Robert Milton

I’ve never been so high before.

I can see the entire city from here; perched like a vulture waiting to feed on death.

But I’m not really perched, more like…hanging. And I’m not feeding on death, I am death. Today, I will die. Just as well, honestly. At least that way I can’t hurt people anymore.

I’m so thirsty, yet the only thing that fills my mouth is the metallic taste of my own blood. I look down the length of my outstretched arm and wiggle my fingers at the other end. I can barely move them.

Soon, they’ll go numb; then my arm, then my shoulders. At that point, the only way for me to hold myself up long enough to breathe will be to push down on the nail that holds my feet to this plank. I’m not sure how long I’ll last at that point.

The people of the city, they mock me. It’s not the rocks they hurl that hurt me, it’s their insults. Some of their angry faces look familiar. I’ve stolen from them, lied to them, cheated them—and I’ve done it my entire life. I’ve stolen a million times. That’s why I’m here after all. I’m a career criminal; a career screw up. So here I hang, with arms wide open, ready to embrace death with a hug as it whisk’s me away to my eternal hell.

But even as I die, I do not suffer alone. You’d think there would be some sense of comfort in that, but there isn’t. Two other men join me on this rock of skulls. One of them I know, a hardened thief like myself; the other one is a stranger. I’ve heard rumors about Him though…they say He’s a king. But kings don’t hang like criminals, do they?

Yet I’ve watched Him for the last few hours…He hasn’t taken His eyes off of me. It’s like He’s staring into the puddles of my soul. As if my shame and guilt couldn’t get any worse, as if humiliation didn’t pour out of every cut on my bloodied skin, when we make eye contact, I feel…unworthy.

Unworthy of what? This man they call the Son of God? No, I’m unworthy because He is pure; I, most assuredly, am not. Unworthy because somehow, when He looks into my eyes, I also feel (I can’t believe I’m saying this)…loved.

Is it possible the rumors hold truth? Is this man a king? He struggles to breathe even now as the weight of the world bears down on His shoulders. If what some say about Him are true, this dying man can…change people. But not people like me.

I look at Him now as grace and forgiveness exude from His being. We haven’t spoken…I’m too scared to ask Him what I’m thinking. Yet He still stares at me.

I was wrong. He doesn’t bear the weight of the world—He bears its sin; my sin. Even now, He wears my sin like a badge of honor around His neck. The blood running down His body forms my name across His chest.

The gathered crowd below shoots fiery arrows of curses from a thousand bows. The man some call Messiah hears them all; His only response is to bleed more.

I can’t take it. I’m crying now. This is what my life has come to. This is who I am. But the man wearing the crown of thorns…He won’t stop looking at me. Why? Why does He care about me? Why do His eyes pierce mine?

Should I ask him? I can’t, but what do I have to lose? Death is minutes away. I will be dust soon.

I push up with all I have on the rusty spike through my feet…I need the strength to speak and breathing has become impossible. But I have to ask now before my lone ounce of courage escapes me.

He’s looking at me as my lips form the words. Then I ask, “Jesus, if you would, please remember me in your kingdom.” Did I say it right?

The man looks at me, and for the briefest of moments, smiles. Is He laughing at me? Ridicule?

Instead His eyes beam through the blood as He says, “Truly, my friend, I tell you that today…today you will be with me in paradise.”

Paradise! It can’t come soon enough.

I shut my eyes with a smile on my face; my first smile in years.

I’ve never been so high before.

Dan Butcher

Psalm 27 has long been a favorite of mine. Back when Zack was 6 or 7, I regularly prayed the first verse over him and helped him memorize it to combat frequent nightmares:

The Lord is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life;
of whom shall I be afraid?

Taken by itself, this verse is encouraging, but it could be read as if David is simply asserting a theory: “God is on my side, I shouldn’t be afraid.” The next two verses make clear that he’s not talking theory; he’s talking certainty:

When evildoers assail me
to eat up my flesh,
my adversaries and foes,
it is they who stumble and fall.

