COVID

COVID[1]
COVID - Audio/Visual 

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. (Phil. 4:6)

The judge owned a gated mansion in Beverly Hills. He smoked Cuban cigars, wore Armani suits and drove a Bentley with a personalized license plate that read, Res Ipsa, which is Latin shorthand for “the thing speaks for itself.” He was on the payroll of every cartel and drug dealer on the west coast. They kept him in office; he kept them out of jail. They gave him votes; he gave them a pass. He was a crook. His mother knew it. His priest knew it. His kids knew it. God knew it. The judge couldn't care less. He never gave God a second thought, or an honest person a second chance. According to Jesus the judge was a scoundrel.

He certainly didn't care about the widow. "A widow of that city came to him repeatedly, saying, ‘Give me justice in this legal dispute with the plaintiff.'" (Luke 18:3) Let’s call her Ethel. She had a simple look to her: hair tied in a bun, plaid dress, old jogging shoes that appeared to have been rescued from a yard sale. If the judge were his Bentley, then Ethel was a clunker. But for an old clunker she had a lot of horsepower. She was determined to escape a certain litigant. A bill collector? An angry landlord? An oppressive neighbor? We don’t know, but someone had turned against her and was suing her. Someone had resolved to take her to the cleaners. She pleaded her case and begged for justice. No luck. She exhausted every possible solution. Finally, in a burst of chutzpah, she sought the assistance of the judge.

Every morning when he stepped out of his limo, there Ethel stood on the courthouse sidewalk. "Can I have a minute, Your Honor?" When he exited his chambers, Ethel was waiting in the hallway. "Judge, I need your help." At Giovanni's, where the judge ate lunch, she approached his table. "Just a few minutes of your time." How she got past the maitre d', the judge didn’t know. But there she was. Ethel even sat in the front row of the courtroom during trials, holding up a cardboard sign that read, "Can you help me?" During his Saturday-morning golf game, she walked out of the bushes near the fourth fairway. Ethel also annoyed the judge's wife. She hounded the judge's secretary. "Do something about Ethel," they demanded. "She's a pest!" "For a while the judge refused to help her." (v. 4)

One day, when the coast was clear, the judge dashed from his office to his limo and jumped in the backseat, only to be confronted by you-know-who. Ethel was in the car. He was stuck. He took one look at her and sighed, "Lady, you don't get it, do you? I don't like people. I don't believe in God. There’s nothing good in me. Yet you keep asking me to help you." "Just a small favor," Ethel asked, holding her thumb a quarter inch from her forefinger. He growled through clenched teeth, "Anything to be rid of you. What do you want?" She spilled out a story that included the words widow, broke and the phrase eviction notice. The judge stared out the car window as she pleaded for his intervention. "He thought to himself, 'Even though I don't respect God or care about people, I will see that she gets her rights. Otherwise she will continue to bother me until I am worn out.'" (vv. 4-5)

When she finally paused to take a breath, he waved her silent. "Okay, okay. I'll give you a break." "You will?" "Yes, but on one condition." "Anything." "That you get out of my life!" "Yes, I promise." Ethel beamed. "Can I give you a hug?" He told her “No,” but she hugged the judge anyway. She jumped out of the car and danced a jig on the sidewalk. The dishonest judge rode away, grumbling. And we, the readers, look up from Luke's gospel and wonder, What’s this story doing in the Bible?

A corrupt official. A persistent gadfly. Reluctant benevolence. No compassion or concern. Is there a message in this account? Is God a reluctant judge? Are we the marginalized widow? Is prayer a matter of pestering God until he breaks down and gives us what we want? No, this is a parable of contrast, not comparison. The judge groused, complained and murmured. Yet "even he rendered a just decision in the end. So don't you think God will surely give justice to his chosen people who cry out to him day and night? . . . I tell you, he will grant justice to them quickly!" (Luke 18:7-8)

God is not the reluctant judge in this story, and we are not the widow. The widow in the story was at the bottom of the pecking order. She had nowhere to turn. But as a child of the King, you’re at the front of the line. You, at any moment, can turn to God. God doesn't delay. He never places you on hold, or tells you to call again later. God loves the sound of your voice. He doesn't hide when you call. He hears your prayers. And for that reason we can "be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let (our) requests be made known to God." (Phil. 4:6) With this verse the apostle calls us to take action against anxiety. Until this point he has been assuring us of God's character: his sovereignty, mercy and presence. Now it’s our turn to act on this belief. We choose prayer over despair. Peace happens when people pray, and God calls us to pray about everything.

