Month: April 2020

Matthew 12.38-42

Welcome to our daily devotional reflections for the period from Easter to Pentecost. We’re going to continue the story of Jesus by looking beyond his earthly ministry, his life and his death, by bringing into focus his subsequent career as the risen, ascended, glorified, enthroned and reigning Lord. To put it flippantly – if you have ever wondered what Jesus does all day this is the series for you! As we close in on Pentecost we will look again at the work of the ascended Lord Jesus pouring out the gift of the Spirit on the church. The focus of this series is thematic instead of a set of continuous readings through a single book. But the risen Lord Jesus is the theme. We’re beginning with gospel texts in which Jesus points forward to his resurrection during his ministry.

Mention the name of Jonah to a child in church and their eyes will light up. By word association the next word is always ‘whale’.  You might even have heard the late 19th century story of James Bartley, a young man rescued alive after 36 hours from the stomach of a sperm whale off the Falklands. Bartley came out bleached, the whale fared less well. The outline of the four chapters of Jonah’s story is pretty well known, though one detail will help us to see Jesus’ point. Jonah, the reluctant prophet, was told by God to head East and call Nineveh to repentance. So he climbed into a boat and headed West across the Med, kidding himself that he could run away from God. In a great storm he fessed up, was thrown overboard, was swallowed by a divinely appointed ‘great fish’ and thrown up on the beach. He trudged East at last, preached to Nineveh as originally commanded and then he moaned at God when his preaching was successful and people repented. Annoyed by a God with too little ‘smite’ and too great a capacity to change his mind and show ‘mercy’, Jonah sulked under a shady bush. God then killed off the bush to demonstrate to Jonah that he cared disproportionately for his own comfort rather than for the spiritual well-being of Nineveh. Ironically, Jonah’s last prayer reverses his first: having asked to live in Jonah 2, he now asks to die in Chapter 4. Every time I’m tempted to think: ‘silly Jonah’, I am immediately called up short: how often do I think I can get away with things without God noticing, as if I could outrun or outfox him? How often do I harbour irritation when God embraces those that I (secretly of course) think less than worthy? And how often do I value my own comfort above God’s pleasure and God’s purposes?

But that key detail I mentioned comes in Chapter 2: does Jonah cry to escape death as Bartley did? Or does he die and then come back to life? Some phrases in Jonah 2 weigh on both sides of this well-worn argument. But Jesus clearly took the second view. Jonah went down to Sheol, to death, whose ‘bars closed over him forever’ and when he was spewed back onto the land, this was Jonah’s resurrection.

Now we’re back to Jesus in the Gospel. People come to Jesus to ask for a miracle to prove his authority and authenticity. Jesus, who did many many miracles, will not play the performing monkey. But there’s more to it than this. Rather he knows their heart. No proof is enough for them. No proof will ever be enough. When Jonah came back to life after three days, Nineveh repented. But Jesus opponents won’t – if they won’t listen to the Scriptures, even the resurrection will not be enough. Exactly the same idea is there in the story of the Rich Man and Lazarus in Luke 16. Begged by Dives to go and tell his brothers of the terrible post-mortem suffering he is undergoing, Abraham replies: ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, they will not listen, even if someone were to rise from the dead’. Scripture and the resurrection are two great deal-breakers. Either you hear what God has to say to you or you refuse. Either you believe that God has spoken in Christ or you turn away. Either you believe in the life giving power of the creator God or you do not. Even when the consistent testimony of Scripture and the evidence for the resurrection is so clear and persuasive we can still harden our hearts. Faith is not on the basis of scientific investigation or empirical proof. These are not wrong in themselves but the Scriptures and the power of God conspire together to demand of us hearts strangely warmed to the love, grace and saving power of God in the Lord Jesus Christ. Jesus ends with a terrible warning: Nineveh repented when Jonah rolled up and the Queen of Sheba travelled hundred of miles to hear the wisdom of Solomon. Both will stand witness by the softness of their hearts to Jonah and Solomon that those who harden their hearts to the resurrected Messiah have hard hearts indeed. The resurrection demands of us a hearing for the one who rose again. But the work of embracing this is done in our own hearts.

Let’s pray. 

Lord the way of the world around us is to be too addicted to the evidence of our eyes and too little softened to the revelatory work of the Holy Spirit in us. Soften our hearts anew to your Holy Spirit and open our eyes once again to your Word so that we can see afresh your truth, your light, your power, your grace, and your love in the face of our risen Lord Jesus.
Amen.

