  I'm cool with the dog-eared and dirty pages.  I don't care about different colored ink and wavy underlining.  

The gospel is messy.  So is my life.  

And my bible is starting to reflect that.  The dirtier it gets, the more beautiful it becomes to me.  

Looking through these pages this morning reminds me to stop trying so hard to keep things so neat and clean in my little world.  To stop faking holiness.  To stop pretending that I've attained some spiritual achievement.  A high price was paid to purchase us out of that kind of futile living - we should all take full advantage of that gift. 

Maybe there's some beauty in coloring outside the lines after all.  Redemption in the scribbles.  

So go on...get a fresh new bible and a set of good pens. And then get to work.  Scribble.  Write.  Question.  Pray.  Don't be afraid to get dirty and put pen to paper.  

Make it a minor act of rebellion against the religious hypocrisy that venerates pages over people. Make your book shout "freedom" every time you open it up at church.  

I promise you'll enjoy the mess.

"And then God answered: 'Write this.  Write what you see...'" - Habakkuk 2:2 

February 16, 2009

Stars.

It was in looking up that God cascaded down on me tonight.


We live in a sleepy little town in Connecticut...miles of tree-lined sidewalks drawing straight lines in front of quaint 100-year-old colonial houses.  All roads lead to the town center - paved in parts with actual cobblestone that looks like something out of a movie set after a post-dusk rain in the summer.  It's a pedestrian-friendly town where people are always within walking distance to wherever they need to go. It's Boulder without the patchouli.

There's not a lot happening here.  We're stuck in the urban purgatory between Boston and Manhattan and Hartford isn't really what you'd call a metropolis.  The lack of city lights is further snuffed out by the incredible amount of New England foliage.  The canopy of trees out here, even in the wintertime, muffles most of the embers glowing from an already dim region.

But the cool thing is that the lights in the darkness end up shining that much brighter.

And it was walking home tonight that I found myself staring up at the stars and just getting lost in God. 

I mean, really getting lost in him.

I was the only one outside tonight for most of my walk and as I saw this huge expanse of creation unravelling above me, I just felt this immense sense of love from God - which quickly turned into an immense sadness.

Love, because it was as if this night - that moment - all the sights, sounds, smells - were set in place just for me.  Just to make me feel God.  Just to draw me in.  It was absolutely beautiful. It was big.  It was art.

And then, my heart broke - because I wondered how many times I walked right through these created moments - these gifts from God - without even noticing.  

How many times have I kept my head down, watching nothing but my shuffling feet and thinking of nothing but myself?  How many times have I blown by a spectacular sunset trying to get home for a tipoff?  Or passed through the fresh, clean air of a new morning with zero acknowledgement of the miracle of daybreak?

And I wonder how God felt as I walked right past him in those moments.

I wonder if he waited with great anticipation - thinking about what my reaction might be...hoping I'll like what he made.  Excited to see my smile, or maybe just a deep breath, in response to his love communicated through creation.

I'm a terribly ungrateful kid sometimes.

Why am I like this?  I can't be the only one who does this stuff...

I think our problem is boxes.  

We live in them.  We work in them.  We die in them.

We wake up in one every morning, take one to work every day, sit in one until the sun goes down, take another one back home, park in one, eat in one and go to bed in one.  We do it again and again and again.  There have been days when I would be lucky to get 10 minutes of actual exposure to the world.

And without any outside exposure, we lose our wonder.  We stop seeing the beauty of creation.  We get bigger and God gets smaller...until he only exists in theory - if at all.

But the cool thing is that this numbness is broken once you just get outside and look at the stars. When you lift your eyes and look up.  When you stop rushing around from one thing to another in a box.  You start to see God and feel his love given through those moments he made just for you.

I felt that tonight.  And within that moment a funny thing happened.  The way I thought about everything started to change.  

All the stuff that sucked moments before all of a sudden became beautiful.

The whole concept of snow and ice became an incomprehensible miracle to me.  The temperature made me acknowledge more fully the sensory response by my body to the cold.  And feeling the frigid air sucked into my lungs made me consider the miracle that is the human body.  

Breathe deep.  Feel your heart beat.  Look at the moon.  

Now tell me there's no God...

So if you've got some clear skies tonight, take a minute...go outside...and look up at the stars. Soak it in, then close your eyes and let the cascade of God's love shower down all over and around you.
      
    

January 27, 2009

Grey.

Nobody really likes the color Grey.  Religious people especially despise it.

My wife and I spent last night with a beautiful friend going through an ugly divorce.  We poured some tea, ate some brownies and sifted through the rubble of life as pain drizzled down on us all.  And as she sat on our couch one legal decree and a gavel bang away from the end, some pretty powerful wisdom was spoken.

I'm always amazed at how much profound truth and spot-on perspective come from those wearily bearing the fresh scars of war.

So we're talking about relationships and restoration and forgiveness - and she's sharing how difficult it is to negotiate the conflict of divorce and destroyed relationships as they crash into the teachings of Jesus - when she says something to the effect of reconciliation not being primarily intended for people to people, but rather for people to God. 

Record scratch.

 

Lightening flash.

 

Wait, say that again...

 

Yeah, God wants us above all to have restored relationship with Him. His primary goal is to reconcile us to himself.  Not each other.  Oh yes, I think I read that somewhere once (2 Corinthians 5:18-20).