The terms prayer, supplication and requests used in Philippians 4:6 are similar, but not identical. Prayer is a general devotion; the word includes worship and adoration. Supplication suggests humility. We are the supplicants in the sense that we make no demands; we simply offer humble requests. A request is exactly that – a specific petition. We tell God exactly what we want. We pray the particulars of our problem. What Jesus said to the blind man, he says to us: "What do you want me to do for you?" (Luke 18:41) One would think that the answer would have been obvious; self-evident. When a sightless man requests Jesus' help, isn't it apparent what he needs? Yet Jesus wanted to hear the man articulate his specific requests. He wants the same from us. "Let your requests be made known to God."

When the wedding ran low on wine, Mary wasn't content to say, "Help us, Jesus." She was specific: "They have no more wine." (John 2:3) The needy man in another of Jesus' parables said, "Friend, lend me three loaves" (Luke 11:5) not, "Hey, can you help a brother out?" He made a specific request. Even Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane prayed specifically: "Take this cup from me." (Luke 22:42) Why does it matter? Well first, a specific prayer is a serious prayer. If I say to you, "Do you mind if I come by your house sometime?" you may not take me seriously. But suppose I say, "Can I come over this Friday night? I have a problem at work and I really need your advice. I can be there at seven, and I promise I’ll leave in an hour." Then you know my petition is sincere. When we offer specific requests, God knows the same.

Second, specific prayer is an opportunity for us to see God at work. When we see him respond in specific ways to specific requests, our faith grows. The book of Genesis relates the wonderful prayer of Abraham's servant. He was sent to Mesopotamia, Abraham's homeland, to find a wife for Abraham's son. Now, just how does a servant select a wife for someone else in a foreign country? This servant prayed about it. "Please give me success today, and show unfailing love to my master, Abraham. See, I am standing here beside this spring, and the young women of the town are coming out to draw water. This is my request. I will ask one of them, 'Please give me a drink from your jug.' If she says, 'Yes, have a drink, and I will water your camels, too!' – let her be the one you have selected as Isaac's wife. This is how I will know that you have shown unfailing love to my master." (Gen. 24:12-14)

Could the servant have been more detailed? He asked for success in his endeavor. He envisioned an exact dialogue, and then he stepped forth in faith. Scripture says, "Before he had finished speaking, Rebekah appeared." (Gen. 24:15) She said the words, and the servant had an answered prayer. He saw God at work.

Third, specific prayer creates a lighter load. Many of our anxieties are threatening because they are ill-defined and vague. If we can distill the challenge into a phrase, we bring it down to size. It’s one thing to pray, Lord, please bless my meeting tomorrow. It’s another thing altogether to pray, Lord, I have a conference with my supervisor at 2:00 p.m., tomorrow. She intimidates me. Would you please grant me a spirit of peace so I can sleep well tonight? Grant me wisdom so I can enter the meeting prepared. And would you soften her heart toward me and give her a generous spirit? Help us have a gracious conversation in which both of us benefit and your name is honored. There. You have reduced the problem into a prayer-sized challenge. This isn’t an endorsement of a demanding, conditional prayer that presumes to tell God what to do, and when. Nor am I suggesting that the power of prayer resides in chanting the right formula, or quoting some secret code. Don’t think for a moment that the power of prayer resides in the way we present it. God isn’t manipulated or impressed by our formulas, or eloquence.