I love David’s vivid language: “assail me to eat up my flesh”; we sometimes feel like that is happening when we are under attack from the enemy. But he makes no provision for loss even in such a terrifying circumstance. David can see only victory, no matter how the attack escalates. First it is “evildoers,” then “my adversaries and foes.” “Evildoers” is the most general term here, and some translations render it “the wicked.” “Adversaries” can also be translated “trouble” or “distress,” and “foes” are personal enemies. No matter who or what it is, David confidently asserts, “it is they who stumble and fall.”

David continues, almost as if he can hear us saying, “OK, one on one, you’ll win. But what happens when the odds are stacked against you?” Whether its an army or an entire war, David will not be afraid.

Though an army encamp against me,
my heart shall not fear;
though war arise against me,
yet I will be confident.

He explains why he is confident in the next few verses:

One thing have I asked of the Lord,
that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
and to inquire in His temple.

For He will hide me in His shelter
in the day of trouble;
He will conceal me under the cover of His tent;
He will lift me high upon a rock.

It was a long time before I realized these two well-known passages—“He is my light and my salvation” and “One thing have I asked of the Lord”—were in the same psalm. Individually, they are inspiring, but together, they are powerful. David’s confidence in God’s protection comes from single-minded focus on God: “One thing have I asked…that will I seek after.”

Usually, David is depicted as a curly-headed boy strumming a harp as he watches fluffy sheep. Seen like that, David’s devotion seems easy; what else did he have to think about? Actually, David had a shepherding job, he was part of a family and dealt with difficult siblings, he worked for the king, and then he spent years as a soldier and fugitive from Saul.

David’s life was not one of quiet contemplation. He had a lot going on—much like most of us. Yet in the midst of all his responsibilities, he is able to say, “More than anything in the world, I want to look at God and discover all that makes Him beautiful.”

Tim Hughes, reflecting on the worship song “Beautiful One,” writes: “It’s a wonderful truth to know that until we meet God in heaven face to face, there will always be more of Him to discover. There will be more of His beauty, His majesty, His mercy and His power to drink in.”

David knew this; more importantly, David realized that discovering God, gazing at His beauty, drinking it in, held first priority. Actually, I need to rephrase that: using the word priority makes it sound as if it’s a task to add to our to-do lists.

6:30 a.m. Gaze at beauty of Lord.
6:45 a.m. Check!
Next?

David understood that our highest calling and our deepest satisfaction come together in knowing God. All else pales in comparison. David’s imagination was so consumed by God’s beauty, everything, including his enemies, seemed small.

What’s the biggest thing in your life, in mine? In the midst of work, family, car pool, laundry, ask the Spirit to reveal God’s beauty. As we consider God and He grows more lovely, more majestic, more glorious, all else will take its rightful—diminished—place. From this will flow the confidence that says, “my adversaries and foes, it is they who stumble and fall.”

Jeff Rush

With the coming of The Expendables II (with Chuck Norris and Jean Claude Van Damme added to the cast) Lent seems a surprisingly apropos time to note its significance and lessons for the season. (To be sure, this might be a more appealing and appropriate read for men rather than women.)

The basic plot of the original involves The Expendables, a group of mercenaries who have seen better days being recruited to clean up a problem and kill the bad guys on Vilena a South American island. A job the government can’t (or won’t do), but a job The Expendables will do, for the right price. These guys are a bit of a dying breed, an anachronism as it were. And yet here they are, mercenaries, continuing to look for places to ply their trade. Tough guys all. And while there’s no question that The Expendables returns us to a more interesting time for movies, I would submit that in fact it is more spiritual and more important than many other recently released movies. Why? As Andrew Klavan noted in his review, The Expendables is about “manhood—namely, the masculine imperatives to defend the girl, get the job done and be loyal to your buddies.”

Think about that for a minute, defend the girl, get the job done and be loyal to your buddies. Remind you of anyone?

WND columnist Drew Zahn taught his boys,”one of the most important lessons on what it means to be a man.” He asks them, around age four, if they know why God gave them big muscles. Of course they come back with answers only four year old boys can, to which Zahn responds, “Close…girls don’t have big muscles do they? But boys do. God gave you big muscles so you can protect girls. You must never, ever hurt a girl. You use your muscles to protect the girls from getting hurt.”

Unfortunately I’m guessing there’s one or two of you reading this thinking, what? What’s this chauvinist drivel? Too much Rush Limbaugh for this guy to be sure. And of course you’re welcome to believe what you wish. But who defended the girls in Jesus’ time? And what strength did it take to stand between the adulterous female and a mob of men loaded for bear (and rocks)?

