Beastly

Beastly

Jesus was beaten with whips and handed over to the soldiers to be crucified. The governor’s soldiers took Jesus into the governor’s palace, and they all gathered around him. They took off his clothes and put a red robe on him. Using thorny branches, they made a crown, put it on his head, and put a stick in his right hand. Then the soldiers bowed before Jesus and made fun of him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They spat on Jesus. Then they took his stick and began to beat him on the head. After they finished, the soldiers took off the robe and put his own clothes on him again. Then they led him away to be crucified. (Matt. 27:26–31)

What would have happened to the Beast if the Beauty hadn’t appeared? You know the story, don’t you? There was a time when his face was handsome and his palace was pleasant. But that was before the curse, before the shadows fell on the castle of the prince, and before the shadows fell on the heart of the prince. And when the darkness fell, he hid. Secluded in his castle, he was left with a glistening snout, curly tusks and a bad mood.

But all that changed when the girl came. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened to the Beast if the Beauty hadn’t appeared? Better yet, what would have happened if she hadn’t cared? And who’d have blamed her if she hadn’t? He was a beast. Hairy. Drooling. Roaring. Defying. And she was such a beauty. Stunningly gorgeous. Contagiously kind. If ever two people lived up to their names, these two did it in spades. Who would’ve blamed her if she hadn’t cared? But she did. And because the Beauty loved the Beast, the Beast became more beautiful himself.

The story’s familiar to most, but not just because it’s a fairy tale. It’s familiar because it reminds us of ourselves – there’s a beast in each of us. Oh, it wasn’t always that way. There was a time when humanity’s face was beautiful, and the palace was pleasant. But that was before the curse, before the shadow fell across the garden of Eden, before the darkness fell across the heart of Adam. And ever since the curse, we’ve been different. Beastly. Ugly. Defiant. Angry. We do things we know we shouldn’t do and then we wonder why we did them.

The ugly part of me showed its beastly face one night when I was in college. I was driving on a two-lane road that was about to become a single lane. A woman in a car beside me was in the lane that continued. I was in the lane that stopped. I needed to be ahead of her. My schedule was, no doubt, more important than hers. So, I floored it. Guess what? She did, too. And when my lane ended, she was a fender ahead of me. I growled and slowed and let her go ahead. Over her shoulder she gave me a sweet little bye-bye wave. But then the sinister part of me said, “Hey, wait a minute. She can’t do that! Maybe you should shed a little light on the situation.” So, I put a little high beam in her rearview mirror. She retaliated by slowing down. To a crawl. This woman was mean.

She couldn’t have cared less if the whole city was late; she wasn’t going to go beyond fifteen miles per hour. And I wasn’t going to take my lights out of her rearview mirror. Like two stubborn mules, she kept it slow and I kept it bright. But then, after a few more unkind thoughts, the road widened and I started to make my pass. Wouldn’t you know it? A red light left the two of us side by side at the intersection. What happened next was both good and bad. The good news is that she waved at me; the bad is that she waved with just one finger.

Then conviction surfaced. “Why did I do that?” I’m usually a pretty calm guy, but for fifteen minutes I was a beast. And only two facts comforted me: I didn’t have a fish symbol on my truck, and the apostle Paul had similar struggles: “I do not do what I want to do, and I do the things I hate.” (Rom. 7:15) Ever felt like saying those words? If so, you’re in good company because Paul isn’t the only person in the Bible who wrestled the beast within. In fact, it’s hard to find a page in Scripture where the animal doesn’t bare his teeth.

King Saul chasing young David with a spear. Shechem raping Dinah. Dinah’s brothers (the sons of Jacob) murdering Shechem and his friends. Lot selling out to Sodom and then getting out of Sodom. Herod murdering Bethlehem toddlers. Another Herod murdering Jesus’ cousin. If the Bible is called the Good Book, it’s not because its people are. Blood runs as freely through the stories as the ink on the pages. But the evil of the beast was never so raw as on the day Christ died.

The disciples were first fast asleep, then fast afoot. Herod wanted a show. Pilate wanted out. And the soldiers? They wanted blood. So they scourged Jesus. The legionnaire’s whip consisted of leather straps with lead balls on each end. His goal was singular: beat the accused within an inch of his death and then stop. Thirty-nine lashes were allowed but seldom needed. A centurion monitored the prisoner’s status. No doubt Jesus was near death when his hands were untied and he slumped to the ground.