 

This truth hung on me - it haunted me, and stole my sleep.  I wondered then, if reconciliation among God's children - person to person - isn't a promise like we are sometimes overly quick to proclaim.  I thought that maybe reconciliation isn't always going to happen between us in our relationships with one another.  I started to see how sin can take hold and get in the way, preventing reconciliation between mother and daughter, father and son, brother and brother, husband and wife.

 

But inside of that frustrating thought came the truth that Jesus stands firm and always desires to reconcile us to himself.  He stands as the one eternally ready to forgive.  Always ready to wash us clean.  Always ready to redeem.  Always ready to pour out grace and mercy on the ones who truly seek it.

 

I wonder is we're sometimes deceived into thinking that as Christ-followers, we must continue to strive for reconciliation with each other at all costs.  Chasing it down so hard that it begins to destroy us, and pursuing it to the point of experiencing repeated emotional, spiritual and maybe even physical abuse, compromising the safety of ourselves and the people we love.

 

And I honestly wonder (cue the silly little bracelets), what would Jesus do?

 

I don't think he'd be a doormat.  And I don't believe we're called to absorb the powerful and dangerous body blows of relational discord in the name of reconciliation.

 

But I also believe that we're not called to completely walk away in bitterness and hatred.

 

I mean, Jesus calls us to be active in pursuing reconciliation against those to whom we've done wrong (Matt. 5:23-24), and he also calls us to forgive 490 times if we need to (Matt. 18:21-22).  But there's not a ton of discussion as to what he wants us to do when one person in a relationship wants reconciliation and the other one doesn't.  Yes, you forgive and release the anger, bitterness, frustration against that person to God, but how do you actively attempt to restore relationship with someone who doesn't want it?

 

You can't force reconciliation just like you can't force love.

 

You want my two cents?

 

I think you can imitate Jesus by actively standing ready to accept the repentant heart when it approaches.  All the while allowing God to plumb the depths of yours to continually root out the issues that get in the way of your relationship with Him.

 

I guess the fact is that in this broken world, some people will eventually end up truly asking for forgiveness and some won't. But just as God waits and hopes and dreams of the day that the wayward child comes home a changed person, so we must do the same.  We must stand ready and willing to fling open the doors of our hearts at the exact same moment the other person flings them open to us.

 

I wish there was an easier blueprint for how to deal with this.  A cleaner solution.  If there's something on WikiAnswers, please let me know.

 

But if not, we're rushed back into the hues of our least favorite color...and the problem with being a black and white person floating along in a sea of grey.  We want to tell the divorcee that God desires - no, demands - reconciliation of the marriage at all costs.  We reduce the complexity of the situation to a bumper sticker for our own convenience.  We quote a verse or two without having the guts to listen to the whole story. 

 

We offer the black and white response because we're uncomfortable staring too long into the piercing Grey eyes that have cried out all their tears.

 

But we need to see the bigger picture here.

 

The canvas covered in the broad strokes of sin and redemption and depravity.  The love story where God is the main character - not us.  The blurry photograph with a million shades of Grey crashing into one another with nothing making sense.

 

We cannot be afraid to sit in a room with all the Greys of life.  We cannot be afraid to engage this color, lock eyes with it no matter how hard it is - and allow it to ultimately lead us to the cross.

 

 

October 01, 2008

Seriously.

Santo-black-cat Does God hate the Cubs?


I can't take much more of this.  

After my run, and before the first pitch tonight, my heart rate was 62.  I strapped on the old heart rate monitor after the seven run, eight walk, what-the-heck-happened-to-Demp-and-the-bats mess of a game tonight and I was rocking upwards of 88 bpm.  

After Loney's grand slam, Sarah thought it best to put Lilly to bed.  After Manny's homer, Tory left the room.  And once Russell Martin went yard and my hat was chucked across the room in a true fit of rage, I was informed that my wife was "worried about what these games do to you, sweetie."

Classic.

I'll just say this...there is no worse sound in the world than that of all hope being collectively exhaled from Wrigley in October.

I hate that sound.  

But hope springs eternal with every new day at Addison and Clark.  Fall seven times, rise eight.  I still believe.  

Dude, I am so sick in the head...

Stuck.

196118166_d1ac5c0b7a I wonder if Abraham had this problem.

I wonder how long it took him to go when God called him to go.  I’m sure he had his doubts, hesitations and fears, but once those were resolved, I wonder if there was anything left he had to take care of before he could go.


A tent to sell? Contract commitments to honor? Debt to be paid off?


Probably not. He seemed too wise for that.


But it makes me wonder how often we become our own barriers to the freedom of following Christ.


I’ll just admit it. I’ve spent that last few decades totally worshiping at the altar of Western consumerism. I’ve quietly and unconsciously believed that life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness meant having the freedom to purchase at will. Anything and everything. Houses, cars, dinners, clothes, et al. And over time, I have unwittingly allowed myself to become lashed to my possessions, circumstances and commitments. And I only realized that I was bound and gagged by these things when God eventually came calling - asking me to follow him and I couldn’t. I was stuck.


I wonder if God gets frustrated when we eventually kick and scream to him about this stuff, constantly asking him to rescue us from situations of our own making. No matter how much our hearts are committed to following God at all costs, our obedience is oftentimes compromised by ourselves.