But he is moved by a sincere request. After all, isn’t he our Father? As his children we honor him when we tell him exactly what we need. "Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7) Casting is an intentional act for purposes of relocating an object. When the disciples prepared Jesus to ride into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, they "cast their garments upon the colt." (Luke 19:35) The crowd removed the garments off their backs and spread them in the path of Christ. Let this kind of "throwing," or casting action be your first response to bad news. As you sense anxiety welling up inside you, cast it in the direction of Jesus. Do so specifically and immediately. Take your problem to Christ and tell him, "You said you would help me. Would you?"

The Old Testament prophet Isaiah said, "Put the Lord in remembrance [of His promises], keep not silence." (Isa. 62:6) God told Isaiah, "Put Me in remembrance; let us contend together." (Isa. 43:26) God invites you, no, commands you to remind him of his promises. Populate your prayer with "God, you said …." "You said you would walk me through the waters." (Isa. 43:2) "You said you would lead me through the valley." (Ps. 23:4) "You said that you would never leave or forsake me." (Heb. 13:5) Find a promise that fits your problem and build your prayer around it. These prayers of faith touch the heart of God and activate the angels of heaven. Miracles are set into motion. Your answer may not come overnight, but it will come. And you will overcome. "Prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and long. Pray for your brothers and sisters." (Eph. 6:18) The path to peace is paved with prayer. Less consternation, more supplication; fewer anxious thoughts, more prayer-filled thoughts. And as you pray, the peace of God will guard your heart and mind.

So go ahead, COVID – call out victory in despair and see the mighty things that God will do. “The LORD replied, “Look around at the nations; look and be amazed! For I am doing something in your own day, something you wouldn’t believe even if someone told you about it.” (Habakkuk 1:5)

Grace,

Randy

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[1] Call Out Victory In Despair

Affluenza

Affluenza

Affluenza - Audio/Visual 

As Jesus was starting out on his way to Jerusalem, a man came running up to him, knelt down and asked, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” “Why do you call me good?” Jesus asked. “Only God is truly good. But to answer your question, you know the commandments: ‘You must not murder. You must not commit adultery. You must not steal. You must not testify falsely. You must not defraud anyone. Honor your father and mother.’” “Teacher,” the man replied, “I’ve obeyed all these commandments since I was young.”

Looking at the man, Jesus felt genuine love for him. “There is still one thing you haven’t done,” he told him. “Go and sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” At this the man’s face fell, and he went away sad, for he had many possessions. (Mark 10:17-22)

 The man came to Jesus on his knees, even though it probably hurt to have the pebbles and rocks biting into his skin. But he was earnest and genuine. And with an intensity of expression, he looked up and asked Jesus, “What can I do to inherit eternal life?” Good question. It’s like he was saying, “Look, I’ve seen enough, Jesus – the good and the bad. I know where it’s headed. No matter how much I do or achieve, one day I’m gonna die. I have an expiration date here on my forehead. Can you help me out here? Is there an antidote? What can I do to inherit eternal life?” Now cut to a doctor's examining room.

A woman sits on the examining table in her skimpy little hospital gown. She looks worried as she waits for the doctor to appear, hugging her purse nervously on her lap. The woman is actress Jackie O'Ryan from the soap opera All My Children, but here she’s starring in a little soap opera drama called Lives of Our Days, complete with all of that suspenseful soap-opera music and stuff. As she sits on the table fiddling with her huge gold earrings and necklace, in walks the doctor with very grave news: "I'm afraid there is nothing physically wrong with you." "Then why do I feel so awful. So bloated and sluggish?" she asks. "Nothing gives me joy anymore – not the clothes, the house, the raise. Doctor, I'm scared. Can't you give me a pill?" "There’s no pill for what you have. I'm afraid you're suffering from Affluenza. "Oh, my God," she reacts. "Why me? Is it fatal?" “It's the new epidemic," the doctor replies.