Jesus taught us what it is to be Biblical men and women. What it means to be a man and to be a woman. The Expendables (and no doubt The Expendables II) is an example of Biblical manhood at its best. These guys epitomize what the Bible calls men to be: protectors, righters of wrong, peacemakers, not peacekeepers. Christmas takes on five or six guys because his former girlfriend is beat up by one of them, her current boyfriend. After telling her, “this is what I do for a living,” he also says to her, “I’m not perfect, but you should have waited.” An imperfect man, standing up for what is right. While few of us could take on five or six like he does, we’re all imperfect and we too can stand up for our wives, our girlfriends, and for women all over the country and world who are beat on just because. (In fact, didn’t Pastor Chris make that very point during Real Marriage?) We can be what Paul Coughlin refers to as “alongsidestanders” rather than bystanders.

In yet another great scene, Ross asks Tool essentially what he should do. For reasons not wholly understood by him, Ross has to go back to Vilena. He can’t get the girl staying there out of his mind. He can do something “right” perhaps for the first time in his life. He can (hopefully) right a wrong because it’s the right thing to do. Tool responds telling Ross of the blackness of his heart, how his spirit is surely and slowly dying, in part due to the violence and killing he had been a part of. He proceeds to tell Ross a story of a woman about to commit suicide and how he simply walked away. “After taking all those lives, here’s one I could have saved…and I didn’t,” he laments. “If I’d have saved that woman, I might have saved what was left of my soul.”

Imagine if Jesus had walked away. We don’t have to worry about saving our soul; Jesus died for our souls. Died so we could live. Died so we could defend the girl, get the job done, and be loyal to Him (and our families and buddies).

So Ross makes the decision to return to Vilena. No money, probably a set up, probably going to die, but he makes the decision to go, anyway.

Does that remind you of anyone?

And Ross does so unselfishly, by giving his friends a way out. They don’t have to go, to which Christmas at least initially appears to agree. It is Yang, though, that perhaps has one of the most important lines. “Friends don’t let friends die alone.” What greater love than to lay one’s life down for a friend? The others see this as well, when Christmas says, “It’s not easy being your friend,” and Harley replies, “We’ll die with you, just don’t ask us to do it twice.” What a great group of men to have around you, huh?

The blog The Art of Manliness has a post, “Being Fully Present as a Man.” The author suggests that as men we should be as fully present as possible in all aspects of our life. It is “a manful way to live.” It means not being distracted from what really matters, requiring bravery and the ability “to open oneself up to both unmitigated pain and undiluted joy.” This, the author says is the “path of true manliness.”

Before He died, Jesus left us with The Great Commission. In a recent message, Pastor Chris indicated that a2 was both missional and actionable. As Christ followers, we are to be both missional and actionable as well.

This is the path of The Expendables and this is why it matters, to women, to men, and to society. And why Lent matters to all of us.

Much of the above taken from Rush, Jeff. “Why ‘The Expendables’ Is More Than Popcorn Entertainment,” http://www.newsrealblog.com/2010/11/27/why-the-expendables-is-more-than-popcorn-entertainment-1/print/.

Robert Milton

Defense wins ball games.

That’s what I’ve always heard…in sports at least.

But what about with me? I’ve spent a good portion of my life defending myself. My thoughts, my actions, my faith. And for what purpose; to what gain? Basically…why?

Answer: Because I’m afraid.

Unlike sports, where the best defenses are tough and gritty, I defend myself because I have very little courage and my faith is weak at best. Fear cuts through me deeper than the sword ever could. Wouldn’t it be nice, I think to myself, if I wasn’t playing defense all the time, if I had the courage and faith to look someone in the eye and lovingly tell them that I don’t have to defend myself, or more importantly, my God?

That’s what one particular group of friends did, and they did it to the ruthless King of the Neo-Babylonian Empire, Nebuchadnezzar.

At the time, three Jews—whose true Hebrew names were Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah—were taken captive and given the pagan Babylonian names of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. They were told that—whenever certain music played—they would have to bow down and worship a “king” they did not serve.

