Apr 23, 2011 | The Good Word
If you take some time to ponder crucifixion, to research the how’s and why’s of this type of capital punishment, you might come to the conclusion that it’s pretty close to humanity at its worst. It was a method of execution used by a few people groups (including the Romans) from around the 6th century BC to the 4th century AD. The Romans would only hang slaves, pirates and enemies of the state — Roman citizens were generally exempt from such a humiliating execution, except in cases of high treason.
The excruciating pain of being nailed to a cross — often with nails driven through hands and feet — left a person suffering a slow and very painful death. {The term excruciating actually means “out of crucifying.”} Crucifixions were very public executions, meant to be a deterrent, that people might consider the consequential punishment before stepping out of line in the eyes of the government.
Depending on the specific methods used, a person could survive for several hours or even a number of days after being crucified. A platform placed under the feet, supporting the victim’s weight, prolonged the process. Blood loss, shock, or sepsis (caused by infection from the scourging that often preceded crucifixion) were possible causes of death. When things were dragging out past the liking of the executioners, the legs of those being crucified were often broken in order to hasten death.
The more you consider it, the more difficult you might find it to see anything beautiful.
While today we might know how to make capital punishment speedy and less abrasive to our minds and hearts (death by lethal injection, for example) the Romans knew how to make death long, drawn out, and nothing short of excruciating.
Could God take something so ugly — one of the most horrible tortures which has systematically been used as a method of killing — and make it beautiful?
According to historians, many victims of crucifixion were naked. Humiliation accompanied the painful torture: if they needed to urinate or defecate, they had to do so on full and public display. And doing so would probably attract flies and insects that, being bound to a cross, they would be unable to deter.
In many ways the crucifixion of Jesus seemed like a textbook, painful, humiliating, ugly execution. Every gospel mentions the soldiers bartering for His clothing before His death, which may indicate He experienced the humiliating torture naked, as many others experienced it.
For at least three hours He hung there, as the sky darkened in the hours of the day that are usually the brightest. Mocked by passers-by, spit on and put to shame.
If you are who you say you are, save yourself.
We are perhaps at our ugliest as human beings, when we torture one another, and we are perhaps just as ugly when we willingly watch, consenting and even mocking the dying.
What seemed like a textbook crucifixion gradually proved to be anything but. Pilate hung a sign above Jesus’ cross which read in Hebrew, Greek and Latin: “This is Jesus, The King of the Jews.” The Jews argued about this, and asked Pilate to change it to say “He said, ‘I am the King of the Jews.’ ” But Pilate refused with the reply:
“What I have written, I have written.”
In language universally plain, the Truth was ironically declared above a dying Saviour– He was indeed more than the King of the Jews. He is rightfully the King of Kings.
The King of Kings who stepped down from heaven to live with us and die for us. The only One who would. The only One who could. God put on our ugliness to give us beautiful.
Like others who’d been crucified before Him, even the others crucified that day, He bled and suffered. But only He asked God to forgive His mockers and executioners.
Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.
Only Jesus accomplished the work He intended to accomplish: He suffered for you and for me. Death for Him is life for all who believe.
It is finished!
Only Jesus hung there for the salvation of mankind, and made even His executioners marvel as He cried out to His Father, proclaimed the work finished, and with a shout — committing His Spirit to the Father — breathed His last. The Centurion would’ve witnessed many deaths, but what he saw in the death of Jesus convinced him of the truth:
Certainly this was a righteous man!
Only Jesus didn’t need to be broken — when the legs of the criminals on either side of Him were broken to hasten death — He was already broken. The broken Bread of Life, the Blood shed for forgiveness: Jesus was broken for you and for me.
Pilate marveled that He was already dead.
He who knew no sin became sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God.
We who were once far off — hopelessly begging at the roadside of eternity — have been brought near. By accepting the finished work of the cross, receiving the forgiveness Jesus bought for us, with His own life, the ugliness of our sin is wiped clean. And in receiving the forgiveness bought on the cross, God looks at us and sees us wearing His Son’s righteousness — like the tunic the soldiers cast lots for, because it was a seamless one-piece and tearing it would mean ruining it — so our broken lives become whole, one-piece. Seamlessly glorious to God.
The ugliness of crucifixion makes way for the beauty of redemption. The beauty of salvation. The beautiful reconciliation. One-piece wholeness for you and for me, bought by the One who was broken.
And though the Cross may symbolize the ugliness of humanity at its worst, crucifying the One who came to set us free, to fix our broken world, to reconcile us to our Creator God, yet the Cross is still at the same time wholly beautiful.
Without it, we are hopeless. But through it, the veil is torn — we now have Christ in us, the Hope of Glory, the anchor for our souls. Our broken lives are made whole — only because of the Cross.
And that is how a Good, Loving and Redeeming God took the ugliness of the Cross and the ugliness of our souls, and created a thing of beauty.
Oh, the wonderful Cross! Oh the wonderful Cross,
bids me come and die, and find that I
may truly live.
