Passion Week

Part 1

With the crucifixion only 6 months away, Jesus invited His 3 closest disciples to join Him in a prayer meeting on the side of a mountain.

Six months is a life-time when anticipating a trip to Disneyland.

We can only imagine the vapor those six months must have seemed to Jesus.

As the disciples slept, and as Jesus prayed (Luke 9:29), Moses and Elijah stepped through the door which separates time from reality and began “. . . talking with him” (Luke 9:30).

Their conversation involved no easy topic: they “. . . spoke of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem” (Luke 9:31).

Three years of ministry: thirty-three years of life cascading toward the intersection between the need of humanity and the Heart of God on the cross.

As the angels had ministered to Jesus after His temptations in the wilderness (Matt 4:11), now Moses and Elijah talked with Him concerning the purpose of His coming; the crucifixion which awaited Him.

But something even worse than the physical horrors of the crucifixion awaited Jesus.

Worse than the scourging; worse than the betrayal of His friends; worse than the mocking of the soldiers; worse than the reversal of the previously adoring crowds; what awaited Jesus was becoming the embodiment of the sin of all humanity.

What awaited Jesus was the guilt and shame which separated every person who had ever lived, and would ever live, from free and open fellowship with the Father.

What awaited Jesus was . . . the abandonment of the Father.

Worse than all the physical torment He endured was when the Father blackened the earth and abandond His “only begotten Son” to the punishment He never deserved, but for which He had come.

Why did Jesus not step with Moses and Elijah across the narrow threshold between heaven and earth?

Why did Jesus not run to the safety of the distance of heaven?

Because Jesus knew what He had been born to accomplish!

“. . . the Son of Man came . . . to give his life as a ransom for many” (Matt 20:28 ).

“. . . shall I not drink the cup that the Father has given me?” (John 18:11).

BUT WHY NOT JUST HEAD NORTH?!?

“. . . And what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? But for this purpose I have come to this hour.  Father, glorify your name” (John 12:27-28).

So, standing atop (as I believe) Mt. Hermon, Jesus was farther North than He had ever been in His ministry, outside the religious/political bounds of Israel, and, having been prepared for the final drive toward fulfillment of His purpose, in complete understanding of what lay ahead, Jesus turned South toward Jerusalem, toward the cross.

I wonder if, with every step, He began to rehearse silently the true “Lord’s Prayer” which He would verbalize in just a few short months: “. . . not my will, but yours, be done” (Luke 22:42).

Part 2

 Having communed with heaven, Jesus descended the Mt of Transfiguration and was immediately met with four examples of earth’s limited view:

1)         The demon possessed boy who the disciples had not been able to deliver (Luke 9:37-43).

2)        The inability of the disciples to understand Jesus’, repeated, warning of His impending death in Jerusalem (Luke 9:43-45).

3)        The argument of the disciples over which of them was the greatest (Luke 9:46-48).  Jesus’ statement that the least would be the greatest was probably lost on them.

4)        John’s attempt to stop someone from casting out demons because they were not one of the chosen (Luke 9:49-50).  Why did John try to stop them: was it because they were from a different denomination, or might it have been because those outsiders were casting out demons which John and the disciples had been incapable of doing just a few verses prior?

We cannot begin to imagine the tension Jesus must have felt between the glorious depth of His conversation with Moses and Elijah compared to the complete alone-ness these four experiences must have brought Him.

Luke continues with this statement:  When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem (Luke 9:51).

The statement, “. . .he set his face to go to Jerusalem” has the force of meaning, “He set His face like flint to go to Jerusalem.”

How else, apart from unwavering, flint-hard resolve, could Jesus have endured what awaited Him in Jerusalem? Wanting to take the most direct route, He chose to travel through Samaria and sent messengers ahead to secure lodging: but, when the Samaritans learned they were heading to Jerusalem, they refused to provide accommodations.  In light of their inability to deliver the demonized boy, it is comical the disciples’ desire to call fire from heaven to destroy the town.

Jesus rebuked the disciples and they continued on to the next town.

