Pandemic

Pandemic

Pandemic - Audio/Visual 

“Tell those rich in this world's wealth to quit being so full of themselves and so obsessed with money, which is here today and gone tomorrow. Tell them to go after God, who piles on all the riches we could ever manage — to do good, to be rich in helping others, to be extravagantly generous. If they do that, they'll build a treasury that will last, gaining life that is truly life.” (1 Timothy 6:17-19)

With 877,489 confirmed cases of the Coronavirus, another 81,792 people recovering in hospitals, and 49,605 deceased souls taken by the virus, all of these and counting; with 4.4 million people now without jobs, and untold present and future economic damage and destruction, there’s not much we can say about COVID-19 that’s cause for celebration in the United States. Making matters worse, we’re $24 trillion in the red and, seemingly, there’s no end to the disease, the debt or the despair. And with a Presidential election only half a year away, this pandemic takes on an added resonance. At a time when the nation seems economically paralyzed and politically polarized, the calamity of the Coronavirus pandemic gives all of us some pause for thought. The perfect storm, they say.

What recent events, and the responses to them have demonstrated is that when the media devotes wall-to-wall attention to something, and government officials bring a sense of urgency and ask the public to respond in kind, remarkable things can happen. What this past month has demonstrated is that even though we can't do anything to stop a pandemic, we can help mitigate a virus’ destructive impact with resolve and collective action. It appears that the capacity for human compassion and action is always present. But why do we tap into that kind of resolve only when natural disasters and external attacks occur? We’ve witnessed other calamities like 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, and the ancient land of Abraham become an ISIS war zone for his descendants. So, you’d think we’d have seen enough. But then came the Coronavirus pandemic  – a wave of disease that sucked life and innocence out of our collective selves and national conscience.

The truth is we have another crisis that's been hovering over us for 2000 years or more and shows no sign of abating. And Jesus criticized the leaders of his day for focusing on the weather and ignoring the signals: “You find it easy enough to forecast the weather — why can't you read the signs of the times?” (Matt. 16:2-3) As you’ve listened to COVID survivors, have you noticed their words? Few are running through the streets advertising their Coronavirus-themed jewelry on Etsy, or shouting, “Dean Koontz predicted this in his 1981 Book, The Eyes of Darkness.” If they mourn, they mourn for people lost. If they rejoice, they rejoice for families saved.

“Where is God in this storm?” The disciples asked Jesus that identical question. “Jesus made his disciples get into a boat and start back across the lake. But he stayed until he had sent the crowds away. Then he went up on a mountain where he could be alone and pray. Later that evening, he was still there. By this time the boat was a long way from the shore. It was going against the wind and was being tossed around by the waves.” (Mt. 14:22-24)

In other words, what we saw with Hurricane Katrina, the disciples saw on the Galilean Sea: tall, angry waves. Their fishing boat bounced and spun on the white-tops. The sky rumbled above them, the water churned beneath them. And I wonder if they asked, “Where’s Jesus? He told us to get into the boat. Now we’re alone in the storm? Where is he?” The answer? Jesus was praying. “Then he went up on a mountain where he could be alone and pray.” Jesus made intercession his priority. Did he know about the storm? Could he feel the winds and see the thunder? No doubt. And when he sensed the danger, he chose to pray. He still does. He offers unending intercession on our behalf. He is “in the presence of God at this very moment sticking up for us.” (Rom. 8:34) He prays us through the storm. And, at the right moment, he meets us in it. “… Jesus came walking on the water toward his disciples.” (Mt. 14:25) Jesus became the answer to his own prayer. He entered the turbulent world of his friends and reached out to them.

And he’s doing the same at this very moment. Through the steady hands of first responders; the compassion of physicians; the kindness of neighbors; the generosity of people like you and me. We see only a small portion of his activity. But we know this: he still steps into the pandemics of life. And, let’s face it, this is a turbulent time for our country. Struggling economy. International conflicts. A divided electorate. And now? An epic, world-wide cataclysm. Could Jesus also be reminding us that people matter more than possessions? In a land where we have more malls than high schools, more debt than credit, more clothes to wear than days to live, could Jesus be saying, "Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions"? (Luke 12:15)

