Monthly Archives: April 2015

The Second First Breath


His cold and bloodied body lay on the stone slab in the dark room, the humanity snuffed out. This was the morning of the third day since he cried out in agony and sucked in his last desperately painful breath.

In a moment the darkness disappeared into a canopy of pure, blinding light. It was as if the sun itself had somehow burst into the room and flooded the darkness with a radiance that was both beautiful and terrifying.

In the center, where the light was most intense, where it seemed to originate, lay the faint outline of a man. At first the man didn’t move, although his form pulsated with the energy of a thousand supernovas. It was a blinding, unfathomable display of glory.

Suddenly the canopy of light went into the form of the man. His body, which just moments ago lay cold and still, now shone with a brilliance and power that defied all description. His form, his being and the light were one glorious entity.

Pierced by the light, the man inhaled deeply, drinking in his second first breath. The last time his lungs tasted oxygen for the first time, he was greeted by the smiles of his mother and the chaotic melody of barn animals. This time he was alone as the air rushed into his chest. As he exhaled his heart exploded with life causing the pale skin to fill with color.

The light sat up and the linen cloth that encased the previously dead body simply fell neatly on the stone parapet, unable to remain on the now radiant skin. As the man began to move the light melted into his body the way a flame gives way to coals when there is nothing more to burn. He slowly stood and stretched out his arms as if waking from a long slumber. In a moment the linen cloth that wreaked of death was instantly replaced by new robes flickering with the glow emanating from the man.

Despite the unbelievable transformation the new man still bore a resemblance to the dead body. The wounds which precipitated his death were visible, but of course now healed. His face and overall form were markedly similar to the dead man so that he would be recognizable but there was something new and glorious even in the details of his features.

He walked, nonchalantly towards the eastern stone wall of his tomb. Without breaking stride he passed into and then through the thick stone. Whatever his constitution, its’ essence was superior to anything known in the material world so that the stone could not contain him. As he stepped into the garden, the soldiers guarding the entrance simply passed out, unable to mentally or physically process what they saw – a man pulsating with the light of the sun emerging from a sealed grave.

In the days to come the man went about daily life, reintroducing himself to friends, catching and cooking fish, eating, drinking and finally ascending in one last glorious act as he returned to heaven.

This is resurrection. This is death conquered. This is life without end.

And for those of us who submit to the authority of King Jesus – this is our hope and our future.

One day we too will take a second first breath. One day we too will experience what it feels like for the power that created the universe to enter into our mortal bodies, transforming them into immortal, glorious bodies. One day we will walk out of our graves to join the firstborn among the dead in a life without pain, suffering or death. One day we too will live forever.

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Experiences on Golgatha – John


Even as a child he knew that he would earn a living casting nets into the sea. He was a simple man, his days ordered by the rhythms of the tides, his years according to the seasons. He and his brother, James were inseparable, always together. They were usually quiet patient men, but when incited to anger they could be full of fury.

But one day his life was interrupted. Just in from an unproductive day of fishing, he was washing his nets with James and their business partner Simon Peter when Jesus walked by. Jesus, then known as a teacher but what else they didn’t yet know, climbed into Peter’s boat, asked to be pushed out a bit and then began teaching. It was the sort of teaching that shook your soul, the kind that you never forgot. They were mesmerized.

Then Jesus did something no teacher ever did – he gave them fishing advice. “Get back to work.” he said. Take your boats out into the deep water, and cast your nets there.” he told them. Uncertain but curious they did as he said. Immediately they brought up their nets with so many fish that one boat couldn’t contain them all. Even the nets began to break under the strain of their catch.

Astonished by this teacher who spoke profound truth about God and seemed to have some sway even over the fish, they “pulled their boats up on shore, left everything and followed him.”

That day John had no idea what sort of decision he made. Following Jesus wasn’t so much a choice as a compulsion – something he had to do. The allure of his presence was magnetic, his words troubling, his message deeply relevant.

John would witness Jesus walking on the water, healing the sick, raising the dead to life. He would have hundreds of conversations with Jesus around the fire, conversations that would change him forever. John would call himself, “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” His purpose and significance was completely wrapped up in his self identification as one who Jesus loved.

From that first day on the beach, he imagined the grandeur of life as a friend of the King. He was certain that this choice to follow Jesus would be filled with adventure and glory. And it would be, but not in the way he imagined.