This Easter Monday we come to the end of our journey through Matthew’s gospel and find ourselves in the climax of a story that is repeated again and again in the films that we watch and the novels that we read. Christopher Marlowe wrote that Helen of Troy had a face to launch a thousand ships, but from here at the end of Matthew’s gospel are launched thousands of stories of death and resurrection, from Harry Potter to Star Wars, stories that we never tire of listening to. Because this is the biggest twist in the tale that there ever was, the ending that we hoped for, but never dared believe could be true. Jesus was crucified to death, but death is not the last word.  

As I write from my garden, I spot some adventurous field-mice take their chances to sneak past a sleeping dog. I’m reminded of a scene in C. S. Lewis’ The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. Aslan, the great lion, is dead, having been trussed up and slaughtered by the evil Queen with a cold knife upon an ancient altar. His enemies have departed and now two girls, Susan and Lucy, come to care for his body. They try in vain to loosen the cords that have bound him and are surprised when some mice come to gnaw through the ropes; mice like the ones I’ve found in my garden. Of course, Lewis was writing about Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, who are helpless in the face of death, unable to free the one that they love. They come only to “see the tomb” and to prepare the body. I wonder if as they came, was there any glimmer of hope at all, any memory of Jesus saying three times that he would suffer and then rise from the dead. It seems that the only thing they expected to find was a cold, dead corpse. But what do they find?

Well everything comes thick and fast. They find a great earthquake, a rolled back stone, an angel dazzling as lightening and the guards paralysed with fear as if dead. And then these words from the angel that echo down the ages every Easter:

“He is not here, He has risen!”

In other words, who looks for bread at the butchers? The world has changed forever and you’re looking in the wrong place! All of history is torn apart; death is being undone in a way that has never happened before. There have been resurrections even within Jesus’ own ministry – a widow’s son and Jairus’ daughter among others. But these were all fleeting; the widow’s son and Jairus’ daughter would die again. Now something is happening that defies all that we have ever observed to be true in this world. The hands of the clock are turning back upon themselves. 

And as the two Marys leave, going with fear and great joy, we read so simply, “Jesus met them,” saying, “Greetings!” In reply they have no words to offer, but only taking hold of his feet, “they worshipped.” These women are the first witnesses to the resurrection, and their response is what ours should be today, to worship at His feet.

Woe to the storyteller that leaves his readers with any tantalising plot holes or unanswered questions, and as a good writer, Matthew is keen to tie up any potential loose ends. So now we have a brief aside to explain what happened to the guards. They’re given a paper-thin explanation to defend themselves: guards that couldn’t guard, overcome by sleep who somehow allowed terrified disciples to move the stone and steal away Jesus’ crucified body. These sleepy guards had one eye open to identify the grave robbers but not two eyes open to stop them. Matthew makes his point: however earth-shattering and unbelievable the resurrection might be, this alternative conspiracy theory makes absolutely no sense at all.

And here comes the final word. Jesus’ disciples gather to Him at a pre-arranged mountain, and now it’s their time to worship like the women did earlier. What comes next is what’s known as the “Great Commission.” It’s Jesus’ charge to His followers that has been kept by the church for the past two thousand years, a relay baton passed from generation to generation, a golden chain that has never been broken. I remember standing at the back of a hot London Baptist church on a Sunday evening, listening to the preacher close his sermon with these words and I turned to the man next to me to ask, “What was that?” It’s the charge that Jesus gives not just to His apostles but to each of His disciples. He charges us to go; to go into all the nations, to make disciples and to do that by baptising them, and by teaching them. Not simply teaching them an intellectual assent but teaching them to observe all that He commanded. After all, it was the man that heard and did what Jesus taught who was commended as one who built his house upon the rock. And now comes the final promise. Matthew began His Gospel describing Jesus as “Immanuel”, God with us, and this is how we finish, Jesus really is with us: “Behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

So here we are. That pivotal point in human history – the cross. Over the last few days, we have reflected on the betrayal of Judas, the cowardice of Pilate, the capriciousness of the crowd, the scorn of the soldiers, the taunting of the bandits. Now… darkness.

Jesus cries out – and loudly: ‘My God, why have you abandoned me?’ Much ink has been spilled over the meaning of these seven words, but the pain and desolation of Jesus are clear. Many of the bystanders misunderstood, perhaps thinking that ‘Eli, Eli’ was Jesus calling to the prophet Elijah to come to his aid. Some, at the time, believed that Elijah might appear in times of critical need, to rescue the righteous. Matthew is keen for us to hear the echoes of the psalmist’s words in Psalm 22. Jesus cried out again with a loud voice – and breathed his last. At that moment, that very moment, at that cry of anguish – the curtain in the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.