The whipping was the first deed of the soldiers. The crucifixion was the third. (We’ll get to the second in a moment) Though his back was ribboned with wounds, the soldiers loaded the crossbeam on Jesus’ shoulders and marched him to the Place of the Skull and executed him. And we really don’t fault the soldiers for these two actions. After all, they were just following orders. But what’s hard to understand is what they did in between. Here’s Matthew’s description:

Jesus was beaten with whips and handed over to the soldiers to be crucified. The governor’s soldiers took Jesus into the governor’s palace, and they all gathered around him. They took off his clothes and put a red robe on him. Using thorny branches, they made a crown, put it on his head, and put a stick in his right hand. Then the soldiers bowed before Jesus and made fun of him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They spat on Jesus. Then they took his stick and began to beat him on the head. After they finished, the soldiers took off the robe and put his own clothes on him again. Then they led him away to be crucified. (Matt. 27:26–31)

The soldiers’ assignment was simple: take the Nazarene to the hill and kill him. But they had another idea. They wanted to have some fun first. So, these strong, rested, armed soldiers encircled an exhausted, nearly dead, Galilean carpenter and beat up on him. The scourging was commanded. The crucifixion was ordered. But who would draw pleasure out of spitting on a half-dead man? Spitting isn’t intended to hurt the body — it can’t. Spitting is intended to degrade the soul, and it does. So what were the soldiers doing? Weren’t they elevating themselves at the expense of another? In other words, they felt big by making Christ look small.

Ever done that? Oh, maybe you’ve never spit on anyone, but have you ever gossiped? Slandered? Have you ever raised your hand in anger, or rolled your eyes in arrogance? Have you ever blasted your high beams in someone’s rearview mirror? Ever made someone feel bad so you would feel good? That’s what the soldiers did to Jesus. And when you and I do the same, we do it to Jesus, too. “I assure you, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me.” (Matt. 25:40) In other words, how we treat others is how we treat Jesus. Ugh.

That’s tough to hear, but we’ve got to face the fact that there’s something beastly within each and every one of us. Something beastly that makes us do things that surprise even us. Haven’t you surprised yourself? Haven’t you reflected on an act and wondered, “What got into me?” The Bible has a three-letter answer for that question: S-I-N. There is something bad — beastly — within each of us. As the Apostle Paul so plainly put, we are “by nature children of wrath.” (Eph. 2:3)

It’s not that we can’t do good. We do. It’s just that we can’t keep from doing bad. In theological terms, we’re “totally depraved.” Though made in God’s image, we’ve fallen. We’re corrupt at the core. The very center of our being is selfish and perverse. David said, “I was born a sinner — yes, from the moment my mother conceived me.” (Ps. 51:5) Could any of us say any less? Each one of us was born with a tendency to sin.

And this depravity is a universal condition. Scripture says it plainly: All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned, every one, to his own way. (Isa. 53:6) The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it? (Jer. 17:9) There is none righteous, no, not one .… All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. (Rom. 3:10, 23)

Some would disagree. They look around and say, “You know, compared to everyone else, I’m a pretty decent person.” But, a pig might say something similar. He might look at his trough partners and announce, “I’m just as clean as everyone else.” Compared to humans, of course, that pig needs help. But compared to God, we humans need the same. The standard for sinlessness isn’t found at the pig trough, but at the throne of heaven. God, himself, is the standard.

Our deeds are ugly. Our actions are harsh. We don’t do what we want to do; we don’t like what we do. And what’s worse — yes, there’s something worse — we can’t change.

We try. Oh, how we try. But “(c)an a leopard change his spots? In the same way, Jerusalem, you cannot change and do good, because you are accustomed to doing evil.” (Jer. 13:23) The apostle agreed with the prophet: “The mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law — indeed it cannot.” (Rom. 8:7)

Still disagree? Still think the assessment is too harsh? If so, try this. For the next twenty-four hours lead a sinless life. Not a perfect decade, or year, or even a perfect month. Just one perfect day. Can you do it? Can you live without sin for one day? No? Well then, how ‘bout an hour? Could you promise that for the next sixty minutes you’ll have only pure thoughts and actions? Still too hard? Then how about the next five minutes? Five minutes of worry-free, anger-free, unselfish living — can you do it? No? Neither can I.

Then we have a problem: we are sinners, and “the wages of sin is death.” (Rom. 6:23) We have a problem: we are not holy, and “anyone whose life is not holy will never see the Lord.” (Heb. 12:14) We have a problem: we are evil, and “evil people are paid with punishment.” (Prov. 10:16) Then with all those problems, what can we do?

Allow the spit of the soldiers to symbolize the filth in our hearts. And then observe what Jesus does with that filth. He carries it to the cross. Through the prophet he said, “I did not hide my face from mocking and spitting.” (Isa. 50:6) Mingled with his blood and sweat was the essence of our sin. God could have deemed otherwise. In God’s plan, Jesus was offered wine for his throat, so why not a towel for his face? Simon carried the cross of Jesus, but he didn’t mop the cheek of Jesus. And legions of angels were only a prayer away. Couldn’t they have taken the spittle away?

They could have, but Jesus never commanded them to. For some reason, Jesus chose the saliva. Along with the spear and the sponge, he bore the spit of man. Why? Could it be that he saw the beauty within the beast? But that’s where the correlation with Beauty and the Beast ends. Because in the fable, the beauty kisses the beast. In the Bible, the Beauty does much more. He becomes the beast so the beast can become the beauty. Jesus changes places with us. We, like Adam, were under a curse, but Jesus “changed places with us and put himself under that curse.” (Gal. 3:13)

What if the Beauty had not come? What if the Beauty had not cared? Then we would have remained a beast. But the Beauty did come, and the Beauty did care. The sinless one took on the face of a sinner so that we sinners could take on the face of a saint.

Grace,

Randy