The other friends had run away and here he stood beneath his friend, his Lord, his leader, Jesus. “What had gone wrong?” he wondered. As he stared in horror at the grisly sight of his friend torn to shreds, bleeding profusely, gasping for each breath he remembered the moment on the hilltop the last time that Jesus hardly looked human. But that time his humanity was nearly washed out with the radiance of his glory. This time his humanity seemingly erased with violence.

As he looked on, unsure of what to do but unable to leave, the raspy voice called down from his bloody cross “Woman, behold, your son!” and then the still gentle eyes of Jesus looked into his as he said, “Behold, your mother!” In the beginning Jesus cared about the practical things of life, fish to a fisherman. And even now, at the end he still cared for the well being of his mother and for the heart of his disciple and friend.

Experiences on Golgatha – Mary the Mother of Jesus

The Bible

What is the good life? A life filled with peace and prosperity? A life filled with the “blessings” that others envy? A life marked by certainty? A life without suffering?

Her life was one of interruption. If she had dreams of the good life they were shattered in early adulthood. Perhaps she imagined a quiet life, a stable home with a certain future. Her life was anything but quiet; her home anything but stable; her future anything but certain.

She was a young teenage girl when the interruptions began. “Greetings O Favored One. The Lord is with you.” said the angel Gabriel. “But she was greatly troubled at the saying, and tried to discern what sort of greeting this might be.” The angel went on to explain that she would become pregnant by the power of the Holy Spirit and that she would have a child named Jesus who would be called the Son of the Most High. God’s Son, the Savior of the world, the King who will reign for all eternity would grow hands and feet in her womb. Jesus, the perfect Lamb of God would turn and kick in her belly. It was unbelievable. It was magnificent. And so she responded as recorded in Luke 1 saying:

“My soul magnifies the Lord,

47     and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

48 for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.

    For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed;

49 for he who is mighty has done great things for me,

    and holy is his name.

50 And his mercy is for those who fear him

    from generation to generation.

51 He has shown strength with his arm;

    he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts;

52 he has brought down the mighty from their thrones

    and exalted those of humble estate;

53 he has filled the hungry with good things,

    and the rich he has sent away empty.

54 He has helped his servant Israel,

    in remembrance of his mercy,

55 as he spoke to our fathers,

    to Abraham and to his offspring forever.”

Even from the beginning there were hints that the story would unfold in a way she would never choose for herself or for her little baby boy. For when the prophet Simeon blessed them and said to Mary his mother, “Behold, this child is appointed nfor the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign othat is opposed 35 (and a sword will pierce through your own soul also), so that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed.”

Now she stood on the hill called Golgotha, the place of the skull, the place of death. The tears streamed down her dusty face as she took in the gruesome site before her. Her firstborn son, the promised one, the King of Glory looked barely human, his face swollen and bloodied the crown of thorns ripping into his forehead, the blood, thick and red pooling on his cheeks, the cheeks she had caressed. She could only look for a moment before the horror overwhelmed her intense desire to look into his eyes, to whisper her love.

When she gathered herself enough to look again she saw the hands that once took their form in the security of her womb, now impaled with iron spikes, fingers twisted in agony. The arms which once embraced her, now torn to ribbons, muscle and bone exposed, stretched out in the pose of death. Beneath his feet his enemies mocked him, spat on him, haggled for his clothes.

In the throes of excruciating pain his eyes locked with hers. Those eyes that first opened in her arms; those eyes that had seen into heaven. And for a moment the noise faded, her terror subsided as she looked into the face of perfect love. It wasn’t as she imagined it would be but then again nothing in her life ever was.

Simeon’s words came flooding into her conscious thought, “A sword will pierce through your own soul also.” Her heart broken, her soul crushed she stood there at the foot of her baby and her Lord. For Mary, the cross was a deeply personal paradox – a mother’s most unimaginable nightmare and a servant of God’s most profound hope.

Experiences on Golgatha – Mary Magdalene


Her life was marked by pain, suffering and sorrow. She lived on the edge of society where purity and holiness were popular. She was filled with evil. She was rejected. She was one of “those people” condemned to a life tormented by powers of the physical and the spiritual worlds.

Then one day her life was interrupted. This man they called Jesus saw her. But he didn’t just see the the obvious. He saw the reality of her condition. He saw the very real evil that she wrestled with each day. He saw the beings that no one else could, that not even she could. And without raising his voice he spoke with an authority she had never heard before or had since. Immediately this heavy curtain of shame and dread and guilt flew from her like a kite lifted into the sky. For the first time in years she felt a lighthearted joy and a peace she never knew possible.