We see entire countries in quarantine. Here, we’ve seen millions lose jobs, lose loved ones and lose hope. Gary Easley was worried as he took a bus to the pharmacy at West Virginia Health Right, a free clinic that has stood for decades in Charleston, W.Va. Normally, he went to Walgreens and Kroger to get the nine prescriptions he relies on for his high blood pressure and high cholesterol, diabetes and mood swings, leg pain and lung trouble. But three weeks before — on March 17, the day West Virginia would become the last state to confirm its first Coronavirus case — Easley was summoned to the general manager’s office at the Four Points - Sheraton at 9:30 a.m. His job of five years as the hotel’s morning-shift chef, he was told, was ending in a half-hour. His health benefits ended two weeks later. Out of a job and out of a health plan, and Health Right, swamped with new patients, represents just one of the millions of ripple effects associated with the novel Coronavirus sweeping the country. In a nation where most health coverage is hinged to employment, the economy’s vanishing jobs are wiping out insurance in the midst of a pandemic. And in the back of our minds we hear the quiet echoes of Jesus saying, “What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his own soul?” (Matthew 16:26)

Pandemics have a way of prying our fingers off the stuff we love. What was once most precious means very little now; and what we once ignored is now of eternal importance and significance. If all our possessions were washed away in a tidal wave of naturally occurring, or engineered virus, could we still worship? Better yet, would we still worship? The answer to that question is probably indicative of our grip strength on the stuff we cherish most.

Through circumstances like pandemics and natural disasters, Christ reminds us, “Stuff doesn’t matter; people do. So, understand the nature of possessions.” But we must be equally clear on the nature of people. We’ve seen the most incredible servants and stories of selflessness and sacrifice. We’ve seen people coming to the aid of their neighbors, and first responders risking their lives for people they don’t even know. We’ve seen humanity at its best. We’ve also seen humanity at its worst.

At the Food for Less in Hollywood it was shades of Armageddon. Entire shelves were empty, and everything else was on the floor – it looked like it had been ransacked during a robbery. And don't even think about getting bread, eggs, cereal or pasta. All the canned beans were gone except for the organic Goya black beans because, apparently, people would rather starve than pay $2.99 for a can of beans. Limits of two of anything to a customer. No toilet paper. No hand sanitizer. But ammunition and alcohol sales are through the roof which is not a particularly good combination, especially when purchased by the same person who insists that a high enough blood alcohol content will kill the virus.

We are people of both dignity and depravity. This pandemic infected more than our previous un-social distancing habits; it blew the N-95 respirators and surgical masks right off the face of mankind. The main problem in the world is not global warming or Mother Nature, but human nature. Strip away the police barricades, or fill the skateboard parks with 27 tons of sand and the real self is revealed – it turned teenage skateboarders in San Clemente into Evil Knievels. We were born with a “me-first” mentality. And if you don’t believe that, just ask yourself whether or not you had to teach your kids how to argue. They don’t have to be trained to demand their way, do they? You don’t have to show them how to stomp their feet and pout, do you? It’s their nature … it’s our nature. “All of us have strayed like sheep. We have left God’s paths to follow our own.” (Isaiah 53:6)

God’s chosen word for our fallen condition is spelled, “S-I-N.” And sin celebrates the letter in the middle – “I”. Left to our own devices, we lead godless, out of control lives of “…doing what we felt like doing, when we felt like doing it.” (Ephesians 2:3) And we don’t have to go to lower Manhattan to see the chaos. When you do what you want to do, and I do what I want to do, humanity and civility implode. And when the pandemics of life blow in, our true nature is revealed and our deepest need exposed: a need deeper than food, and more permanent than lost jobs and police barricades. We don’t need a new system; we need a new nature. We need to be changed from the inside out.

A lot of discussion will continue around the future of some of the more devastated areas of our country. Will the cities and economies be restored? Will the boarded up businesses be reopened? How long will it take? Who will pay for it? One thing is for certain, however: a vaccine has to be found, and the national and local economies need to be restored. No one is suggesting otherwise. And everyone knows that someone has got to find a solution to this mess.

And that’s what God offers to do. He comes into our sin-infected lives and wipes up the old. When Paul reflected on his own conversion, it prompted him to write, “He gave us a good bath, and we came out of it new people, washed inside and out by the Holy Spirit.” (Titus 3:5) Our sins don’t stand a chance against the scrub brush of God’s grace, no matter how many times we’ve washed our hands or faces.