The curtain is first mentioned in Exodus during the construction of the Tabernacle. Made from coloured yarn and woven, twisted linen and beautifully embroidered, this curtain was thick and strong. It separated the Holy of Holies, the place where God dwelt, from the rest of the Tabernacle where the people worshipped. Only the High Priest could enter the Holy of Holies, and only once a year, bearing sacrificial blood to atone for the sins of the people. Separation from God was the accepted norm and temporary forgiveness came through priestly mediation. This model was then replicated in the grandeur of the Temple in Jerusalem.

At the very moment of Christ’s death, that huge, thick curtain ripped open from top to bottom. Heaven met earth and various other literally earth-shattering events took place. The relationship between heaven and earth was being rewritten. Through the forsaken abandonment of one, God’s holy presence was now made available to all.

Through the death of one, many are offered life.

Enter Joseph of Arimathea. A wealthy and well-respected man, Joseph was, himself, a follower of Jesus. This would not have been an easy balance to strike as a member of the council. Going directly to Pilate to ask for body of Jesus was a bold move – one might even say, risky. And in an extraordinary act of love and generosity, Joseph buries Jesus in his own tomb, that he had created with his own hand. One can only imagine how he must have been feeling.

The next day, suspicion and speculation appeared to be rife. In another act of appeasement, Pilate agrees to a guard (either Roman or a member of the temple police) being deployed to make the tomb secure.

Of course, relying on human strength and power to deal with problems was a well-recognised Roman strategy! They believed in the might and power of the Roman Empire. Those who opposed them were swiftly and brutally dealt with. But here is the beauty in the brutality: that Roman symbol of humiliation, rejection and death became, instead, God’s incredible gift of acceptance, forgiveness and life.

The cross is a place of unfathomable opposites; a pivotal moment that pervades the whole of human history; the juxtaposition of God’s love and God’s judgement; a place of divine exchange.

So, in the darkness of this narrative, let’s pause.

Jesus endured brutal punishment; we can receive mercy.

Jesus faced the horror and the trauma of the cross.

We are offered peace with God. Jesus faced despair.

We are given hope. Jesus experienced total abandonment. We are adopted forever.

Jesus was broken so that we could be completely restored and made whole.

The cross is, indeed, the culmination of God’s promises and the fulfilment of his purposes.

Today is Good Friday. It may feel as though darkness is over the whole land. Take heart. We worship a God of opposites, who has promised never to forsake us. The curtain has not just been lifted – it has been completely ripped away! So, come into God’s presence boldly. We worship a holy God.

Sunday is coming…

Lord Jesus,
We thank you. How frail our words can seem, but we thank you. Help us not to be afraid of the darkness. Today, we put our trust and our hope in you. Teach us what it means to dwell at the foot of your cross, acknowledging our unworthiness, but also our worth in you. Tear away the ‘curtains’ of our hearts and minds. Reveal to us afresh the significance of your death on the cross, the doorway to eternal life.
Amen.

It is difficult not to be deeply affected by the cruelty and brutality displayed in today’s passage. It’s hard to read, and is even harder because we know and love Jesus, He is our Lord. And it’s harder still because we know what is coming. We know this passage is just the prelude to the most painful death imaginable.

We rejoin the story in the Roman Governor’s Hall. It’s a harrowing scene. The soldiers beat Jesus, they mock Him, they dress Him up as if He were a King. They put a robe on Him, they force a crown of thorns upon His head. They bow down in jest before him, hailing Him as if He were a King.

But we know that He is a King. He’s our King. And it is right that we worship Him, it is right that we bow down before Him, but not like this.

The Roman soldiers thought they had the power and the authority over Jesus. But they were mistaken. The power and the authority belong to Jesus and yet He was prepared to lay it down for our sake.

As I was reflecting, I was struck by the many times that I figuratively dress myself up as if I were a King. It’s so easy to pretend that we are in charge, that we’re in control. We want to prove ourselves, prove that we know best, even to God Himself.

But Jesus didn’t need to prove Himself. He knew who He was. He knew whose Son He was and therefore He was able to withstand torture, mockery and even the most dreadful death. He kept His eyes on what He knew He needed to do.