Jesus, thank You for the Cross.
Apr 21, 2011 | The Good Word
Sometimes the most uncomfortable seasons in life seem to be the transitiony ones. The In Between. {But not the Jack Johnson type of In Between.} I mean the seasons where the soon-to-be is not yet, but the what-once-was is already slipping by. And you find yourself in this middle ground that you sometimes forgot about or didn’t think to expect — it doesn’t have a name and it wasn’t on the calendar, but, well, here it is, and being in it feels itchy and makes it hard for your heart to sit still.
Life is sort of in-between for me in a few different arenas right now. An obvious and simple example is my closet. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not pregnant anymore. Translation: when I wear my maternity jeans, they generally slide down my backside and I have to try to pull them up again with a very ladylike hoist every five minutes. When I wear the wonderful maternity tops that my Mom blessed me with, I either still look pregnant or just … like all that baking I’ve been doing has finally caught up with me.
But I’m sure you can guess why this is a transitional season. Even when you have your baby after about nine minutes of active labour, you still won’t fit into your old clothes next week. The human body, as it should, takes time to transition to the new you, which can hopefully still fit into some of the old you’s clothes eventually.
If you try to push yourself to lose the extra weight too quickly, you are likely to end up fatigued, struggling with a poor milk supply if you’re nursing, perhaps even sick or injured, and in the end you’ll probably need more transition time. You have to trust the process and take the time, remembering that seasons always pass.
Do you ever feel like you’ve done the hard work and caught the wave, and the beautiful sunny shore is there in front of you, clearly approaching, but you’re still on your surfboard, and you need to navigate the waters with poise and balance?
Just me, huh?
My guess is I’m not the only one who feels “transitiony” right now. Though it’s a challenge, I’m doing my best to stay on my board and ride the wave with some of a slice of poise and a dash of balance, and I thought I’d share a few thoughts in case you’re here, (or for when you find yourself here) too.
These are principles with some practical applications — as they apply to my situation… Ahem.
Principle: Do your best to find some thankfulness to frame the moment.
Practical Application: Be thankful for the new baby instead of focusing on the spare tire lumped around your waist. Be thankful that you have clothing to wear. Be thankful that you can walk and exercise and that you have food to eat. Focus on being thankful!
Principle: Although you can’t force the transition, you can do things to prepare yourself for the next season.
Practical Application: Begin putting away the maternity clothes that just don’t fit, and perhaps even clearing the closet of clothes that you haven’t worn since before your firstborn arrived on the scene. Positive change feels like progress, even if you’re still in transition. Look for things you can accomplish now, which will give you a sense of control and perhaps set you a little more at ease. {Now’s the time to encourage your brain to figure out how this applies to your situation, because my guess is a good number of you are NOT in my particular boat.}
Principle: Remind yourself that for everything (turn, turn, turn) there is a season — there is a time for every purpose under heaven. {Eccl. 3:1} Translation: there is a reason you are in this season right now.
Practical Application: Instead of focusing on what you’re waiting for, think about where you are now, and what you should perhaps be learning right now. Thankfulness is a good lesson to start with, but I am certain there is more. It may be that the Lord is waiting for you to get it before the season turns.
Those are a few thoughts on how I’ve been riding the transition wave, toes on the nose, hair blowing in the winds of change…and I’m managing to stay on the board!
What works for you when you feel in between?
Or is it really just me?
xCC
Apr 20, 2011 | Stories, The Good Word
S ix years ago I had just moved to Edinburgh and was in the midst of helping a missions team host an Ultimate Frisbee Tournament in hopes of reaching kids at a nearby local high school. The Lord put Agnes on my path, and we began to have amazing conversations over coffee about life, decisions, the God who loves us past, present and future, hope and peace, joy and redemption. She began to follow Jesus and I wept tears of joy at her baptism.
It was an incredible privilege.
When Agnes decided to come visit for this time, surrounding Baby Blake’s arrival, I’d hoped in my mind it’d be like old times — we could do Bible studies again together, and sit long over coffee and chat, and I could think of lots of important and helpful questions to ask and encourage her continually.
But somewhere between becoming a mother and having a baby and then having another, those old times weren’t quite possible to resurrect. And I occasionally felt guilty about that…feeling like I didn’t have the capacity to pour out as I did before.
Agnes wrote a beautiful parting note that she left behind on her bed for us to find after she’d been dropped off at the airport today. And she talked about how blessed she’d been to be here, and I thought about how blessed we’d been to have her. And I realised that there is so much to be said for the joy that can come in sharing life. Even if you can’t squeeze in a moment for structured study, or set aside an hour for theological training.
Perhaps that’s why the Lord instructed the children of Israel to share the law with their children like this:
These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates. {Deut. 6: 6-9}
The Truth is a part of life. And I’m starting to think we can gain more by living and breathing and walking and eating together in truth, than perhaps by just gathering for an hour on a Wednesday evening with structured agenda, or even on a Sunday morning with a set schedule. {Though I do think those things are important and have value, too!}
We talk about it as we live it.