But he does more than just clean us up; he rebuilds us. In the form of his Holy Spirit, God moves in and starts a renovation project; a complete makeover. “God can do anything, you know – far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us.” (Eph. 3:20) And what we can only dream of doing with a virus, God has already done with soul after soul. And he can do the same with us, too. If we let him.

Post-pandemic, a return to “normal” may be a thing of the past; we have this sense that something’s been lost and that, perhaps, “normal” will never be normal again; that “normal” has been irretrievably lost. But think of all the things that Noah couldn’t find, or were lost because of the flood. He couldn’t find his neighborhood; he couldn’t find his house; he couldn’t find the comforts of home, or the neighbors down the street. Frankly, there wasn’t much left that Noah could find. But what he did find made all the difference. Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord. (Gen. 6:8) You see, if we have everything and no grace, we’ve got nothing. But if we have nothing but grace, we have everything.

Have you found God’s grace? It’s right there, you know. The hand of your rescuer, the Great Physician, is reaching out to heal you. Grab his hand; take the prescription; trust in him while you still can. Your Redeemer lives, and he wants to rescue you – pandemic and all.

Grace,

Randy

Why?

Why?
Why? / Audio-Visual 

On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Now Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home.

“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”

Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.”

Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”

After she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary aside. “The Teacher is here,” she said, “and is asking for you.” When Mary heard this, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet entered the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. When the Jews who had been with Mary in the house, comforting her, noticed how quickly she got up and went out, they followed her, supposing she was going to the tomb to mourn there.

When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid him?” he asked.

“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.

Jesus wept. (John 11:17-35)

The white space between Bible verses is a very fertile area for questions. You just can’t read the Bible without saying, “Hmmm, I wonder . . . .” For instance, I wonder if Eve ever ate any more fruit. I wonder if Noah slept well during storms. I wonder if Jonah liked fish, or if Jeremiah had any friends. Did Moses avoid bushes? Did Jesus tell jokes? Did Peter ever try water-walking again? Would any woman have married Paul if he’d begged?

The Bible is kind of like a knot-holed fence that separates us from God’s pasture – we can get a peek at some of the pasture, but still not see the whole thing. Or, maybe it’s like a scrapbook of snapshots capturing people during encounters with God, but not always recording the results. So we wonder, “Why would God allow this Coronavirus to infect the world? My world?”

I don’t have any glib answers to that question. Questions with the words “Why” and “God” in the same sentence are difficult to answer because we’re caught between what God says and what makes sense. We’ve done what he’s told us to do, only to wonder if it was him talking in the first place. We’ve stared into a sky blackened with doubt and wondered if we’re still on the right road. We’ve asked if we were supposed to turn left when we turned right. And we’ve asked if there’s a plan out there somewhere because things really haven’t turned out the way we thought they would. We’ve asked our questions. Maybe we’ve even questioned God. Regardless, we still wonder why God does what he does.

In the 11^th chapter of John we read of a funeral that involved some very hard questions being asked by family members with some very raw feelings. Lazarus had come from a very close family, among them two sisters, Martha and Mary. Lazarus also came from a good family and had a bunch of friends, one of whom was Jesus. The problem, as John recounts, was that Jesus arrived in Bethany four days after Lazarus had already passed. And as Jesus approaches the house full of people crying, both sisters run out to him, at separate times, and say, “Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Stated a little differently, “Why’d you delay? What took you so long?” And maybe in our current circumstances we’re asking some of those “If” and “Why” questions, too.

But I think these kind of “If” and “Why” questions are pretty normal. So, if you’ve been asking something similar, you’re not to blame. But if we’re not to blame, then who is? God? Well, that’s precisely what Martha and Mary imply as they grieve over the death of their brother: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Or, why did you delay? What kept you? I’ve learned some time ago that it’s pretty senseless to accuse God of anything, much less try to explain him. But it’s not senseless, and certainly not sinful, to question him. And maybe we’re wondering why God would allow this Coronavirus pandemic to even happen. And it’s okay to ask these kinds of questions because we know from our story that Jesus didn’t scold the sisters for suggesting that maybe, just maybe, their brother’s death was really Jesus’ fault. So, what was Jesus’ response? He wept.

Jesus’ response really puzzles me. Why is the King of kings and the Lord of lords breaking down and crying at that moment? I mean, here’s God with skin on attending the funeral of a friend and weeping openly, without embarrassment and without apology, knowing full well that, in a matter of moments, he’s going to raise Lazarus from the dead. But as you continue to read the story, answers to the family’s “Why” question gradually come into focus.

