Fully restored and then some

I saw The Passion of the Christ ["http://www.thepassionofchrist.com/splash.htm"] last night. It was the second time I've seen it, and the first since joining the Vineyard. Given that I've been able to feel things and let them sink in, it was painful. Not in a "I can't bear to watch" kind of way; more of a "why are they doing that to him?" / "I didn't know" (see Friday's post ["http://confessionbyainsertidentityhere.blogspot.com/2012/04/2012-lenten-devo-11-good-friday.html"]) kind of way. Moments where Jesus' relationship with his Father, with God, and moments where the whole idea of no one having power unless it came from God... those hit me; they were that poignant. For the last month I've been experiencing the fullness of surrendering, sitting with crap, merely being, realizing my powerlessness, living on faith, and actively waiting. Then to see all that crap happen to Jesus with him having to be what I've been this last month... it hurts. What I realized was right now I could not do what Jesus did. I could not go on no sleep, no food, no energy, loads of fear, and a body tired and beaten almost to death. I'm sorry, I cannot carry Jesus' cross all the way to death.

But what I realized was, I don't have to carry Jesus' cross. No one else does. Just him, and he did it. I just have to carry mine. Jesus says this: "Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me." (Mark 8:34, NIV ["http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark+8:34&version=NIV"]) Their cross. Not his cross; just their own.

And the thing is, Jesus faithfully carried his cross all the way to the end so we didn't have to. He did it so we could be free. And the wonderful thing about today is that in spite of all the gory crap that The Passion depicted, after all that, he came back, fully restored and then some. Let me repeat: after all that gory crap, he came back, fully restored and then some. ... Let it sink in: Jesus' faithfulness, in the face of all dread, in the face of all pain, physical, mental, and emotional... that faithfulness led to not just a resurrection, but a transformation so great that he could never die again.

I want that. Those of you who know my life story, you've seen the pain. Sure, I've been blessed materially and with a good social network (I don't take these things for granted). But in spite of these blessings the pain still grates at me. But thanks to Jesus, and to God's work in several of my friends the last few years, I choose to believe that the same can happen to me. And it's already begun; I'm in a far different (read: better) place than I was even two years ago, and I wouldn't give up my progress for anything. This is the great thing about Easter: it can give anyone hope who chooses to believe that such exists.

I still have a few more Easters to reach before I can really be satisfied with who I am, where I am. But I'll take this one, this year.

Previews of my Easter

Last night, I blew air into a balloon until it reached a size satisfying to me, and tied a knot. It the first time in my life I'd ever successfully done any of that (let alone all), and it still took me about five minutes to figure out how to tie the knot. I had every reason to give up: the balloon's elastic was wrapped too uncomfortably tightly around my finger, and I just couldn't get the darn tip to wrap through that loop with my finger in it. It was just too dang hard. Giving up has been me my entire life.

Not this time. As I'm beginning to see, I'm pushing through other areas in my life that have held me back, and I knew that I could apply the same fight to the balloon. All I had to do was switch hands, and *voila!* Success!

Another breakthrough came when I noticed that most everyone's balloons were a bit bigger than mine. A habit of mine is to compare my balloon to theirs and see mine as not good enough. I did wish, for a moment, that my balloon could be as big as theirs. But I realized that it was about making mine a size that I liked, and not about comparing mine to others'.

Because of this, my evening went from really crappy to great. I had accomplished something and felt good about myself, not just in this but in other areas that I want to feel proud.

I feel God is preparing to throw me back into the fray. My great evening was then met with mixed emotions during a conversation with someone with whom I will see a movie tonight (I invited like 30 people, she was the only one to respond positively), and with whom I will join a couple other friends for a Bulls game on Tuesday. My fear has set back in. Time to fight through another Good Friday and reach an Easter. It won't be my real Easter (one I'm seeking), but then again we celebrate it every year. So I'm going to push and celebrate another step toward freedom. I'll have to wait to worry about the following step some other time.

2012 Lenten Devo 11: Good Friday

I didn’t know.

When you died, you hadn’t slept for awhile, perhaps not for a couple days.

You hadn’t had anything to eat or to drink for almost a day.

You spent your last day having been accused, spat on, stripped naked, beaten.

And if that weren’t enough, you got to carry a huge-ass plank of wood on your back as you walked for miles in the cold, spring desert air. You carried that wood on no sleep, no food, no energy. (OK, maybe the Spirit’s energy. But that's it.)

You took all our arrows. You took all our accusations, lies, and hate, and you took our nails. Big ones, too. Designed to prevent you from going anywhere.

You were human. You stood – barely – dying a slow death, asphyxiated, suffocating because you couldn’t breathe. Apparently when your arms are stretched out sideways, it prevents quality amounts of air from entering your lungs and is fatal after a long enough period of time.

You didn’t get the privilege of a quick death. Yours was slow and painful, starting with the dread a few days earlier, then accelerating through the hunger, thirst, fatigue, flogging, before finally, mercifully surrendering to the desperate cries of your body for release. You were human. No one was going to go through what you did and come out alive.

I’ve known this story all my life. Today is a gloomy day. You were crucified, and because of it we have to go to church dressed in black hearing sad words and singing somber music. At least, that’s what I grew up with. It was about remembering.

But I didn’t know, Jesus, what it meant to fight to survive through a day like that. I didn’t know what it meant. Sure, “believe in Jesus and I have salvation, Jesus died for my sins so I am saved, blah blah blah…”

You died so I could throw my shit at you, throw my shit at your cross. You died so I could stop living my life as if it were Good Friday every day. And Lord, only you know how many Good Fridays I’ve gone through. Nothing compared to yours, of course, but still.

Last night I had a dream of one aspect of my own personal Easter. I was living out a poignant (but certainly Biblical) desire with someone I knew. It was genuine. It was honest. It was deep and personal and intimate. It’s the second such dream I’ve had since early January. I’m still struggling to interpret it, to understand what it means. All I can do is go on faith that it does mean something, to actively wait to see how it might peripherally unfold.

Easter will come. But even you had to go through your Good Friday to get there. But it’s taken until now for me to begin to understand all that.