Mother Theresa made a couple promises to God back in the day. One of them was that no matter what the request, if God called her to do something, the answer was “yes.” 


"Yes, Lord." 


You don’t even have to finish the question, the answer is “yes.”

The other covenant was that she would obey immediately. There would be no time of weighing options, or doing a SWOT analysis. She would commit to move and move immediately.


And that’s where my heart wants to be, but in reality, I’ve locked the only door out to the open road and thrown away the key.


Maybe that’s what Jesus wanted for us when he told us to travel lightly.


I now know, firsthand, the truth about possessions. See, we can buy that house, assign our time to a corporation, over-commit and overextend…but if we really think there’s freedom in all of that stuff, we are so wrong.


Freedom has nothing to do with being able to do anything you want. It’s being able to do anything God wants.


True freedom is being able to go right when God tells you to go.


True freedom is being able to respond immediately to his call.


It’s not having so much complexity and obligation in your life, that you have to tend to 72 other things before you can respond to God’s voice.


You can be a slave to your situation. Oppressed by obligation. But Jesus said that he came to release the prisoners and free the oppressed…so I know there’s hope. I know that God can and will break these chains and allow us to follow him. I just don’t know when.


And waiting is the hardest part. The days are always long in prison.


We can be so careless with our decisions. This is why we’ve got to give Jesus authority over every nook and cranny of our lives. Every moment, every decision. We need to be sensitive and allow the Spirit to guide us, even when the issue seems inconsequential at the time. Even when it’s seemingly irrelevant.


And it's in this moment, when Paul's words crash hard into me...

"You let the world, which doesn't know the first thing about living, tell you how to live. You filled your lungs with polluted unbelief, and then exhaled disobedience. We all did it, all of us doing what we felt like doing, when we felt like doing it, all of us in the same boat." 

Yes, I did. And now I’m stuck in a cage of my own design, wanting nothing more than to break out and respond to God’s call. But instead, I’m spinning in the middle of the biggest (and hardest) lesson God has ever taught me.


I pray that at least there can be a lesson for someone else in this.


Travel light. Simplify.  Be free.

September 28, 2008

Deluge.

I think my wife is a prophet.  She told me that today's run was going to be important.  But I don't think she had this in mind...  

It started pouring about a mile into my long run this evening.  

A deluge.

And there was a moment when I started getting absolutely soaked where I had to make a decision to either turn back and quit, or keep going for another eight miles, no matter what the conditions ended up being.

I kept going. 

And the thoughts that rattled around in my head for the next few miles were along the lines of "You don't know how to overcome adversity until you actually overcome adversity," and "No one else out here running in this stuff right now."  

I thought about a lot of things, especially the future that awaits us in Austin.  How many days like this will I face in ministry?  How often will it feel like I'm the one lonely soul running toward a goal that only I can see through the rain?  Will I have the guts to keep going despite the looks I keep getting from the sensible people in their cars and houses?  Going against conventional wisdom?  The prudent decisions?  In so many ways, I'm already running against those things.  In so many ways, those things are already raining down on my head.

But I kept running.

And after a few miles of meditating on these refrigerator mantras, God really broke though to my heart.  It was out of nowhere that  James 1 just slammed into my heart...

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of any kind...


And as the rain just poured out from under my bandanna and down my face, it hit me.  


This is why we thank God for trials.  

See, most people don't willingly seek out adversity - most of us don't wait until it really starts raining to go out for a run - but sometimes we find ourselves caught up in a storm.

And it's when those first few raindrops start falling that we make the decisions that end up defining who we really are.  Do we keep running, or do we stop, turn back and go inside?

God gives us opportunity through these fast-forming storms.  He gives us that free choice to stay or leave, trust or fall away, hope or give up.  He puts us in a place that we would normally not put ourselves...a place where we are forced to make those decisions.

So I found myself thanking God for the rain toward the end of the night.  I thanked him for giving me a chance to dig deeper and find something out about myself.  To choose against my desires to sit on a soft couch in dry clothes for the rest of the night.  Through the rain, God gave me the gift of finding myself and finishing a small silly race in less than ideal conditions.  But this night is going to mean so much more in the coming years.  I know it. So in that sense, it was amazing.

It was funny too, because I caught myself smiling like a total crazy man and splashing hard in big puddles as I finished up that last mile.  And these words from Hosea just came into my mind out of nowhere.

Where, O death, is your victory?  Where, O death, is your sting?


I know there is much more theologically to these words, but I felt a small sliver of it as I hit each puddle.  

Each splash soaked me to the bone, but it didn't do anything to me...I was already wet! Rainy night adversity...where is your victory?...where is your sting?  

Soaking wet freedom.

It was a beautiful night.  And I never want to forget it.

So go on.  

Get outside.  

Be brave.  

And pray for rain.

September 11, 2008

66º

I feel God at 66º.


There's something about that temperature, something about the thin breeze and perfect combination of his creation's warmth and chill intermingling at that place that just rushes me into his presence.

Skies are a deeper blue at 66º.  Grass is greener and looks freshly mowed at 66º.  The earth looks damp and rich at 66º.  God's creation rushes to life in front of my eyes at 66º.