So begins John de Graaf's documentary film "Affluenza." It’s humorous, but hard-hitting. Scott Simon narrates a look at our culture, at our insatiable appetite for more which the producers define as truly an epidemic that is making us and our world sick. It’s a combination of "affluence" and "influenza." In their 2002 book, Affluenza: The All-Consuming Epidemic, the authors define Affluenza as: "A painful, contagious, socially transmitted condition of overload, debt, anxiety, and waste, resulting from the dogged pursuit of more." It’s even been used as a legal defense. Remember Ethan Couch?

Unlike the woman on the examining table, however, the rich man in our text doesn’t even know he’s sick. It doesn't list his symptoms, but you don’t have to. Clearly, he’s got an advanced case of Affluenza. Having maybe inherited the family fortune, perhaps an enormous landholding, he now wants more: he wants to inherit eternal life. So he kneels before Jesus with his request and Jesus gives him the standard prescription: "You must not murder. You must not commit adultery. You must not steal. You must not testify falsely. You must not defraud anyone. Honor your father and mother."

Wait. Did you read that last commandment before the mom and dad part? That's not on the list that I learned. But Jesus had replaced the more familiar Old Testament commandment against "coveting" with the word "defraud." Was Jesus implying that if this guy was so rich it may well have been the result of having defrauded poor people in his own community? Who knows, but the rich man doesn’t seem to notice the shift, or perhaps he just doesn’t care. He confidently assures Jesus that he’s the paragon of health as far as God's laws are concerned. "All these commandments I have kept from my youth." So, he sits on the table expecting now to receive a clean bill of health.

Curiously, Jesus doesn’t talk to him about his beliefs. He doesn’t say, “You know what your problem is? You’ve got to go to church more.” No. Instead, Jesus points to the Torah, the Jewish law, the commandments. Don’t murder. Be faithful to your wife or husband. Don’t steal. Tell the truth. Take care of your parents and family. It seems that Jesus is concerned with love and relationships above all. And the man thinks he’s done pretty well here. “I’ve kept all the commandments since I was a boy,” he says. Jesus gazes at him for a minute and just loves him. Jesus can see the sickness in this self-righteous man, yet Jesus still loves him; loves him as he loves each of us: with a wonderful, unexpected love that gazes deep into our souls and loves us and our world unconditionally. It is that love that heals him. Heals us.

What do you say to someone who’s perfect and keeps all the commandments flawlessly? So, Jesus pulls a grenade out of his pocket and drops it in the dirt: “Sell everything you own, give the money to the poor, and you will have wealth in heaven. Then come and follow me.” Boom! The man’s face likely turns white as a sheet. Maybe he feels the eyes of everyone looking at him. He stands up and walks away – dazed. He never imagined the price of eternal life would be so high. The sadness of this story is that the rich man can’t do it. He can’t take the cure. Even though Jesus has looked at him and loved him, the man leaves grief-stricken, alone, apparently to resume his illness. He is so addicted to his possessions, to his great wealth and inheritance, so sick with Affluenza, that he misses out on being an heir to eternal life, and to the community of the gospel.

So what do we do with this scripture? You know, those of us who have mortgages, or bills to pay, or college to fund, or retirement accounts – if we’re lucky. Sell everything we have? Are we all supposed to become St Francis of Assisi, living under the open sky and having dinner with a flock of birds? I’ll admit that I don’t really know. This story has always made me uncomfortable. And if Jesus’ words here don’t make all of us a little uneasy, then we’re not listening closely. Maybe this will help.

The story comes from Philip Yancey. He was doing research for a book called Disappointment with God, and was looking at ways pain and suffering can make people feel as if God has let them down, or even abandoned them. So, he scheduled an interview with Douglas. Douglas’ wife had cancer, which started in her breast and then moved to her lungs. Her illness put a great strain on her, and on Douglas and their whole family. But that wasn’t all. In the middle of this crisis, Douglas’ car was hit by a drunk driver. Douglas suffered severe head trauma in the accident and was never right afterward. He could no longer work full days. He got disoriented and forgetful. His vision was permanently damaged. The two men met for breakfast at a restaurant. Philip watched as Douglas struggled just to guide the fork to his mouth with each bite. Philip felt like he was talking to a modern-day Job, and he described his book on Disappointment with God to Douglas. Then Philip asked him, “Tell me about your disappointment. What have you learned that might help someone else?”