How easy would it have been to harbor offense and wish destruction on every Samaritan along the way?  But Jesus had set His face like flint and was already repeating the prayer which opened eternity; “. . . not my will, but yours, be done” (Luke 22:42).  These were among the people for whom He was going to die.

Always wanting more to hear the good news, Jesus commissioned 72 to tell everyone they could, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you’ (Luke 10:9-10).  And indeed He had!

If the disciples were rejected, they were to waste no time being offended, but were to rush to the next town where there were more who needed to hear!  There would be those who would  refuse to listen, refuse to receive, refuse to repent; but the pronouncement of judgement was not the disciples’ concern.

With all the parables and distractions along the way, Jesus held a single resolve:  “He set His face like flint to go to Jerusalem” where He would audibly pray, “. . . not my will, but yours, be done.”

Part 3

 A person’s greatest contributions are usually the result of the life they lived.

On occasion, such as with Mozart, those accomplishments are not recognized by the world until after their death.  But rare indeed is it the death of an individual which causes great change.

The story is told of a Monk named Telemachus who, shocked by the horrors of the first gladiatorial game he had seen, inserted himself into the contest.  Trying desperately to end the brutality, Telemachus was, himself, slaughtered by one of those fighting.  It was the nobility of his death which inspired the Roman emperor to outlaw gladiatorial exhibitions altogether.

The life of Archduke Ferdinand did not seem to contribute much to the advancement of the world, but his death spawned two World Wars in which millions were killed.

But in the case of Jesus, even before His birth, His purpose was made clear:  “. . . he will save his people from their sins” (Matt 1:21).

His life was eternity revealed to the temporal.

But it was His death which fulfilled the eternal purpose of His life.

For all humanity, death is the natural consequence of living.

For Jesus, the life He lived proved the significance of His death.

For all humanity, death is the by-product, but living is the goal.

Jesus, however, was born for the express purpose of dying, and that for the salvation of others.

During the months after His descent from the Mt. of Transfiguration, Jesus made His way to Perea, a district referred to in the Bible as, “Beyond the Jordan” (John 1:28).  It was there that John the Baptist had figured so prominently in His life.

It was in Perea that John had:

baptized Jesus,

had declared, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29),

and had seen two of his own followers turn and follow Jesus.

It was also in Perea that John had confessed, “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30).

It is a long, up-hill climb from Perea to Jerusalem and the road leads through Jericho.

It was there someone cried out, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" (Luke 18:38).  It was a blind man who, as James K. Edwards said,  “sought not to be super-human, but simply to be human.”  Jesus healed Him.

It was also in Jericho Jesus chose to have lunch with “a wee little man” named Zacchaeus, and another life was changed.

But these were not the reason for His coming and Jesus, having “. . . set His face like flint to go to Jerusalem,” traveled a stretch of road which had been the setting of His parable concerning a kindly Samaritan: a road so thick with thieves it was called “the ascent of blood.”

As He entered Jerusalem on the back of a borrowed donkey, He heard the shouts of “Hosanna,” but knew that in just a few days those same lips would be demanding His death.

He knew their names.

He knew their needs.

He knew their coming betrayal.

And He knew He had come to die. . . for them.

I wonder if the silent prayer was becoming almost audible to those nearest Him:  “. . . not my will, but yours, be done.”

Part 4

 Having arrived at the place toward which He had set His face as flint, Jesus knew the die was cast and the clock was no longer counting in months: it was now counting in hours; days at the most.

Jesus was welcomed at the home of His friends, Martha, Mary & Lazarus, which was located in Bethany, about a 45 minute walk from Jerusalem.

From Bethany Jesus made a few trips into Jerusalem preparing for the purpose of His coming.

The religious leaders knew of His presence and were especially incensed when He drove the money-changers from the temple; again.  He had up-ended their tables over three years prior.  They determined He would not do it a third time.

The standard, though disputed, time-line of events of the last week of His life suggests that Monday was when Jesus went to the fig tree seeking fruit.  It was not the season for the ripe figs, but fig trees produce an early fruit which was edible.  When He found the tree barren even of those, Jesus, using the fig tree as a metaphor for the transition of God dealing only with Israel to now revealing Himself to all humanity, cursed the fig tree.