It was 66º today and instead of going to the gym and spending yet another hour inside yet another gray, climate-controlled room, I walked outside.  

I spent some time just standing under a tree in Bushnell Park.  

I prayed.  

I made a serious effort to really contemplate the act of breathing for the first time in a long time.  

I expanded my horizons...for a moment my entire world moved beyond the things and issues 2 feet in front of me and suddenly and all at once I found myself in the wide open spaces of grace.  

I spent time with God in a garden this afternoon.  

It was awesome.

I think sometimes, you just need to get outside.  You just need to feel God.  You just need to let him paint a masterpiece of people and colors and light hitting landscapes in a way that will never again be replicated.  A moment in eternity as unique as a snowflake.  You need to let it hit you.

It's been said that consistency is the killer of miracles.  The sun consistently rises every day, therefore, the miracle of a sunrise is oftentimes lost.  Clouds pass in the sky, seasons change, life bursts forth and then dies...every day is the same, so we take it for granted.

But today, it just hit me that every day is not the same.  Every day is such a gift if you just take the time to experience it.  When you chill out for 2 seconds, turn off your cell phone and just sit still...you begin to see it.  Creation as a living, breathing work of art on the canvas of eternity that will never be painted with the same brushstrokes ever again.  The combination of people, colors, smells, feelings...all of these things played together to yield a picture right in front of me that was utterly one-of-a-kind and unique.  And it existed just for that fleeting moment...but free to anyone who wanted to take the time to experience it.

It was beautiful at 66º today.  It made me want more.  And it made me wonder how much of it I've missed over the years.  

August 13, 2008

More.

"There are so many other things Jesus did.  If they were all written down, each one of them, one by one, I can't imagine a world big enough to hold such a library of books." - John 21:25


I love the fact that there is so much about Jesus that we don't know.  

It's not that I get bored with studying the same passages and stories and miracles over and over again...quite the opposite actually.  It's amazing how fresh and new those words continue to be every time I re-read them.

But to think that there will come a time when we will get to have all the rest revealed to us...man, that is awesome to sit and chew on for a while.  So many more stories, so many more words, so many more encounters.  

God, thank you for being so big that even in your extravagant abundance, there's so much more.

August 11, 2008

Touch.

"So the other disciples told him, 'We have seen the Lord!' But he said to them, 'Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger into his side, I will not believe it.'" - John 20:25


Sometimes I think Thomas gets a bad rap too.

I mean, you've just seen the most brutal beat-down and death in history and now these fanciful stories about an empty tomb, hollow grave clothes and a risen, walking, talking Jesus start making their way back to you.  Sorry...but I can see Thomas needing a second to process that.

When I take a good hard look at myself...I think I'd doubt a little bit too.

It was too much to come back from.  Too big a defeat.  Too much blood.  Death came down too hard.

I'm not sure how these words were communicated but I have a feeling they were rooted in feelings of tremendous grief and love.   

The verses go on to say that it was a week later that Jesus showed up and beckoned Thomas to touch the wounds.  

A week.

I wonder what went on in Thomas' head during those next seven days.  

Grieving mingled with questions.  Emptiness dancing with possibility.  And questions.  Lots and lots of questions.

And then, Jesus shows up, looks Thomas in the eye and says, "Go ahead and touch...stop doubting and believe."  

How many times do we have to see God's hand moving in our world before we stop doubting?  How many times do we have to touch before we believe.  Doubt can be healthy if it forces us to ask questions of God that only he can answer.  But doubt can also be a constant wind spinning wildly and going nowhere if we never move off of it and make a decision.

So many people - myself included - have failed to make decision about following Jesus because they allowed doubt to control them.  They allowed doubt to keep them in the same eddy - spinning around and around.  And it's fascinating how we're cool with that spinning.  Life ends up never being lived because we're constantly waiting to be sure before we move on it.

I can think of several people who, even after seeing and touching Jesus, would still doubt.  We can always find a reason to explain away even what we see right in front of us.  So Thomas still took a leap of faith by finally believing.  A smaller leap, but a leap nonetheless.

It's time.  All of us have, in some area of our lives, come to the edge of a cliff.  It's time to stop doubting God's truth, largeness, sovereignty, grace, whatever...and start believing.  

We've asked our questions.  We've gotten answers.  

It's time to jump.

Father, give us grace to question the things we're unsure of, the wisdom to seek answers from you, and the courage to believe what you say.    
  

August 05, 2008

Pain.

"Finally, Pilate handed him over to be crucified." - John 19:16 


I wasn't sure if I was going to post this or not...in fact, I sat on it for over a day prayerfully considering whether or not to go forward with it. 

Various attempts to research the authenticity of the following information yielded very little. However, after thinking about this for a while, I realized that it had blessed me in a very profound way. So many times, I've read through these verses without fully comprehending the breadth of suffering that Jesus endured within these moments. 

The following words rushed me into it. 

Again, the disclaimer is that I'm not able to say with any degree of certainty whether or not this is all true, but true or not, I think at the very least, it helps us to begin to understand the consequences of our sin and the price paid by our Savior to buy us back. 

This excerpt is purported to be from a perspective of how an emergency room doctor would assess Jesus if he were brought in for examination. It is alleged to have been taken from an address by a physician from North Carolina. 