They refused. When brought before the King for questioning, Daniel 3:16 describes their response to him as this, “O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter.”

Ha. They just told a king—who thought of himself as a god—that they would never bow to worship him. Not only that, but they weren’t going to argue back and forth on it; they felt no need to defend their stance. They were going to follow God whatever the cost. And what was that cost? To be thrown into a fiery furnace.

Though threatened with death, they made yet another audacious statement to the king. The story reads, word for word, like this: “If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if He does not, we want you to know, O King, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.”

I bolded that last part myself. Those are, in my opinion, the six most faithful words in the Bible. But even if He does not. What? In the face of a flaming death, their courage and faith grew. When I get called names, mine shrinks. They proclaimed with boldness that God would deliver them, yet that’s not even the miracle. The miracle is—they were okay if He didn’t!!!

And so I ask myself, when my feet get held to the fires of life, what is my response? When I get bound and cuffed and thrown into the flames, do I trust God enough to NOT deliver me? Where does it say in the Bible that, as Christians, we will be delivered from the hands of persecution? It doesn’t. In fact it says the opposite.

Where can I get their boldness? Where can I get their faith? When will I learn to cast my fear aside and stop feeling the need to defend myself? If it gets me thrown into the fire…so what! I have to be okay with that!

Just as those three young men were.

And as the king ordered the furnace turned up seven times hotter than normal, as even his guards died from the immense flames while they threw the three friends into the mouth of a volcano—Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego never backed down.

The king that thought of himself as a god looked down into the furnace, and instead of three men walking around, he saw four. Was it an angel? Was it God himself? Does it really matter?

They were delivered. They walked out of the fire without a hair on their heads being burned; they didn’t even smell like smoke! I can’t grill hotdogs for five seconds without smelling like smoke!

These stubborn men who refused to defend themselves, who had faith in God whether He delivered them or not—were tormented, bound, and thrown into a furnace to burn alive.

But in the end, they danced in the fires with God.

Dan Butcher

My father, Russell “Butch” Butcher, died last Friday, just 6 weeks short of his 82nd birthday. He raised 4 children; was married to my mother for nearly 57 years. He served in the Air Force for 30 years, shepherded his church as an elder, frequently ministered to the sick and the bereaved until his own health tied him to home. He was much loved and eagerly anticipated meeting his Father and Savior in heaven. I’m his youngest son, and I will read the following at his memorial service:

I remember Dad putting me to bed—Mom was obviously out somewhere because Dad never tucked me in, but on this night, he came, book in hand, to read. It was awful. He had a Bible study book, couldn’t have been for children, no pictures, and it seemed like he read two or three selections to me. I just remember wishing it would end soon because it was really, really boring.

As a father, I can appreciate his thought and effort—though he clearly needed better book choices; it’s a challenge to get kids, especially young ones—I must have been kindergarten, first grade?—interested in Bible stories. Dad was doing what a dad should do—pointing me to God.

The bedtime story didn’t work so well, but Dad’s example did, and I’ve learned some things from him over the last 30 years as an adult.

Here’s what he taught me: change is possible at any age when you are committed to God. The man I grew up with was always a devoted father and husband, but he was different than the man that I remember from the last 20 years. Dad grew in gentleness, kindness, patience—really, all the fruit of the Spirit—because he loved God with his whole heart, and he spent hours studying and praying and meditating.

The image I have is Dad in his recliner, several stacks of books on both sides of the chair, each one being read or referenced, all of them with highlights and notes in pencil. He was a student of the Word—or more accurately, Dad was a student of God. As I write this, I realize—“Oh my gosh, I’m turning into Dad!” I’ve got stacks of books next to my recliner, I’m part-way through most of them, and I’m making notes too.

Thank you, Dad, for teaching me that a passion for study doesn’t have to be about knowledge; it can be about drawing closer to God.

Here’s another thing he taught me: there’s always something positive to say. I didn’t see this until I was an adult, but Dad didn’t say negative words about people. For him, an overweight woman was not “that large woman” but instead “the woman with the beautiful eyes.” I don’t know if he didn’t see those negative features that most of us tend to focus on, or if he had trained himself to look for that special something that sets each person apart. What I do know is that not only did he always find that something, he often pointed it out. Frequently as a child, I would hear him tell a cashier, “You have a lovely smile.”