Douglas was silent for a long time. He stroked his beard and thought. Finally he said, “I don’t feel any disappointment with God at all.” He explained, “The reason is this. I learned, first through my wife’s illness, and then through my accident, not to confuse God with life. I’m upset about all that’s happened, and I vent my grief and anger. But I believe God feels the same way – grieved and angry. I’ve learned to see beyond the physical reality in this world to the spiritual reality. We tend to think that life should be fair because God is fair. But God is not life. If I confuse God with life (by always expecting good health, for example), then I set myself up for a great disappointment.” Douglas concluded, “God’s existence — even his love for me — doesn’t depend on my good health or good fortune. Frankly, I’ve had more time and opportunity to work on my relationship with God during my impairment than before.”

So how does Mark’s Gospel story end? Well, the rich man goes away, unable to take the cure. Maybe his grief and weeping were the first steps toward healing. Weeping can do that. But what does all this have to do with a seeker, like the rich man, and Jesus? Well, I think Jesus wanted him to do the same thing that Douglas learned to do. Look beyond the physical reality to the spiritual reality behind. All the physical stuff in our lives, i.e., bodies, possessions, and all the money we spend on them, none of it lasts forever. It’s important and all, but it won’t last. And any of it can disappear in a day. The physical passes away – as we all know too well in these Coronavirus days. Only the spiritual remains.

In other words, Jesus wanted him to travel light, to carry less for his own sake if nothing else. Put less stock in stuff and things, and more in love and relationships. Love of friends, neighbors and family. Love of strangers. Love of God. Love of creation. Love takes up no space in a suitcase or a garage. Love is the only currency that counts for eternal life. Frankly, in the end, love is all that matters.

There was a tribe of Indians who lived a long time ago near the Delaware River. During certain times of the year, they camped next to this very swift and swollen river. In fact, the current was so strong that if someone happened to fall in or stumble into it, they could be swept way down stream. One day the tribe was attacked by a hostile group of settlers. They found themselves with their backs against the river. They were significantly outnumbered, and their only chance for escape was to somehow cross the rushing river. So, they huddled together and those who were physically strong picked up the weak and wounded and put them on their shoulders. The little children, the sick, the old and infirmed, those who were ill or wounded, were carried on the backs of those who were strongest. And, by faith, they waded out into the river. Much to their surprise, they discovered that the weight on their shoulders actually helped them to keep their footing and to make it safely across the river.

You see, by using our money and wealth to help those who are weak and needy allows us to keep our proper footing as well. As Job noted, we come into the world naked, and we leave it the same way. (Job 1:21) The only thing we can take with us is the depth and quality of our loves. So let love be your focus, and keep a light touch on the rest – and don’t forget to wash your hands.

Grace,

Randy

Checklists

Checklists
Checklists - Audio/Visual 

When they came to a place called the Skull, the soldiers crucified Jesus and the criminals—one on his right and the other on his left. Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:33-34)

Here's a checklist of three things you should know about checklists: (1) they're everywhere – on TV, in the movies and on the radio; (2) they're getting longer than ever, like "100 Travel Bucket List Ideas for 2020;” and (3) there's a checklist for just about everything; it’s become an obsession. For instance, in Men’s Health, a monthly magazine, there are at least a dozen checklists and some 2,000 tips in every issue. And checklists are perfect for guys with short attention spans because it tells you right up front how long it's probably going to take you to read the checklist. If it says, “Five things,” you're like, “Alright, I've got a couple of minutes; I'll read that.” But if it's a hundred things, or a thousand-and-one things, then it’s “Wow. I’ll need a Fresca and a tuna sandwich for that one; I think I’ll take a pass.”