It is a little long, but worth the read, if only to more deeply understand the price of sin and love Jesus that much more.

"You may or may not have thought of some of the things I'll point out to you tonight, but I hope I can share some things with you that will make the life and death of our Savior a little bit more precious. 

By the time he was crucified, Jesus had been up about thirty-six hours without any sleep. We know from biblical accounts that Jesus was an early riser. There are several places in the gospels where he arose early and went and prayed. We have no reason to believe that he did anything other than that the day he had his last meal with his disciples. He likely arose early that morning, spent his day, and subsequently had dinner with the disciples that night - the last supper in the upper room. He was then taken prisoner in the garden of Gethsemane, was led all about the old city of Jerusalem and was tried at least twice. The next day at about daybreak he was actually hung on the cross, and hung there throughout that day. Between the time he arose and the time he actually died on the cross, a period of about thirty-six hours had passed, with no sleep or rest. 

Something else you may not have thought of was how far Jesus actually walked about the old city of Jerusalem. We know he was led about from the chief priest's house to Herod's to Pilot's during the time that he was being tried, and we know he was led all about the old city of Jerusalem. If you add it up, he walked about two and one half miles that last night. Also, as best we can ascertain from historical accounts, Jesus carried his cross about a third of a mile before he collapsed and wasn't able to carry it anymore. These are some physical exertions that added up, place stress on a person. 

The next thing I want to talk about is a phenomenon called hemathidrosis. Hemathidrosis is a very rare medical phenomenon that's been reported about twelve to fourteen times in world medical literature and is only seen in people who are under tremendous stress and agony. In hemathidrosis, a person actually exudes blood from every sweat gland in their body. Each sweat gland has a small capillary that surrounds it, and in hemathidrosis, that small capillary ruptures. As it bursts, a person actually bleeds into their sweat glands. Instead of perspiring sweat, if you will, they actually perspire blood. The Bible gives an excellent description of this phenomenon, saying that the Lord's sweat became as great drops of blood. Indeed, every pore of Jesus' body oozed and drained blood. 

Now, I believe that Christ was a man just as much as any one of us. But at the same time, I believe that Christ was God and knew the terrible fate that lay ahead of him. He knew the job he had come to this earth to do, the mission he had to fulfill, and I believe the man part of Christ dreaded this agonizing death and torture that lay a few hours ahead of him just as much as any one of us would. We know he prayed in the garden of Gethsemane, saying 'Father, if it be your will, let this cup pass from me.' But he submitted his will to his Father's. There in the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus was under about as much anxiety and physical stress from an emotional standpoint that a human could experience, knowing that in a few hours he would be delivered into one of the most agonizing and brutal deaths ever recorded in history. 

Why didn't the Lord bleed to death if he bled out of every sweat gland in his body? If you've been to Israel, as I have, you know that this time of year you have warm days and cool nights. It was this cool night air that probably cause the Lord's damp skin, covered with sweat and blood, to chill, causing the capillaries to constrict and stop the bleeding. This same chilling in the cold night air has kept many a drunk and hoodlum who I've seen shot or stabbed and who's then lain in a ditch all night, from dying. It causes the blood vessels to constrict and causes the blood loss to be minimal. But by the time Jesus was taken by the soldiers from the garden of Gethsemane, he probably had a mixture of sweat and blood over his entire body surface. I can imagine this was some sight to behold. 

Let's talk about the scourging. Scourging was such a horrible torture that Roman citizens were forbade to be scourged - only slaves and traders could be scourged. It was one of the worst punishments the Romans had to inflict on a human body. Typically, the victim was stripped completely naked and tied by his wrists to a post or wall with his back exposed. He was then whipped from the back of his arms, down his shoulders and back, across his bare buttocks, down the back of his legs and calves, all the way down to his heels by two Roman legionnaires, one on either side, alternating blows. The historical accounts tell us that the traditional scourging consisted of thirty-nine lashes. If you can, imagine two large, strong, burly Roman legionnaires (someone that we would equate to say, a pro football player today) with a wooden handled whip about eighteen inches long that had nine leather thongs, something akin to what we would call a cat-o-nine tails. The nine leather thongs were about six to seven feet long, and at the end of each thong was some lead shod, like a sinker you'd use to go fishing. Attached to the lead shod were pieces of sheep and cattle bone. The idea of those small pieces of bone was that, as the Roman legionnaire would beat his victim, snapping his wrist would cause the weight of the metal shod to dig into the back, while the sheep/cattle bone cut the skin. As the sheep/cattle bone lacerated the skin and actually dug in under the surface of the skin, the skilled and trained legionnaire could whip his wrist and literally lift small shards of skeletal muscle out through the skin, leaving small ribbons of muscle, about two inches long, hanging through the skin. 

When I was working on this, I looked at in the cadaver lab and did some dissection, trying to figure out what one blow like this would mean to you and me. As best I could tell, and from some of the information I was able to gather from the Shroud of Turin exhibit, one lash with this whip - one thong - would make a cut about two inches long and about three quarters to an inch deep. To put that into medical terms, that's a cut that takes about twenty stitches to close. So with one lash, one swing of the whip, a total of nine lacerations could be inflicted on the victim, each laceration two inches long and three quarters to one inch deep. With one blow, one Roman legionnaire could inflict enough wounds to take one hundred eighty stitches to close. If you multiply that times thirty-nine, those two Roman legionnaires inflicted enough lacerations to take about 2,000 stitches to close. I've seen people who've gone through the windshield of a car or wrecked a motorcycle into a barbed wire fence, and I've still never seen anyone that tattered up in any of my medical experience. This gives you an idea of the amount of the physical trauma that was inflicted upon Jesus just from the scourging. 