I digress with these thoughts, but more than anything, the beautiful thing I am celebrating this evening is how God can just bless and bless and bless. Agnes was blessed to be here. We were very blessed to have her. The Bear was blessed so much by her presence. Even Blakey was blessed with one more set of hands to cuddle him. And to God be the glory — He pours out of His cup, we pour into one another’s, this way and that way, loving and sharing, and somehow we are all overflowing.
Though the Dassiesfontein photos aren’t yet sorted, I do have one to share with you, of Agnes with our thank you gift to her, which we found on that adventure:
We said goodbye at the airport this afternoon, but we know in the Lord it is always rather a “see you later.”
And in the meantime, my heart rejoices with a simple song of praise for all this goodness:
To God Be the Glory.
Amen.
xCC
Apr 19, 2011 | Baby Photos, Stories
H appy Tuesday, lads and lassies! Today crept up on me! I suppose I am trying to avoid counting down the days, knowing that our dear sweet Agnes leaves tomorrow. {Pray for me.}
While she was off gallavanting in Cape Town over the weekend, we took a little field trip to a place just off the N2 called Dassiesfontein. Remember me introducing you to the delightful and mischievous dassies of Hermanus? Well, Dassiesfontein is Afrikaans for “Dassies fountain.” Unfortunately, there was not a fountain of dassies to be seen about the place, or even a couple, but there were a plethora of other visual delights and we picked up a wee gift for Agnes, which was the mission of the adventure anyway.
However.
The magically delightful photos are not yet uploaded, cropped, tidied, blow-dried or straightened. Okay, we don’t do those last couple of things to photos, but you get the idea: they ain’t ready yet.
So if you’ll pardon the slight delay, you can look forward to getting your non-Dassied Dassiesfontein fix tomorrow. Is Travelling Wednesday okay? Just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Sigh.
In case you just showed up for some photos today, I’ve aimed not to disappoint, and arranged a fairly comparable showcase for you, in the form of a safari, no less!
In this post, you may hunt for Bears and lions. And now you may begin…
….
…
…
…
Look!
Did you see the Bear? And did you find the lions? 🙂
The Bear’s Surrogate Scottish Granny gave us this outfit when he was born, and it was one of my favourites. I was delighted to pull it out last week for Baby Brother’s enjoyment.
That’s the Bear, on the left at two months…Baby Brother on the right at six weeks! I think Baby Brother is a big boy. And fortunately, hasn’t lost as much hair.
Funny how life seems to begin and end with balding and incontinence. If I could set this post to music, the Lion King’s “Circle of Life” theme song would’ve popped up just now, when you read that last sentence. And you’d all pause and think…”I don’t get it. Oh wait, I do.” Good, we’re on the same page.
Moving swiftly on.
You’d think they were related.
Forgive me. I am finding these comparisons so. much. fun.
Hope you’ve had a great Tuesday! Hoping the delightful non-dassied Dassiesfontein will be ready for you tomorrow!
xCC
Apr 18, 2011 | The Good Word
S ometimes, I start to wish I could just keep the laughs coming like the Pioneer Woman. She takes beautiful pictures and has great style and will soon have her own cooking show and she is just a hoot!
I am not that funny.
I also wish I could creatively create like the Nester, or make adorable out of nothing at all like Ashley at the Handmade Home.
I wish I had the skills to encourage like the Gypsy Mama — she bravely calls people to pour their hearts and their gifts out without fear.
And it would be great if I could also keep it real like Kristen — her humility and honesty are something I generally prefer to shy away from.
Or if I could just create a space for souls to breathe like Emily, with well put, encouraging words and artful and interesting grammar choices, I suppose that’d be nice, too.
But I suppose if I could only choose one option, I’d want to be a weaver of words like Ann. Her words create a holy experience for me when I open my little Google Reader and swim through her posts. I want to take off my shoes.
Sometimes I find myself slipping into thinking this way — reading something I’ve written and subsconsciously thinking, how could it be more Pioneery? Or Emily-eqsue? Or Annish?
And it takes me a while to remember that if this is multiple choice, I am G, none of the above. And that’s good. And I remember that when you start trying to wear the wrong shoes you are often in for trouble. Try as I might to trod a road in someone else’s sassy ballet flats, I would be much better off walking my road, the way I was created to walk it. Probably wearing flip-flops.
I think we all sometimes long for someone else’s something.
So I wonder if you also need reminding:
You’ve got a gift.
You’re not second string, or B team, {as i realise I need to culturally contextualize that little idiom}.
And it would be better for all of us if you were a first-rate you than a second-string anybody else. Your purpose and the reason you were created is a part of the bigger story that no one else can live.
Let’s remember to celebrate each other — and even to celebrate ourselves. You were made for a great purpose and redeemed at a great cost. You have incalculable value.
In light of eternity, we are all incredibly small. But small acts with great kindness can change the world. And the only one who can do your acts is you.
xCC
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