And then the soldiers led Jesus away to be crucified. They forced Simon from Cyrene to carry the cross. The events which unfold next fulfill that which was prophesied in Psalm 22, which says:

my mouth is dried up like a potsherd,
and my tongue sticks to my jaws;
you lay me in the dust of death.

Psalm 22:15 (ESV)

and a bit later on

They stare and gloat over me;
they divide my clothes among themselves,
and for my clothing they cast lots.

Psalm 22:17-18 (ESV)

And then the Roman soldiers sat down. Their work there was finished. All they had to do was sit, watch and wait until all three people being crucified were dead. But Jesus’ work was not yet finished. Jesus’ incredible work of salvation was not yet done, but it soon would be.

Jesus had yet to endure the most unimaginable physical as well as mental pain. Even the two rebels being crucified next to Jesus were hurling insults at Him. Those standing by mocked Him, asking why he was not able to save Himself when he claimed to be the Son of God. And yet even at this moment of intense pain, Jesus was only ever full of love. He was only ever full of forgiveness for those who had caused Him such agony.

The plaque above Jesus’ head read ‘This is Jesus, the King of the Jews’. It was meant to mock Jesus. It was meant to show Jesus up, it was meant to show that Jesus was so far from the royalty He claimed to be. But this could not be any further from the truth.

Jesus may not have looked like a King in human terms. In this passage, Jesus was vulnerable, naked, bruised and shamed. No one would have taken a second glance at Him hanging on the cross. And yet Jesus never took His eyes off us.

Even though we had turned our backs on Him, He turned His face towards the cross. Even though Jesus did not deserve to die, because of Him, we received life which we could never have deserved. Even though we were once far off, we have been brought near to God through the precious blood of Jesus, shed for us on the cross.

But we know the story does not finish at the cross. We know this is not the end. But let’s take a pause this week. Let’s take some time to slow down and gaze at Jesus on the cross. Let’s sit at His feet, take time to repent from our sins and experience the freedom and grace we have received through His sacrifice.

Let’s take a moment to pray:

Heavenly Father, it is hard for us to comprehend what Jesus went through on the cross for our sake. We are so unworthy of what Jesus did, and yet, because of His sacrifice, we have been made worthy. Help us this week not to rush ahead to the joy and celebration of Easter Sunday, but to sit with the pain of Good Friday. Thank you for the gift of your Son, Jesus Christ. In His precious and almighty name we pray,
Amen.

When Pilate came to sit in his seat of judgement that day, he cannot have known that the proceedings would immortalize his name, in the words of the creed spoken by generations of Christians: “he was crucified under Pontius Pilate.” Come with me as we imagine the scene from his perspective for a moment. He sees a prisoner, looking rather worse for wear, dragged in by those chief-priests he spends his life trying to wind up, who are accusing him of all manner of things, but especially of claiming to be the anointed king of the Jews. “Well, are you then?” asks Pilate. A non-committal answer: if you say so; maybe I am; maybe you, the foreign governor, don’t really know what that title means. Well, this man hardly seems worth the effort of killing; some wandering, navel-gazing teacher, not a dangerous rabble-rouser. Roman law gives a defendant three chances to make a defence, so Pilate tries asking him again: are all these accusations true?

And silence. Now this is more surprising; maybe this isn’t such a normal day after all. It takes some nerve to just ignore all these people shouting at him, not even bothering to deny the accusations, or even making pleading excuses. And here is another remarkable thing: here comes a message even in the middle of the trial, from his wife, telling him not to get involved, because of a warning she had in a dream! Well, that settles it; Pilate doesn’t particularly care for God or gods, but he won’t mess with them if he can help it. Well, maybe he can find a way out for this man.

As we know, he will not succeed. Pilate, supposedly the one with the power here, is in reality happy to subject himself to the whims of an excitable crowd. He takes the easy way out. This isn’t about balancing justice and mercy; political expedience is the name of the day. Pilate’s attempt to deflect the blame will convince no-one except himself.

As for the crowd, Jesus has already warned Jerusalem of the destruction that it is heading towards (21.33-44; 23.37-39). Now they confirm it, sending the Messiah to his death to save their hero, Barabbas (who then disappears from history; no-one takes a would-be revolutionary seriously once they have accepted a pardon from the authorities they were trying to overthrow). Verse 25 (“His blood be on us and on our children!”) has sadly been used to justify anti-semitism over many years. I need hardly say that this is not what Matthew, himself Jewish and writing for Jewish Christians, meant to achieve. He is using this event as the culmination of the rejection of Jesus and his warnings, which will be fulfilled in the destruction of Jerusalem a generation after these events. This is the blood that will come upon their heads.