Again you'd ask why Jesus didn't bleed to death. And again, you have to remember that this was done in the cold night air, the very thing that caused his blood vessels and capillaries to constrict and actually cause the blood loss from this beating to be minimal. 

As mentioned, the idea of the lead weight was to lift the skeletal muscle out. Imagine having a cut on your skin with an inch of muscle pulled out through the cut, exposed to the night air. We see this sometimes in stab wounds or when people are stabbed with sharp objects like sticks and the muscles are pulled back through the skin. The purpose this served in the scourging was, that as the victim hung on the cross in the heat of the day, birds could light on him and actually peck and pull at these pieces of muscle, just like a robin trying to pull a worm out of the ground. Frequently, how long a person actually survived on the cross during the crucifixion was determined by how severely he was scourged. Sometimes they would beat a man nearly to death before they put him on the cross and he would only live a few hours. Most of the time, though, the scourging was intended for public humiliation and embarrassment, because it was such an inhumane method of torture. 

Another thing you may not have considered....TV. has done a real injustice to trauma, depicting men in bar room fights who take blows to the face or head and jump up and beat up three or four men. I can tell you that it's really not that way in real life. If I took any one of the men here, tied his hands behind him and then let any other man of average size and build beat him in the face with his fists open and closed, I cannot begin to tell you the amount of trauma this would inflict on him. We know that Jesus was beaten in the face and head as he was mocked. I can assure you with all confidence that by the time the Lord was crucified after his beatings, it's almost certain that both of his eyes were swollen shut and no doubt his nose was pouring blood. I can also tell you that when people are struck in the mouth with a fist, the first thing that happens is that the lower teeth come right through the lip. I've taken care of many people in the emergency room who've come in beaten up in fights with their teeth sticking through their lips, both upper and lower sides. If Jesus was tied and held and beaten in the face by these strong legionnaires, I don't think there's any doubt that his lips were tattered like paper and some of his teeth were knocked loose or maybe even knocked out. You might ask if his jaw bones were broken. Normally they would be, but not in Jesus' case, and I'll tell you why in a few minutes. 

During Jesus' trials and humiliation we also know that a crown of thorns was plaited and placed on his head. In Christ's case this was done to mock him as being King of the Jews. Some of you have been to Israel and have seen these thorns. They're about an inch and one half to two inches long, and they're as sharp as an ice pick. The custom was to take a small three or four foot long reed and slap the thorns on top of the head of the victim in order to drive the thorns into the skull. Those thorns laid upon someone's head and then tapped down with a reed were hard enough to penetrate the outer table or the outer bone of the skull. Imagine the bleeding from three or four hundred puncture wounds in the scalp and around the forehead from these thorns. 

So, before Jesus' crucifixion ever begins, his face has been beaten to a pulp, no doubt his eyes were swollen shut, his nose is bloodied, and I remind you that every pore in his skin has wept and oozed blood. Every visible surface on the good Lord Jesus, I am confident, was covered and caked with dried blood. And his back and his arms and his buttocks and the back of his legs were literally torn to shreds from the scourging. This was the shape Jesus was in before they ever gave him his cross to head out to Calvary. 

Now, one of the things I take issue with from agnostics who I've heard debate this: I do not think the Lord died from shock secondary to blood loss. There is nothing that Jesus said on the cross and nothing in the description of the crucifixion in any of the gospels that gives us any idea that Jesus was in shock before he died. How do I know that? When someone is shot or hit by a car and comes to the emergency room, they're not sitting up talking to you. Their eyes are glassy, their color is pale, their blood pressure is about sixty over nothing and they're barely conscious, if conscious at all. Jesus never lost consciousness. There's nothing in the description of his trials, his scourging or his time on the cross that tells us he was incoherent mentally or lost consciousness. 

Something else, physical stress - everything the Bible tells us about the life of Jesus is that he was a healthy, early thirties male who lived a rough life. He didn't have a home, he probably slept outside, and he walked every where he went. He was probably, as we would say, as tough as a pine knot. I think Jesus was a hardy young man, very strong and stout physically, and that there was nothing weak or puny about him from a medical standpoint, prior to the crucifixion. As far as emotional stress, I don't think Jesus had any kind of nervous breakdown. He was certainly under stress in the garden of Gethsemane, but nothing that he said on the cross gave any indication whatsoever that he was decompensating mentally, even during his gravest hours on the cross. 

I've also heard cardiac arrhythmia debated as a cause of Jesus' death. When people go into cardiac arrhythmia, if it's ventricular tachycardia or some of the other types of cardiac arrhythmia's, one of the first things that happens is that the heart, even though it beats fast or funny, doesn't function very well as a pump. When it doesn't function well as a pump, your blood pressure drops, and you lose consciousness. Again, nowhere in the gospels do we have an account where Jesus ever lost consciousness until he died. 