First, Jesus wept for the family – for Martha and Mary and, perhaps, others in Lazarus’ immediate family. When Jesus arrived he could see their pain and suffering, and the effects of losing their brother in their tear-filled eyes. So, Jesus shared in the loss of the family and wept. And those of us who have been affected by this silent enemy, or have even lost a family member or relative amidst the tumult, can weep as well. But I think Jesus’ tears were not only for the family, but because Jesus, too, had suffered a loss. Lazarus was Jesus’ friend. Maybe Jesus traveled with him, ate with him, texted him, Tweeted him, Instagramed him, Facebooked him. Whatever. However they communicated, Jesus had grown close to his friend. But Jesus’ friend was now gone; that relationship had been broken, and Jesus felt the pain of losing a friend. So, he wept. And those of us who are concerned for, or may have even lost a friend to this cruel virus can weep as well.

And there may be one other reason why Jesus cried: Jesus knew that he himself would soon face death. And he knew that there would be pain and sorrow among his own family and friends. And that’s not new information – each of us will face the reality of death eventually. But it may be, like some of us, that we’ll be orphaned by the death of a loved one or friend before our time comes. But the reality is that loved ones will be left behind. And so, Jesus wept.

And if that’s as far as the story went, it wouldn’t provide us much solace. But the story doesn’t stop there. John goes on to tell us that Jesus went to the tomb of his friend Lazarus and that’s when the truth of the matter becomes crystal clear: that in Jesus there’s the power of life because when Jesus spoke the words, Lazarus rose from the grave. And because of that event we, too, have hope. Because if Jesus can raise his friend Lazarus from the grave, he can raise us, too.

Jesus’ resurrection is the one thing that changes everything, because up until his resurrection he was largely viewed as either a great healer, a great teacher, even a great prophet – maybe all of those things. And up until Jesus’ resurrection, he was viewed by most as interesting, but largely ignored. People likely said, “Sure, you can have your opinion about him, I don’t care, but that’s just your perspective; that’s your truth.” But the truth is that the resurrection either happened, or it didn’t. It’s either truth or it’s fiction; it can’t be both.

Christianity is the only religion in the world that’s rooted in history. It’s based on facts, not myths, philosophies, opinions or feelings. Peter said in Acts 10:39-41 that he witnessed the pre- and post-resurrected Jesus with his own eyes; all of the apostles made the same claim. It’s not like any of them said that the resurrection happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away like Star Wars. That’s how myths happen; that’s how legends get started. And Paul stated that Jesus appeared to 500 others after his resurrection. (1 Cor. 15:6) In fact, the earliest Christian creed of Jesus’ resurrection dates to within months of the event. Not decades later. Not centuries later. Within months of the resurrection.

The resurrection is such a historical fact that even those who tried to deny the resurrection actually proved it. In Matthew’s gospel, the Roman soldiers were told, “Hey, if anyone asks, tell them that his disciples stole the body.” (Matt. 28:13) But how does that prove the resurrection? Well, it meant that there was an empty tomb; that there was no body. So the authorities had to tell the Roman guards, “Hey, when the people ask you about Jesus’ disappearance just tell them the disciples stole the body.” Was that possible, even plausible? Sure. But reasonable? No, because all of the disciples who ran away on Friday were unequivocal about this central truth: that Jesus was once dead, and now he’s alive. This is the fact they professed. But could the apostles have lied? Sure, but consider the cost.

Peter and his brother, Andrew, were crucified for it. Paul was brutally tortured multiple times and eventually beheaded for it. Thomas was speared to death. Matthew was stabbed to death. James was beaten to death with clubs. Mathias was burned alive. John, the only apostle who didn’t die as a martyr, was burned in oil by the Romans and just happened to survive it, so he was banished to an island so no one would ask any questions. These men didn’t crack like John Dean and his co-conspirators in the Watergate break-in. You won’t find any deathbed confessions, even if at the cost of their lives. And it is this fact that we profess. It is the one thing that changes everything.

There are some truths that make no difference in our lives, and there are other truths that make all the difference. But there are some truths that demand something from us. And the resurrection is one of those truths. The fact of the resurrection is the one thing that changes everything. Even now in a time of such fear and uncertainty for so many, the resurrection is still true. For those who have lost a job, their health or even a loved one, the resurrection is still true. And that’s why we persevere and witness in this faith. Like the apostles, they had time to recant if it hadn’t been true, but none of them did. They were unanimous, unified and unequivocal in persevering in this truth; and every single one of them died alone.