Not that this lets Pilate off the hook. He tells the crowd to “see to it yourselves” (verse 24), but he’s the one who gives the order to have him beaten and crucified (verse 26). Little did he know that this was the most important day of his life, and he’s gone and bottled it. Jesus has already warned us in chapter 25 that these apparently small decisions we make, about what we do with our time and money, are decisions with eternal consequences. And the ordinary people who need our help are the most important people we know.

So before we move on to the climax of the story, let’s take this chance to reflect on our own relation to worldly power. Against Pilate’s cynicism and cowardice, the priests’ jealousy and protectiveness of their own privilege, and the crowd’s idealization of violent resistance, Jesus shows the path of meek submission. Because he empties himself, as Paul wrote to the Philippians, of all his rightful claims to power, and becomes obedient to injustice and death, he is exalted by God and achieves a greater freedom for us than all the violence of the powers and principalities of this world can show.

Let’s pray:

Heavenly Father, we ask that you will give us eyes to see injustice around us, and the courage to renounce it. Give us gentleness, to show your mercy to those in distress. Give us humility, to be servants to all. We ask these things in the name of your Son, who taught us all these things in his words and deeds, and laid down his life in mercy to us.
Amen.

Here we are, we have reached it – that point in the story of Jesus’s life where it feels like everything has stepped up a gear. We’ve been led away from parables and blocks of teaching and are fired headlong into moment by moment accounts of the events that lead Jesus towards his death. In Chapter 26 alone, we’ve had Jesus anointed for burial with perfume, his final meal with his friends, his gut-wrenching prayers to his Father, his arrest at the hands of a mob and his first interrogation before a crowd. After today’s passage, we are taken straight in to Jesus before Pilate and then to the harrowing descriptions of his death and the stillness of his burial.

What we read today, however, gives us a brief pause in the action. Although a couple of sentences tell us that Jesus is being led away, the bulk of the passage is concerned not with the history shifting event about to take place, but rather the experiences of two individuals – Peter and Judas.

These two men were counted amongst Jesus’ closest friends. They had journeyed with him, learnt from him, shared the highs and lows of ministry with him and yet here, we see that they have left him. Throwing him in the way of his enemies and pretending that he was no friend of theirs at all.

‘The man that I kiss, that’s the one you want to arrest!’ ‘A friend of Jesus? No, that’s not me. Have never met the guy!’ What insult. What betrayal. What sin.

The strange thing, is that Jesus knew this was going to happen. He predicted it at the last supper. And yet, he still chose to call them friends. What good news!

Jesus is no more surprised by our betrayal: no more shocked by our sin.

Maybe, like Judas, we are guilty of a specific premeditated act that cannot be undone and has changed everything forever. Perhaps like Peter, we have stumbled towards something we thought we’d never do and have gone ahead and done it anyway. Repeatedly. Maybe our sin is much more subtle than either of those, sitting out of the sight of the people around us. Whatever the specifics of our sin, at its core, it is ultimately the same as that of Peter and Judas – a betrayal of our Lord, of looking into the face of our loving Saviour and saying, ‘No thank you’.

As the Psalmist says:

I know my transgressions,
    and my sin is always before me.
Against you, you only, have I sinned
    and done what is evil in your sight;

Psalm 51:3-4 (NIV)

And still he calls us friends. What good news!

It doesn’t end there, though, does it? Though Jesus knows us and welcomes us, the question is, when faced with our sin, what do we choose to do?

When Peter realises he has denied his Lord, he weeps bitterly. When Judas realises that his actions have led to Jesus’s condemnation, he is seized with remorse, saying ‘I have betrayed innocent blood.’ Their sorrow and regret are good and right responses to sin. We, like them, are surely to be sorrowful in the face of our sin.

But what they do next is to step away from Jesus. Peter leaves the courtyard, removing himself from his Lord’s gaze. How easy it is to hide from Christ when we know we have betrayed him. And Judas runs towards his sin, a desperate attempt to right his wrong and atone for what he has done by repaying the thirty pieces of silver. How easy it is to try to sort out our sin ourselves.

That is the end of the story for Judas. And what a deeply tragic ending it is. Had Judas seen the risen Lord and run to him, perhaps his story would have ended differently.

But for Peter. What a beautiful restoration. When Jesus rises from the dead, Peter sprints to the tomb and later, when Jesus is on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, Peter jumps straight into the water. No more hiding away, now it seems impossible to keep Peter back. He is determined to be with Jesus. And what does Jesus say in response? ‘Follow me’.