Let's talk about the cross for just a minute. We know from Corinthian and Roman history that the crosses were usually in two parts. First, the cross bar, that from very good historical accounts can be estimated to have a weight of 125 to 150 pounds, and to be about the size of a cross tie. Many of us have stacked or used cross ties at one time or another or have certainly seen what they look like on the railroad tracks. I want to remind you that this was a rough, unplaned, unfinished piece of wood with splinters and spikes and rough places in it, just like you would expect to see in a railroad cross tie. When the victim's final trial and condemnation had taken place, to maximize the shame and suffering, the custom was to tie the cross bar to the victim, and have him carry it through the city from his point of condemnation to his point of execution. Part of the custom was that many times these people would be forced to stagger through the streets after being scourged and beaten, with the cross bar tied to their arms, and to add to the ultimate humiliation, the victim had to bear the cross naked. Imagine how humiliating that would be in this day and time, much less how humiliating and agonizing it must have been for Jesus. 

The other part of the cross was an upright part, which is just like a post in the ground. Every major city at that time had an area outside their gates where they performed crucifixions. It was really not only a form of execution, but of entertainment as well. Many of the major cities had areas outside their walls where they would have three or four of these upright posts that were permanent fixtures. Someone condemned to crucifixion would bear the cross bar through the streets to the point of crucifixion, and once there, would be thrown onto the ground. Nails would then be driven through their hands into the cross bar. Then two forks, something similar to pitch forks, would be placed around each end of the cross bar, and they would be boosted up and the cross bar hung on top of the upright post. Once they were braced on the upright post, both feet would then be nailed to the foot piece. 

The nail wounds....The Romans practiced crucifixion for hundreds of years, and they perfected the art of pain and suffering. How could a man have spikes driven through his hands and feet and not bleed to death? The Romans figured out that if they drove the spike through a man's wrist right at the middle, they could avoid hitting any arteries or veins. If you go back and look at the Hebrew word for hand, it's inclusive from the fingertips to about where it crosses your wrist. So the hand didn't necessarily mean the palm, and I can tell you, from having been a hand surgeon at one time and from dissecting cadavers to try to see if the muscle was strong enough to hold the body weight, it's not. You can not drive a spike through a man's palm and hang him by it without it pulling right out between his fingers. It is an accepted medical fact that the muscle in your palm is not strong enough to support your body weight. 

In order to be able to drive spikes through the Lord's hands, they had to drive them through at the wrists. There, there's a very strong ligament, called the traverse carpal ligament, that's strong enough to support the body weight. The Romans figured out that if they came about where the crease in the wrist is and drove the spike through this area, they would miss the radial artery (the artery people cut when they try to kill themselves by cutting their wrist - right where the doctor takes your pulse), and they would also miss what we call the ulnar artery over on the little finger side. What they would do though, is drive the nail right through the biggest nerve in the hand, called the median nerve. If any of y'all have ever had carpal tunnel syndrome, you know how uncomfortable any inflammation or irritation to that median nerve can be. When the median nerve is transected, it gives about the sensation of having an electric cattle prod stuck to your wrist and a constant electrical shock going through your hand, and causes the fingers to claw. In essence, the Romans devised a way they could drive a spike through a man's hand and not lose one drop of blood, while maximizing the amount of pain and suffering that man would endure. 

The Romans did the same thing with the feet. They calculated where they could drive a spike through both a man's feet and not cause blood loss that would cause the victim to bleed to death. The spike would have been placed between the first and second metatarsal bones, missing the dorals pedis artery. There again, they drove the spike through the feet with no blood loss. The spike misses the artery, but does hit the plantar nerves, thereby causing that same horrible shock sensation. 

Let's talk now about Jesus hanging on the cross. When hanging by their arms, as a crucifixion victim's body weight sags down, their diaphragm functions like a billows. As the diaphragm drops into the abdomen it pulls in air, so someone hanging on the cross had no difficulty whatsoever pulling air into their lungs. The tough part for people hanging on the cross was breathing out. In order for a crucifixion victim to exhale, they would have to pull up against the spikes with their hands, and push up against the spikes with their feet. I want to remind you - here's Jesus hanging on the cross, probably naked in front of the whole city of Jerusalem. I've already described his back to you. Every time he took a breath, that tattered, lacerated and riddled back was drug and scraped across the splinters and the rough knobs and spikes protruding from the cross. Each time he breathed out, each time he uttered a word, he would have to pull up with his arms and push up with his legs. That's why I want to remind you just how precious Jesus' words from the cross were. That's why he couldn't say more than three or four words at a time. Because when you talk, you only talk as you breathe out, not as you breathe in. Every word Jesus spoke on the cross was spoken as he was pulling up against the nails and dragging his back across the cross. 

That's why what the Lord tells us - what he spoke from the cross - is very precious to me, because I know what it cost him and how badly it hurt him. Every time I give this talk it reminds me how he died for us and just how every word hurt and how he suffered just to give us every word. What did he say? He said, 'Behold your son." And then he said 'Behold your mother.' Jesus knew he had just about finished his job and done everything that he'd come into this world to fulfill and do. Finally, when he had done all of that, he said, 'It is finished.' And when he said 'It is finished", that's the last time he pulled up with his hands and pushed up with his feet, dragging his back across the cross as he hung there naked before the city of Jerusalem in total shame and humiliation. Convicted and tortured and condemned for something of which he was not guilty. 