A colleague relayed a story about a woman who nearly missed a flight that he was on. In fact, he thought he had the row all to himself until he looked up and saw her puffing down the aisle, dragging two large bags. “I hate to fly,” she blurted out as she fell into her seat. “I put off getting here as long as I could.” He described her as tall, young, blonde, tan, and talkative. Her jeans were fashionably ripped at the knees, and her black boots boasted silver tips. She really hated to fly, he learned, and the way she coped was by talking. “I’m going home to see my dad. He’ll really be amazed at my tan. He thinks I’m crazy living in California — me being single and all. I’ve got this new boyfriend, he’s from Lebanon. He travels a lot though, so I only see him on weekends, which is fine with me because that gives me the house to myself which isn’t far from the beach and .…”

My friend has learned what to do when a friendly, attractive woman sits beside him. He says that as soon as possible he reveals his profession and marital status. It keeps them both out of trouble. “My wife hates to fly, too,” he jumped in when she took a breath, “so I know how you feel. And since I’m a minister, I know a section of the Bible you might like to read as we take off.” So, he pulled his Bible out of his briefcase and opened it to the 23^rd Psalm. And for the first time she was quiet. “The Lord is my shepherd,” she read the words then looked up with a broad smile. “I remember this,” she said as the plane was taking off. “I read it when I was young.” She turned to read some more.

The next time she looked up, however, there was a tear in her eye. “It’s been a long time. A long, long time.” She explained how she had once believed. She became a Christian when she was young, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to church. They talked for awhile about faith and second chances and then my friend asked her, “Do you believe in heaven?” “Yeah,” she replied. “Do you think you’ll go there?” he said. She looked away for a minute and then turned and answered confidently, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be in heaven.” “How do you know?” “How do I know I’m going to heaven?” She grew quiet as she formulated her response, which was her checklist. “Well, I’m basically good. I don’t do drugs. I exercise. I’m dependable at work and,” she counted each achievement on a finger, “I made my boyfriend get tested for AIDS.”

Ta-Da! That was her checklist. Her qualifications. By her way of thinking, heaven could be earned by good health habits and safe sex. Her line of logic was simple — I keep the checklist on this side, and I get the place on the other side. But before we’re too hard on her, let me ask you: What’s on your checklist? Most of us are like the girl on the plane, and most of us think we’re “basically good;” that we’re decent, hardworking folk and we have a checklist to prove it. Maybe ours doesn’t include exercise or AIDS, but we have a checklist. “I pay my bills.” “I love my spouse and kids.” “I’m better than Hitler.” “I’m basically good.” Most of us have a checklist, and there’s a purpose for the checklist: to prove we’re good. But there’s a problem with the checklist: none of us are good enough.

Paul made this point when he placed two short-fused sticks of dynamite in the third chapter of his letter to the church in Rome. The first is in verse 10: “There is no one who always does what is right,” he wrote, “not even one.” No one. Not you. Not me. Not anyone. The second explosion occurs thirteen verses later in verse 23: “All have sinned and are not good enough for God’s glory.” Boom. So much for checklists. So much for being “basically good.” But then how do we go to heaven? If no one is good, if no checklist is sufficient, if no achievements are adequate, how can a person be saved? No question is more crucial. And to hear Jesus answer it, consider the last encounter he had before he gave up his spirit – an encounter with a criminal.

Now, some would like to think that the two thieves in the story were victims. Undeserving of punishment. Good men who got a bad rap. Patriots dying a martyr’s death. But that’s not the case. Matthew dispels that notion with just one word in one verse: “the robbers who were being crucified beside Jesus also insulted him.” (Matt. 27:44) Tragedy has a way of revealing a person’s character. And the tragedy of this crucifixion reveals that these two thieves had none. They slander Jesus with their last breath. Can you hear them? Voices, husky with pain, sneer at the Messiah. “Some king of the Jews you are.” “Life is pretty tough on Messiahs these days, eh?” “How about a little miracle, Galilean?” “Ever see nails that size in Nazareth?” “Hey, you’re a carpenter; did you make that thing?”