In the same vein, he taught me that complaining is a choice—a hard one to avoid—but a choice nonetheless. Some years back, Dad had shingles—for a long time. It was painful—really painful. About a year later, I had shingles in almost the same spot; I got the medicine in the nick of time, and it was gone in 10 or 12 days. But still, it hurt. And I complained.

Not Dad. Never did I hear him say anything about feeling bad, hurting. I knew, from talking to Mom or my sister, he was uncomfortable—more likely miserable. So I would call Dad, ask him how he was doing, and he would say, “Son, I am so blessed!” and go on to talk of his thankfulness for Mom, his kids, God’s grace. In the last couple of years, I never heard him speak of his medical conditions, pains, any of that. And he had plenty he could have talked about, but it was always God and thankfulness.

I’ve come to see that there’s a name for Dad’s perspective. It’s joy, a focus on God and gratitude and blessing that transcends circumstance. That verse where James says, “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you face various trials”? Dad knew how to do that. He learned to be joyful the hard way—maybe the only way—by facing various trials.

We may not have known what to call it, but I think all of us here recognized that joy when we looked at Dad, Grandpa, Pawpaw, Butch. And today, we can take comfort in knowing…his joy is complete.

Dan Butcher

On this holy day…a new people is born with whom God has sealed an eternal covenant in the blood of the Word made flesh, crucified and risen.—Pope John Paul II

Through the cross, we have “newness of life” (Romans 6:4), an awesome fact that I often forget. Consider:

• Therefore we have been buried with Him through baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life. (Romans 6:4)
• Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! (2 Corinthians 5:17)
• Neither circumcision nor uncircumcision means anything; what counts is a new creation. (Galatians 6:15)
• In His great mercy He has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. (1 Peter 1:3)
• And He who sits on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” (Revelation 21:5)

If you are like me, it’s likely that you read through this list of Scriptures and said, “Yes, but”—

• “Yes, I know it’s true in theory, but…”
• “Yes, but you don’t know my circumstances…”
• “Yes, but I don’t feel like I’m new…”
• “Yes, but I keep trying and I have the same old problems…”

Blah, blah, blah.

Here’s the real problem: I would rather believe my emotions and the lies of the enemy than accept the Word of the Living God. Why? Because believing God requires faith to accept as true what my senses don’t see and my emotions don’t feel.

I said earlier that newness is a fact; it is truth. And as with so many of the truths that God offers us, we experience it only after we have believed it. Our faith makes it real in our lives. So,

• I’m new in theory and in fact.
• My circumstances do not determine God’s ability to make me new.
• My emotions will follow my faith.
• I need to stop trying and simply believe.

I love John 6:28–29; when the disciples ask Jesus how they can try to please God, what work they should do, Jesus says simply, “The work of God is this: to believe in the one He has sent.” This is the key: faith in Jesus. Note that He is making all things new. Look again at what Paul says in 2 Corinthians: “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.” Paul doesn’t say, “become a new creation” or even “be a new creation.” Rather, Paul says, that if I am in Christ, I am a new creation. Peter tells us that we are new through the resurrection of Jesus Christ. In other words, it has nothing to do with me and my ability or action and everything to do with Jesus.

Though I’ve probably gone on about this long enough, I have to make one more point. If I make the decision to take the Holy Spirit at His word and believe, I need to be sure I really get what “new” means. This is not new as in “new and improved”—which usually means same old stuff in a new package that costs more. And it’s not new as in “new to me”—“yes, it’s a pre-owned car, but it’s new to me.” We sometimes act like and feel like (there’s that emotion thing again) God picked us up at a used car place. I’m not a used car that’s been spiffed up and made to smell better with a few squirts of new car spray.

Let me give you a revelation: when Jesus says He is making all things new and when the Holy Spirit says that you are a “new creation,” they really mean new—N-E-W; or perhaps you would like the Greek: this word is kainos, which means “new, fresh, unused, of a new kind.” I like the way the Amplified phrases it—“a new creature altogether.” Though I may not be able to see it, though I looked the same after I got saved as I did before, in the eyes of God, I became fundamentally different, other, new. The old has gone; all things are new.