If you go back and look at historical accounts, you find that people actually lived on the cross, crucified, for up to six days. If you can, imagine a man hanging on a cross outside the gates of a city with the birds pecking at his eyes and roosting on his head, as he hangs there naked as a spectacle for the whole city. That was the point of this. It was part of the shame and humiliation that a man hang there so people could come by for a day or two and stand and mock and jeer and shout accusations and railings and blasphemy at him. The idea was to make him suffer as much as possible. Crucifixion was never intended to kill anybody. *Crucifixion was never intended to kill anybody.* It was only intended to make a human being suffer as much as could be inflicted upon him before killing him by breaking his legs. But I don't believe Jesus died from crucifracture or from exhaustion asphyxia either. 

Crucifracture is what they would do when they simply grew tired of watching this agony and suffering or when they had something better to do and wanted to end a crucifixion. They would take a spear and swing it like a ball bat and hit the victim in the shins to break his shin bones. They'd break the tibula and the fibula bone. Many times they would have to beat the legs for five or ten minutes until they finally could break the shin bones - it takes a lot of force to break your shin bone. With the shin bone broken, the victim could no longer push up to breathe. Why didn't they break Jesus' legs? If you go back to the Psalms - I believe the 34th chapter - it says "Not a bone of his body was broken." This is why Jesus' nose and jaws and cheekbones should have been broken but couldn't have been. The 34th chapter of Psalms wouldn't let that take place. And that's why the Roman centurion didn't break his legs, because the Bible says "Not a bone of his body was broken." That was totally uncharacteristic of the crucifixion, because that's how crucifixion victims died. When they grew tired of you and got bored with the situation they'd break your legs and in about four to six minutes you'd smother to death, because you could no longer push up with your legs. You laid there sagging, unable to breathe out, and you were asphyxiated in about four to six minutes. That's how the two thieves died. But Jesus was dead already. 

Let's go back to the 19th chapter of John. What happened? What did they do when they went to the first thief? The Roman centurion broke his legs. What did he do when he went to the second thief? He broke his legs. But when the centurion went to Jesus, the Bible says he was dead already. Now why would a young, strapping, healthy man be dead after being on the cross for six hours? There's absolutely no medical explanation for it at all. Excuse my interpretation here, but the Lord had no business being dead. He should have been alive just like the other two. He wasn't beaten to the point of death, his blood loss was minimal and we know he wasn't in shock, because everything he told us from the cross made sense. He identified his mother standing at some distance from the foot of the cross. He was able to see enough to identify her and to identify one of the disciples. And everything he said was coherent. He was not out of his mind and he was not having a nervous breakdown, and he wasn't even in shock from blood loss. The Lord was perfectly coherent and sane up to the moment he died. 

The spear wound to the Lord's side was not the cause of his death either. When the centurion saw that Jesus was dead already, he thrust a spear into Jesus' side. The Bible says in Zachariah that they may look upon him who they've pierced. The spear thrust was biblical prophecy fulfilled. That was one of the reasons why Jesus was already dead; God had a plan that we were to look upon the one they had pierced - Zachariah had to be fulfilled. Roman centurions were trained killers. They were taught how to deliver death blows that would take a man's life in a matter of seconds. I've taken care of many gunshot victims to the chest. A person can take a .22 through the left side of the heart and likely come in sitting up talking to you. However, if you're stabbed or shot on the right side of the heart, where the inferior and superior vena cava are emptying into the right side of the heart, you're unconscious and pretty close to dead in about twenty to thirty seconds. This blow to Jesus was no doubt delivered from the right side through the right lung into the heart and on into the spine. It would have penetrated somewhere between the seventh and eighth intercostal space probably on the right. But the Bible says that blood and water came out of Jesus' side after the spear was thrust in. Now if you take a unit of blood, drain it out of a human being's body, put it in a quart jar and set it on top of a desk, in about thirty minutes the red blood cells begin to settle out and the plasma rises to the top. The plasma separates from the red blood cells. When the soldier thrust the spear into the Lord's side, Jesus had already been dead for thirty or forty-five minutes. Maybe you've never thought about that. The spear wound did not take the life of the Lord Jesus; he was dead already when they thrust the spear into his side. 

So let me conjecture a little about what I think. I think there's a very good description of the crucifixion in the Bible and there's very good medical evidence that can be pulled out of that description that tells us that the Lord did not die in the manner that most crucifixion victims die. When the Roman centurion went to him to break his legs, he was dead already. They couldn't break his legs because the Bible said in Psalms, "Not a bone of his body shall be broken." Why then would the soldier thrust a spear into his side? Because Zachariah told us hundreds of years before that we'd look upon him that we'd pierced. And what came out? Blood and water - I think there's enough medical evidence there that the Lord was dead at least a half an hour. So what took the Lord's life? No man did. No man, no Roman centurion, no cross took Jesus' life. He was able to do something I've never seen another human being do - he laid down his life. When it was finished and with a loud voice, he gave up the ghost. Jesus gave his life.

"The reason my Father loves me is that I lay down my life - only to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and authority to take it up again. This command I received from my Father." (NIV) John 10:17,18