When we see the nastiness of our sin and feel the pull away from Jesus and towards self-sufficiency, let us, like Peter, choose to sprint towards our Saviour. May we throw ourselves at his feet. Jesus is waiting for us. He will not condemn but longs to welcome us as his friend and to call us to keep on following him.

Let’s pray:

Jesus, thank you that you see our sin in all its ugliness and still you love us. Even when we betray you and turn away from your love, you are always ready to welcome us back. Give us courage to face the depths of our sin and hearts to accept your glorious forgiveness. Thank you for calling each of us friend and help us to live in the light of that beautiful identity.
Amen

I don’t know whether you’ve ever played that parlour game where you are given a series of quotes in Elizabethan English and you have to decide whether each quote is from Shakespeare or the Bible. If you haven’t played this then you have not really missed much. If you’re a fan you can find it on Sporcle. I once had a colleague who, in his first month as a curate, was told to go round the area knocking on people’s doors and inviting them to church. One older lady said firmly, no thanks, she didn’t want to come to church, my religion is a private thing and in any case I live by all the teachings of Jesus: ‘neither a borrower nor a lender be’. And she shut the door firmly. Michael headed down the path giggling at the quote from The Merchant of Venice (or was it Hamlet, he couldn’t quite remember.) 

‘Live by the sword, die by the sword’ sounds like the Bard but here it is: it’s a rebuke to an overheated disciple right in the middle of the arrest scene in Matthew. Jesus’ sufferings up to this point have been psychological and spiritual. He knows what the crowds don’t know. And what the disciples seem so reluctant to accept – that he is heading to Jerusalem to die. In the garden of Gethsemane Jesus wrestles in agonised prayer to embrace the will of his Father. His closest disciples dozed. 

Our passage comes in as Jesus is still praying. Immediately Judas arrives and betrays him with a kiss. This feigned intimacy with its cataclysmic breach of trust has become a byword that echoes down the centuries. It’s a moment of fatal miscalculation for Judas that makes me shiver.

And now with his arrest Jesus is under real physical threat. The innate human fight or flight response in situations such as these is very powerful. Mark’s Gospel tells us that one disciple took flight in his underwear. Here in Matthew the response is fight. And as so often violence threatened invites a violent response. Faced with an arrest party with swords and clubs, one of Jesus’ disciples draws his sword and cuts off the ear of one of the servants. Luke reports that Jesus healed the servant’s ear. And I feel reassured – Jesus still has miracle working power. But in Matthew we are just as confident that Jesus has great power – but he explicitly refuses to use it. To be sure, he says, he could appeal to his Father for more than twelve legions of Angels, ‘but how then will the scriptures be fulfilled which say that it must happen this way?’ Neither Judas, nor the Temple police, nor even Jesus’ disciples understand his utter determination to live and die as it was spoken of him in the prophets. 

After his arrest the disciples desert him and flee. And now Jesus is truly alone. But this is necessary because he and he alone can work the salvation of humankind. Jesus does not play the game of swords. ‘An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind’ said Gandhi. But the way of Jesus is not non-resistance. Nor is it the way of non-violent resistance. Rather Jesus is embracing his destiny, the destiny pre-ordained by the Father and prophesied in Scripture. 

What follows is a travesty of an illegal trial where Jesus’ accusers are scrabbling around for the necessary two witnesses who will tell the same story. Finally two can agree about his intent to commit a terrorist act against the Temple and then miraculously rebuild it faster than the Nightingale hospitals are going up. But Jesus hasn’t actually done anything wrong. And John tells us that this stuff about destroying the Temple and rebuilding it in three days is really about his body: it will be destroyed and God will restore it on the third day. 

In the end they settle on the charge: his self-claim to Messianic kingship. Jesus doesn’t deny it. And he doesn’t keep silent either. He simply quotes from Daniel: one day you will see the full power of the Son of Man. No arrogance, no exaggeration, but no compromise either – just a proper confidence in God’s purpose and God’s power. All they can do is lash out, mock and spit at him. It’s a drop compared to the ocean of God’s love in Christ.

The path that Jesus was called to walk is of a different order to yours or to mine, of course. His path was uniquely lonely and costly. He carried the sins of the world on his shoulders. But in our own small way are we bound to follow after him and to walk the way of the cross. What sustains us is not some perverse enjoyment of suffering. Rather we know he has gone before us, that he walks with us and that we have the Spirit of Jesus in us. We follow well when we live by Scripture and hold the hand of our loving heavenly Father in prayer. One writer put it: ‘never confuse the edge of your foxhole with the horizon.’ We can be so tempted to leave God’s power out of account. We can replace God’s ways and wisdom with our own. We are too tempted to look around and not up – to see only our foxhole and not God’s sun-emblazoned horizon.