Dan Butcher

In a sermon on Galatians, Tim Keller says that you won’t find this verse on anyone’s refrigerator or done up in cross-stitch and hanging on the wall—but we should. And what verse is that?

Yet not even Titus, who was with me, was compelled to be circumcised, although he was a Greek. (Galatians 2:3 NET)

Yeah…right.

We read and think, “That? Just some Jew/Gentile thing back then.” No. It’s a glorious freedom thing right now.

Paul explains that he had been teaching the gospel to the Gentiles—the non-Jews—for quite some time. Under the Spirit’s leadership, he went to Jerusalem to explain his message to some of the apostles. He went with concern—not that he was wrong in what he taught; no, Paul had absolute certainty that he taught the gospel accurately and fully. His concern was that the leaders in Jerusalem, all Jews, might force Gentile Christians, like Titus, to add submission to Jewish rules to their faith in Jesus Christ.

Paul explains why there was a problem:

Now this matter arose because of the false brothers with false pretenses who slipped in unnoticed to spy on our freedom that we have in Christ Jesus, to make us slaves. But we did not surrender to them even for a moment, in order that the truth of the gospel would remain with you. (Galatians 2:4–5 NET)

Notice how Paul labels these troublemakers: “false brothers with false pretenses.” He wants to make sure we understand that not only were these men not brothers in the faith, they came with wrong motives. I love how Paul describes their actions: these false brothers came to “spy on our freedom that we have in Christ Jesus.”

I can see them with clipboards and checklists, pen in hand, watching the Gentile Christians like Titus (and you and me), scrutinizing every action, every word, making notes, all with the goal of filing a report that says, “Not really a Christian. Doesn’t do the right things.”

Of course, the goal wasn’t just to find the problems, the missing behaviors. Paul makes it clear that there was more: to make us slaves. We read that phrase—or at least I read it—and pass over it pretty quickly; seems like Paul used that word a lot, and it doesn’t really mean much today, and I’d rather not think about it.

To make us slaves.

Those words would have disturbed the original readers of this letter—the Christians in Galatia; it would have disturbed anyone in the first century, because they were intimately acquainted with slavery; it was a fact of life and visible all around them.

Perhaps we would find it more chilling, more compelling, if Paul said, “And send us to maximum security prison for life.” Not one of those country club facilities where white-collar criminals go. One of those scary locked-in-with-the-worst kind of prisons where anything can happen. A place where every day is a burden, filled with fear, and there’s no escape.

What did these false brothers, these spies of freedom, want to do, that would result in slavery and loss of freedom? They wanted to add to the gospel. Believe and.…do this. Do that. And this other thing. And that thing over there.

Paul insisted that there is no and in the gospel. It’s believe only. Or as we heard recently in a sermon series, Jesus + Nothing = Everything.

Paul recognize that to give in to such thinking—that we must do something to add to the gospel, to be right with God—was surrender, a loss of freedom, slavery. And he refused to budge, as he says, “even for a moment.”

Paul’s hopes were confirmed in Jerusalem. He met with Peter, James, and John, and those men added nothing to Paul’s message. Added nothing means that Paul’s message of freedom in Christ was—is—complete. No rules, regulations, nothing needed to be added.

So Titus skipping circumcision—that wasn’t just a relief for him. That’s a relief for all of us who come to faith in Christ, regardless of background. There’s nothing anyone can add to the requirement of faith.

Now what does this have to do with Lent? Well, it’s easy to get caught up in the “I’ll make God happy if I.…” mentality. We might not consciously phrase it that way to ourselves, but that’s still how we think.

I’ll pray more.

I’ll fast.

I’ll do…

To such thinking, Paul shouts a resounding, “Don’t!” Not if you think it somehow makes you better or more acceptable to God. Such thinking is not the gospel.

Robert Milton

A dog scurries across the path in front of me.

The scent of lavender and aloe spices float lazily in the air.

In the east, an orange ball gently breaks over city rooftops; its warm fingers quickly displacing the cool desert air of the night. Yet even as the sun casts away the darkness, the day is still black.

The Son is dead. The savior, the king of the Jews, the sin of the world, our only hope—has been killed. By you…by me…by others…it doesn’t matter at this point. All that matters now is that He, Jesus Christ, our lamb—has been slaughtered.