Later that same day, Andrew brought the Greeks to see Jesus.  Three times in the gospels we see Andrew bringing someone to Jesus: he brought his brother, Peter (John 1:41), he brought the boy with the five loaves and two fishes (John 6:8), and now the Greeks (John 12:22).  Andrew brought people to Jesus.  What a wonderful legacy.

It was also on Monday that Jesus announced the promise concerning His being lifted up (John 12:32).  I wonder if He could see Golgotha from where He stood when He said those words.  When we lift Him up in our lives, our conversation, our preaching, we leave to Him the work of “drawing all men to” Himself.  But on this day, in this original pronouncement, He was referring to the cross; and He prayed, “. . . not my will, but yours, be done.”

On Tuesday the disciples were astonished to find the fig tree withered (Mark 11:22-26), but they were thrilled when He silenced the demands of the religious leaders to know by what authority He did the things He was doing (Mark 11:27-33).

The crowds in Jerusalem were massive with people having come from all over the world to celebrate the Passover.  When they heard this Man with a Galilean accent speaking in parables, teaching on taxes, the resurrection, warning against the hypocrisy of the religious leaders, enumerating the greatest commandments and pointing to the generosity of a poor widow, they had no way of knowing it was the last public discourse Jesus would ever give.

He spoke with His disciples about the signs of the end of the world and, once again, foretold His death: but they were ignorant of His meaning on both topics.

As Jesus and the disciples turned East to spend the night in Bethany, one of them lagged behind.  It was Judas.  He skulked through town to strike a deal with the enemies of Jesus.

He would deliver Jesus up to them for the price of a slave: thirty pieces of silver.

Part 5

If Wednesday found Him resting in Bethany, there might still have been time to head East, hide in the pagan lands to the South or East of Perea and possibly avoid the terrors of the cross: but Jesus had “. . . set His face like flint to go to Jerusalem,” and His prayer was becoming louder: “. . . not my will, but yours, be done.”

On Thursday He made His final entrance into the ancient, Holy City of Jerusalem.

The disciples prepared for the Passover dinner where He would wash the feet of the disciples, institute what we call “The Lord’s Supper,” release Judas to his filthy task and give the longest teaching He ever gave on the coming Holy Spirit (John 13-15).

Afterward, those last few hundred yards to the Garden where His silent prayer would become so loud, even the sleeping disciples could hear Him: “. . . not my will, but yours, be done.”

The soldiers; the farce of a trial; the beating; the mocking; and a rooster crowed.

If Calvary  is correctly identified, consider the irony of the fact that, today, it is covered with television transmission towers and overlooks one of the largest bus stations in the Middle East.  When the millions who pass that hill every year look to its crest, what do they see now?  How easily we have replaced the God who was lifted up with the god of our own making; entertainment.

Can we even imagine the tsunami of information Jesus was processing in those last steps up Calvary?

He knew everything there was to know about every person mocking Him from the side of the path.

He knew which of those watching the spectacle would, in as little as 50 days, confess Him as Lord, and which would reject Him for all eternity.

And He prayed, “. . . not my will, but yours, be done.”

Part way up the hill He collapsed and the Romans compelled a pilgrim from Africa, a man named Simon, to carry the gory cross for Jesus.  There was no refusing!  It was, “Carry the cross or face carrying your own,” so the man from Cyrene served the Servant, and carried the cross to the top of the hill.  What must Simon have thought when he looked at his hands and saw them covered with the  blood of Jesus?  I wonder if Simon believed.

With brutal, rehearsed efficiency, the soldiers threw Jesus down on the cross, held His hands in feet in place, as if He might try to escape, and Jesus turned to look at the soldier as he placed the nail.

Jesus knew the man’s name, his children, his sins, his desire to be home once again, and, as the hammer was raised, Jesus prayed, “. . . not my will, but yours, be done.”

And the hammer fell. . .