You’d have expected that from the Pharisees. You’d have expected it from the crowd. Even the mocking of the soldiers isn’t surprising. But from the thieves? Crucified men insulting a crucified man? That’s like two men with nooses on their necks ridiculing the plight of the third on the platform; or two POWs before a firing squad taunting each other’s misfortune. Could anyone be blinder? Could anyone be more vile? No wonder these guys were on the cross. Rome deemed them worthy of an ugly torture. Their only value to society was to serve as a public spectacle. Strip them naked so all will know that evil cannot hide. Nail their hands so all will see that the wicked have no strength. Post them high so all will tell their children, “That’s what happens to evil men.” Every muscle in their body screams for relief. Nails pulse fire through their arms. Legs contort and twist seeking comfort. But there’s no comfort on a cross. Yet even the pain of the spikes won’t silence their spiteful tongues. These two will die as they lived – attacking the innocent. But in this case, the innocent doesn’t retaliate.

The man they mocked wasn’t much to look at. His body was whip-torn flesh yanked away from the bone. His face was a mask of blood and spit; eyes puffy and swollen. “King of the Jews” was painted over his head. A crown of thorns had pierced his scalp. His lip was split. Maybe his nose was bleeding, or a tooth was loose. The man they mocked was half-dead. The man they mocked was beaten. But the man they mocked was at peace. “Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)

After Jesus’ prayer, one of the criminals began to shout insults at him: “Aren’t you the Christ? Then save yourself and us.” (vs. 39) The heart of this thief remained hard. The presence of Christ crucified meant nothing to him. Jesus is worthy of ridicule, so the thief ridicules. And he expects his chorus to be harmonized from the cross on the other side of Jesus. But it isn’t. It’s challenged, instead. “You should fear God! You are getting the same punishment he is. We are punished justly, getting what we deserve for what we did. But this man has done nothing wrong.” (v. 40-41) Unbelievable. The same mouth that cursed Christ now defends Christ. What happened? What’s he seen since he’s been on the cross? Did he witness a miracle? Did he hear a lecture? Was he read a treatise on the trinity? No, none of that. According to Luke, all he heard was a prayer – a prayer of grace. But that was enough. Something happens to a person who stands in the presence of God. And something happened to that thief.

Read his words again. “We are punished justly, getting what we deserve…. But this man has done nothing wrong.” That’s the core of the gospel in one sentence. The essence of eternity through the mouth of a felon: I’m wrong; Jesus is right. I’ve failed; Jesus hasn’t. I deserve to die; Jesus deserves to live. The thief knew precious little about Jesus, but what he knew was precious indeed. He knew that an innocent man was dying an unjust death with no complaint on his lips. And if Jesus can do that, perhaps he thought, he just might be who he says he is. So the thief asks for help: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” The heavy head of Christ lifts and turns, and the eyes of these two meet. What Jesus sees is a naked man, and I don’t mean in terms of clothes. I mean in terms of charades. He has no cover. No way to hide. His title? Scum of the earth. His achievement? Death by crucifixion. His reputation? Criminal. His character? Depraved until the last moment. Until the final hour. Until the last encounter. Until now.

Tell me, what has this man done to warrant help? He’d wasted his life. I mean, who’s he to beg for forgiveness? He publicly scoffed at Jesus. What right does he have to pray this prayer? The same right we have to pray our prayer. You see, that’s you and me on the cross. Naked, desolate, hopeless and estranged. That’s us. That’s us asking, “In spite of what I’ve done, in spite of what you see, is there any way you could remember me when we all get home?” We don’t boast. We don’t produce our checklists. Any sacrifice appears silly when placed before God on a cross.

It’s more than we deserve. But we’re desperate. So we plead, as have so many others – the cripple at the pool; Mary at the wedding; Martha at the funeral; the demoniac at Geresene; Nicodemus at night; Peter on the sea; Jairus on the trail; Joseph at the stable. And every other human being who has dared to stand before the Son of God and admit his or her need. We, like the thief, have one more prayer. And we, like the thief, pray. And we, like the thief, hear the voice of grace. Today you will be with me in paradise. And we, like the thief, are able to endure the pain knowing he’ll one day take us home.

You can put that one on your checklist.

Grace,

Randy