Lord, we look to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross and despised its shame. In times of great upheaval and change when so much trust and hope is invested in the work of scientists, the efforts of our self-sacrificial healthcare workers, and in human organisation, instill in us the habit of looking up, putting our trust in you, our God and our redeemer.
Amen.

I know this might sound weird, but I find this passage profoundly comforting. 

As we heard yesterday Jesus was well aware that one of his closest friends was going to betray him but now we become aware that he knew all his disciples were going to let him down; they were all going to flee and abandon him. In fact, he has always known, because he quotes the prophet Zechariah who had foretold these events. 

What he also knows though is what happens after that, he knows he will be raised up… and he tells the disciples that. But did you notice that Peter, dynamic, confident in his own courage, ignores that promise and announces that HE will not fail, HE will not abandon Jesus.

However, like all of us, Jesus knows Peter better than he knows himself… ‘Yes you will Peter, yes you will’ – something Peter fervently denies. “I won’t! I’ll die rather than let you down!”

Peter is so earnest, so passionate about his LORD, so confident that he will be brave and adamant about his devotion. He inspires the others to all agree… “of course we won’t flee…”

You can imagine Jesus’ wry, sad smile – because he knows. 

And then we see how Jesus feels. This is beautiful, profound and comforting, because we see the heart of Jesus – fully human – knowing what the coming events are going to cost him.  He is deeply grieved – even to death. He is afraid, he throws himself on the ground to pray. He begs the father, not once or even twice but three times – is there another way? 

He knows there isn’t; this has been the plan all along – and unlike the disciples who can’t even stay awake – Jesus will keep his word; will be obedient to the Father. He will not run – but will head to the cross. It’s worth dwelling for a few minutes with Jesus, in Gethsemane, to remind us of his faithfulness in the face of fear. 

There are at least two encouragements in this passage. Firstly, that Jesus knows fear. This is not some distant God, looking upon mere humans and telling us to buck up, to get it together. What Jesus was facing was far greater than anything we ever will. He was about to carry all human sin, so those who put their faith in him don’t have to shoulder even their own. But that we have a great high priest (as Hebrews says) who understands is beautiful. 

Whatever you are feeling right now, Jesus gets it. He doesn’t criticise or condemn you for it. He’s with you in it.

I don’t know if you noticed, but this episode parallels another earlier in the gospel. In chapter 17 Jesus took the same three disciples up a mountain and they saw him transfigured. They had this astonishing encounter – even hearing the Father’s voice – which terrified them. Here, Peter, James and John have a different response… because this isn’t Jesus in shining glory talking with Moses and Elijah, this is Jesus face on the ground, in tears, praying.

But it’s also where we see a second encouragement – in how Jesus responds to their actions. SO sure they won’t run but already abandoning him when he needs the comfort of their company! Jesus does chastise them, but gently – “could you not even stay awake with me for just one hour Peter?” “Pray for courage and protection or yourself my friend, I know you WANT to be brave and loyal – to be a good disciple, but I also know that you are going to fail in that, you already are!”

Jesus knows not only our fears but our frailty. That despite our best efforts to be faithful disciples, to be strong and courageous in following him, we too will fail. We will fall asleep, or the equivalent. We will give in to temptation, or anxiety, or frustration. That we just won’t be the heroes of the faith we long to be. I suspect that all of us are going to face that in the weeks to come – if we haven’t already. There will be days we are full of faith, full of self-sacrifice and courage and also days when we wobble, when we are overwhelmed and self-absorbed. 

And yet what Jesus shows here and will show us, is kindness. Compassion. He gets it, gets us – and loves us anyway. 

I don’t know if today has been a good day, or one where you have struggled?

I don’t know if you made good choices, behaved as you wished to – or not? 

But we know that we are loved, that forgiveness is always available at the cross, that as the song says His mercies are new every morning. So let’s come to our Lord, our saviour, our friend – let’s ask His forgiveness, let’s receive His mercy and let’s delight that we are known, really known, and loved, really loved. 