It wasn’t that long ago that I was a slave. We were all slaves. In my imagination, I can still feel the cold metal shackles of my oppressors around my wrists and feet. I can still feel the whip as it strikes my back, then recoils, taking small chunks of my flesh with it. My sleepless nights were full of despair and anguish as it seemed like my humiliating cries fell upon deaf ears. My feeble prayers ended the same—that death would come sooner than later.

But don’t be confused…I had no physical captors. I was a slave to no one but the world; no villain but myself. My ancestors spent their days stomping mud into bricks, but not me. Their God then, my God now, delivered them from the hands of the evil Pharaoh. The cold shackles I write about…those were put there by me. The whip that struck my back…I delivered the blows. You see, greater than any Pharaoh, more oppressive than any dictator…there was the god of me.

My selfishness had no hope…I had no Moses to lead me from bondage. And even if I did, Moses couldn’t rid me of my own stench. He couldn’t wash away the slimy stains of mold that clung to the corners of my heart. I needed something more…a true redeemer. A true King.

And I had Him…then I killed Him. My sin killed Jesus Christ. Yet when I listened to Him speak, He told me differently. He said that He wanted to die for me. That He had to die for me. You see, that was the only way I could ever truly be free. He took my stench, became my stench, so that I in turn could be His aroma. I didn’t really understand Him at first, in fact, I don’t understand Him now…yet I believe Him.

But that’s no more. He’s dead. I saw His chest rise, then fall…I waited for it to rise again, but it didn’t. His last breath was days ago. I have to see Him again.

Which brings me here today.

It’s early morning and I’m tired. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve slept. All I have to offer my old friend are a few bottles of fragrance and spices. The least I can do is to try and keep the smell of death away. Yet even as I’m almost to His tomb, I smell spices in the air.

Yes…yes…someone has definitely walked this way recently wearing fragrances similar to mine. I’m almost there now…to the resting place of my King. There is a slight chill in the air as I turn the corner, my path barely lit in front of me. Then I see it.

A black hole stares back where the stone used to be. I run ahead, afraid someone has stolen the body of my Lord. Poking my head inside the tomb, my eyes adjust to the darkness. I see a spider as it prances across a white piece of linen. Empty linen. The wrappings of my King lay casually in a pile on the gray stone floor.

He is gone.

Yet as soon as I form the thought, the ground shakes, causing my already weak knees to waver even more. Bolts of lightning rain down around me. I’m scared out of my mind.

Suddenly a man dressed in white with hair as silver as the moon is standing to my side. He opens his mouth to speak…but fright closes my ears. I look confused no doubt, so he repeats himself, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” he asks in a calm voice.

My throat is incapable of sound.

“You’re looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. But He is not here…He has risen.”

My heart explodes in my chest. My eyes fill with tears. Could this be true? I remember my Lord saying something about rising on the third day, but again, I didn’t understand what He meant. It must be true…He isn’t here! What should I do?

“Go,” says the man with silver hair, “go tell His disciples that He is alive. You will find Him in Galilee.”

I turn to leave, but my feet won’t move. I am trembling. As what the man said takes full effect in my mind, adrenaline courses through my muscles. I take one step, then another. Then I am running. All I can think about is my Lord. He is alive!

I must go tell His disciples. I must go tell the world.

Robert Milton

How can I focus on Christ?

What should my attitude be?

I’ve asked this question a million times over the course of my life, specifically over the last few years. If only there were something in the Bible that would tell me…show me…exactly what my attitude should be; what Jesus’ attitude was. If only there were words so blatantly obvious as to how I should live and treat others, as to how I should view myself, then maybe I could understand this whole “Christian” thing.

But then I started thinking: Do I really want there to be that example? Wouldn’t it be so much better for me if there weren’t a black-and-white; if there weren’t a crystal clear?

If there were no example to follow, then I could go around eating whatever fruit I wanted from any tree in the garden. I could do my own thing, be my own god; I could set my own bar of righteousness, and move it up and down accordingly. If only the waters were muddy.

But the waters aren’t muddy; they’re crystal clear.

My/Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made Himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross!