Who was this man? She wasn’t sure, but she knew that whatever plans she had were completely irrelevant. She would follow Jesus, even though she had no idea where this commitment would take her.

Nauseous and terrified she sat in the rocky dusty place beneath his feet. For the last three years she sat at his feet so many times. For her this had been a place of rest, acceptance and joy. At his feet nothing else mattered – not her past, not her future. But this time was different. This time the feet hung above her, the dark red blood dripping off of his toes. The ghastly wound where the iron spike protruded in the place where his sandals would have buckled. Here at his feet she wondered if the journey was over. She wondered whether she had misunderstood him. Wasn’t he the King? Wasn’t he going to save his people? Now he seemed powerless, even to save himself. And even though this place at his feet brought waves of sickness and desperation she couldn’t move. So she stayed and she cried and she remembered that he had rescued her, driving the demons from her soul, loving her with a love she never imagined possible. And now as she stared into the face of perfect love she felt confused.

The King’s Dinner


The rebellion was total. All that could go wrong had. It was a cataclysmic revolt of epic proportions. Destruction and chaos ordered the day as each man, woman and child did what was right in their own eyes. They rejected the King, his rule, his love and his future. The future was theirs and nothing would stop them.

Nothing except death of course. They spent their lives in pursuit of their pleasures, comforts and ambitions. And they succeeded, at least for a while. But the rot set in. Each day their bodies, minds and even the world around them decayed just a little more. Sickness, famine, war and pain defined their lives. They were absolutely without hope in the world. And the worst part was that they didn’t even realize it.

In desperation they tried to use their minds to devise a way out. They tried to make peace, to eliminate disease, to comfort themselves, but no matter how great the effort they always failed. Their efforts stood small and useless next to the gargantuan beast of death the rebellion required.

But the King was good. And the King had a plan.

He would go behind enemy lines. He would invade the world He made. He would gather a people to defy the rebellion. They would call him Father and He would call them Sons and Daughters. For years and years He sent messengers ahead of the invasion to warn the people. Mostly they didn’t listen. Mostly they kept going their own way. They kept dying. A few kept waiting.

Then in the cover of night the invader King came. They didn’t recognize Him even though He walked among them. He didn’t seem like a King. He was poor. He wasn’t handsome. He didn’t seem powerful. He didn’t seem relevant.

But then he began doing strange things – not things a King would do, but things that gave hope. He took away some of the sickness and even some of the death. He feared nothing. He loved his friends fiercely. He defied what they understood about the way the world works – walking on the water, calming a raging storm, turning water into wine. They either hated him or loved him. The way he lived made them decide one way or the other. He made outrageous statements that no one really understood like “I am the Creator God.” and “I am the resurrection and the life.”

Those that hated him – the people of rebellion – wanted to kill him and he knew it. Those who loved him waited for him to make a move, to take power, to act like the King.

The story of the King, the rebellion, the rescue comes to a climax at a place we least expect it – over dinner. The King Jesus calls his friends to celebrate the Passover meal, a meal that calls those loyal to the King to remember his promise – that he had saved his people from death once before and that he would do it again, this time forever.

As his friends recline at the table and prepare to eat the air is tense. This is the moment he will announce his rule. This is the moment he will take power. This is the moment they have all been waiting for. The King will rule and they, the faithful friends will be at the center of power. They will be respected. They will matter in the world.

“And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.”

The friends around the table were confused. Gentile women, those who mattered the least, those with the least amount of power, those furthest from the King washed feet. But here was the King stripped down to a towel, kneeling on the floor, scrubbing the dirt from the bottom of his friends’ feet. One of the friends, Peter, the loudest and most leader-like among them responded, first with a question, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” and then with a statement, “You will never wash my feet.” He simply could not accept the reality of a King who acted like a slave. This did not fit into his understanding of the way the King would take power. This did not meet his expectations for a future where he was powerful and important.

Jesus answers Peter saying, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” And in this statement the King Jesus reveals the plan to save the world, the plan to save his friends, the plan to save us. Unless he washes us we have no share with him. Unless we lay down our right to live by our own set of rules, to do what is right in our own eyes then we have no future. Unless we let the King serve us we will die. Unless we let the King cleanse us we have no hope, no future, no life.

Here is the offer before us tonight: the King has invaded. The King has spoken. “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” What will you do with these words? How will you respond. Will you politely nod and go on about your way? Will you reject this reality completely? Or will you remove your pride, stretch out your feet and let the King of Glory wash you? And if He has washed you are you prepared to go and do likewise?

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