Let’s pray: 

Lord Jesus, as we see you in Gethsemane, as we see you wrestling with fear, as we see you at the end of your ability to cope, we thank you that you are with us in those moments too. And we ask, Father, that just as you sent your Spirit to comfort Jesus, just as you encouraged Him, we ask that you would do the same for us. That you would send your Spirit, that you would encourage us, that you would help us to get up from wherever we have fallen, and to walk again. And Father, where we know we’ve let you down, where we know that we have sinned, that we have fallen short of who we aspire to be for your sake, we bring those things to the foot of that cross, the cross we see Jesus walking towards. And we thank you that you will forgive us and that there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. We give you yesterday. We give you today. And we say Lord, have mercy. Hear our prayer.
Amen. 

There’s so much to take in! In the previous two chapters Jesus has answered the disciples’ questions about the end of the age robustly, with warnings about being prepared and stories about judgement. Jesus now transitions from the unsettling Parable of the Sheep and the Goats, with its warning for those who ignore the disadvantaged and vulnerable, to the equally unsettling news of his upcoming crucifixion.

Jerusalem is bustling, throngs of people, hundreds of thousands more than usual, fill its streets for the Feast of the Unleavened Bread (including Passover), one of three pilgrimage festivals in the Jewish calendar when the faithful would travel to the Temple in Jerusalem.

With minds turned to celebration and worship, there are also more sinister undercurrents. There are those in Jerusalem who conspire and plot to kill…

In this chapter, we often skip over the beginning detail and rush to the Last Supper and Jesus’ arrest but, today, I invite you to bide a while here at the first table in this chapter.

Jesus is at Simon’s house, Simon the leper. This is Simon’s only mention; probably healed by Jesus, still bearing the name of his previous affliction, here a testimony to the power of the one with whom he shared his table. An unnamed woman enters, and pours expensive ointment on Jesus’ head. An intimate and extravagant act of devotion and worship. This woman truly comprehends the significance of this man, Jesus. However, in the midst of the beauty of the scene, the disciples’ concerns turn to money and cost! This perfume was worth a large sum but the disciples could not see that its use to anoint their Rabbi was worth more than money could buy. Trust Matthew, the tax collector, the accountant of the group, to be doing the sums and putting financial value and security at the top of the priority list!

The onlookers declare her act of sacrifice and devotion a ‘waste’! They could not see what she saw; despite three years following their Rabbi, they were left perplexed and bemused about who he truly was. Suddenly they appear to be concerned for the poor! The poor whom Jesus has had to teach them about very firmly just a few verses before, in chapter 25. Sadly Jesus’ words that, ‘you always have the poor with you’ are as true today as they were when he said them. 

This woman’s act of faith is literally dripping with symbolism. She is preparing her Lord for burial, looking ahead to what is to come, just like the Magi did in chapter 2 when he was just months old. Then, unnamed visitors brought gold, for a king, incense, for worship, and myrrh, to anoint a body; this new unnamed visitor anoints her saviour in preparation.

‘Why the waste?’ they say. An act of worship and devotion can never be declared a waste! Come and sit at the table for a moment, drink in the scent that fills the room. Reflect upon what the next few days will bring…

This woman’s act of faithful, humble devotion stands in sharp contrast to Judas’ act of deception and betrayal. Another disciple distracted by money; not so concerned this time about the poor, more keen to line his own pockets!

We come to the second table in the chapter. Jesus is sharing the Passover meal with the twelve. This meal table is a symbol of mutual friendship, a place of devotion and trust. But this sacred time together is overturned, just as Jesus turned the tables in the Temple, as Judas plots to betray his master and friend. Psalm 41.9 expresses this sense of betrayal, ‘Even my bosom friend in whom I trusted, who ate of my bread, has lifted the heel against me.’

The Passover meal was, and still is, a physical reminder of God’s care for his people, how he heard their cries in captivity in Egypt and delivered them from Pharaoh’s hand, keeping his covenant promise to his people. Jesus takes two of the symbolic Seder foods and gives them new meanings: the bread that hadn’t had time to rise is now to remind them of his body, the wine, the royal drink symbolising freedom, four cups of it reminding them of the four expressions of redemption God uses in describing the Exodus from Egypt, now remind them of Jesus’ blood. God has not forgotten his covenant with his people, in fact, in Jesus, he is renewing it, and inviting us to share in it. Jesus invites you to sit a while at the table with him, and be renewed in his presence. This table is for all who are hungry and thirsty. If you are hungry and thirsty, come.

Lord, you invite us to come to your table. Help us to hunger and thirst after you, and allow ourselves to leave your table changed and renewed, firm in our identity as your forgiven children.
Amen.