That reads pretty easy doesn’t it? I can’t take credit for it, though I wish I could. Those are the exact words of the Apostle Paul in Philippians 2:6–8 (NIV).

There it is…Paul just laid it down—the example of what my own attitude should be. Sometimes He makes me so mad I want to kick him in the shins. With those words, He set the bar so incredibly high, there’s no way I could jump and reach it by myself. And believe me, I’ve tried. If I could reach the bar myself, why would I need anyone else? I certainly wouldn’t need Jesus with all his “rules and regulations.”

But deep down inside, down in the black corners of myself that I don’t allow anyone to see, I know that I do need Jesus. And He doesn’t give me rules and regulations. He shows me love, offers me grace, extends me mercy, and showers me with redemptive comfort.

So now I know I need Him, but how can I focus on Him?

By reflecting on His attitude, and with His help, making it my own. If Jesus made Himself a servant, I have to also. If He humbled Himself to death (and was innocent), how much more do I have to die knowing that I’m guilty?

That’s why Paul makes mad. He left no wiggle room, no gray area in between. In an earlier part of the same chapter, verse 3, He writes that we should do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than ourselves (NIV).

Nothing out of selfish ambition? If you strip that away from me…what else is there? Nothing out of vain conceit? That’s who I am! Consider other’s better than myself? Why should I?

Because Jesus did. And He doesn’t expect me to reach “the bar.” He is the bar. So instead of watching me jump and flail aimlessly toward a Savior that’s too far our reach, God humbled Himself and became a man. He lowered Himself to me.

Now—with Him, through Him—I can conquer all things in his strength. I can love others selflessly. I can quell my own selfish ambition. But only if I keep my focus on Christ; only if I let his attitude exude through my own. From now until Easter, and hopefully afterwards, let’s reflect on our own attitudes; let’s focus on Christ’s humility, make it our own, and eradicate our vain conceit.

Dan Butcher

I love Psalm 18; there’s so much to like here. Several things stood out to me this morning as I read. First, David begins unabashedly: “I love You, O Lord.” As far as I can tell, this is the first time in Scripture that someone declares his love for God. The Amplified translates this, “I love You fervently and devotedly.”

Then, in verse two, its as if David can hardly contain himself as names pour out:

The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

Notice that he makes this personal: my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer. Moses repeatedly calls God “the Rock” in his song in Deuteronomy 32, and God is described as a rock in other places, but for David, He is almost always “my” rock.

A few verses later, David describes God coming to his rescue, and this is what astounded me; read this aloud and imagine God as David sees Him:

Then the earth reeled and rocked;
the foundations also of the mountains trembled
and quaked, because He was angry.
Smoke went up from His nostrils,
and devouring fire from His mouth;
glowing coals flamed forth from Him.
He bowed the heavens and came down;
thick darkness was under His feet.
He rode on a cherub and flew;
he came swiftly on the wings of the wind.
He made darkness His covering, His canopy around Him,
thick clouds dark with water.
Out of the brightness before Him
hailstones and coals of fire broke through His clouds.

The Lord also thundered in the heavens,
and the Most High uttered His voice,
hailstones and coals of fire.
And He sent out his arrows and scattered them;
He flashed forth lightnings and routed them.
Then the channels of the sea were seen,
and the foundations of the world were laid bare
at Your rebuke, O Lord,
at the blast of the breath of Your nostrils.

Wow!

I was going to add Selah. Pause. And calmly think about that! Except that calmly is not the response David is going for here; he’s stoked, and he wants us to be excited too.

I’ve read this before and noted this picture of God, but today I saw it afresh. In many sports movies, there’s a scene where the young and talented player realizes that the old coach is not just some guy that used to play the game; no, the old coach is actually a star. The young player discovers a photo or a news clipping and suddenly, he is filled with awe and a new-found respect for the old man.

That’s what I experienced as I read: God went from grandpa-like loving Father to great and terrible and awesome Almighty God, the Lord of Hosts, powerful and mighty to save. As David sees it, when God moves on behalf of His child, all of creation feels the force of His power: from the mountains to the foundations of the earth, from the clouds to the sea.

As I ponder this passage and imagine this scene in all its splendor, my problems are put in perspective: what could possibly stand before a God whose voice issues hail, fire, and lightning? And I know: everything will work out fine.