And right now that might be your story, or the story of someone you know or love, and the story, to whomsoever it belongs, may be overwhelmingly painful, and seemingly without end. And so we cry out with our “If’s” and “Why’s”? But that’s the very reason why we profess Jesus’ resurrection – so that we can persevere tomorrow. Because if Christ’s resurrection is true, then all of it is true. It’s the one thing that changes everything. And if that’s true, then God knows your name. (John 10:3) If that’s true, then God hasn’t forgotten you. (Isaiah 49:15) If that’s true, then Christ established his church for you to have a family you can call your own (Matt. 16:18), even when you’re alone and when we’re apart. If the resurrection is true, then it’s all true.

And so we stand at the fence of life looking through a knothole at God’s pasture that’s on the other side. We may be sad, we may be fearful, we may be unemployed, we may be alone and, perhaps, some of us may be looking through the fence bereft of someone they loved and they weep. Maybe we’ve lost a husband or a wife, a mother or a father, a daughter or a son, or maybe a friend, and I’m not talking about social distancing. We’ve lost their perspective and, to an extent, we’ve lost our perspective. And it’s coming to grips with our loss and uncertainty that hurts so much because it’s not our loved one’s loss – they’re on the other side of the fence now, gazing from that place which God has prepared for us all. It’s our loss. And the trouble is that, at least from our perspective at the place along the fence from where we stand, we can’t see them, or the future through the knothole. But then, again, we have memories and the assurances that, one day, we will.

Why? I don’t know why. But my faith in Jesus convinces me that he is more than able to keep all that I’ve placed in his hands safe and secure until he comes again. (2 Tim. 1:12)

Grace,

Randy

God's Friday

God’s Friday
God's Friday - Audio/Visual 

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. (John 3:16-17)

This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. (1 John 4:9-10)

People occasionally ask me about the pronunciation of my given name. “Is it Ran-DÓLL or RAN-dull?” It’s like that potato/potahto thing. “You can call me Ran-DÓLL, but my name is really RAN-dull. You may call him Handel but I say it’s Handle. Ran-DÓLL, RAN-dull, Handel, Handle – let’s call the whole thing off.” Just for the record, it’s “RAN-dull.” Not that I think I’m particularly dull, mind you; it’s just a family thing.

Actually, going back a few generations, I could have been a “Stamp.” You see, my paternal grandfather, Donald Stamp, a well-to-do bachelor from a wealthy east coast family, fell head-over-heels in love with my grandmother, Grace, who lived across the tracks – so to speak. When my grandfather’s family demanded that he marry a more prominent debutant from the ‘hood, or risk being disinherited, Donald did what any blue-blooded, alpha male would do: he married Grace, moved to Indianapolis and changed his name to John Sterling. At least he kept the last initial the same.

And the occasional confusion over my first name has created a few awkward moments. The most notable occurred when I appeared in court one day and the clerk said, “Ran-DÓLL!” Then, remembering her courtroom-decorum voice, she lowered the volume and said, “Mr. Sterling; it’s good to see you.” It seemed kind of rude to correct her at the time, so I just smiled and said hello, thinking that that would be the end of it. Unfortunately, it was just the beginning.

Apparently, she wanted me to meet the new bailiff and court reporter. So, over to the table we went, and with each introduction came a mispronunciation: “Joe, this is Ran-DÓLL Sterling;” “Sally, this is Ran-DÓLL Sterling.” I just smiled and cringed a bit, unable to maneuver my way into the conversation to correct her. Besides, by this time, we’d kind of reached a point of no return. Correcting her now would have been a little embarrassing. So, I just kept my mouth shut. But then I got trapped.

Because seconds later, the judge came out – apparently having overheard his clerk’s introductions to the rest of his staff. “Good to see you, Mr. Sterling,” his honor said as he took the bench. “But before we proceed, I just wanted to clarify – is it Ran-DÓLL, or RAN-dull Sterling?” I was stuck. If I told the truth, the clerk would be embarrassed. But if I lied, the judge would be misinformed. She needed mercy. He needed accuracy. And I needed to keep my license. I wanted to be kind with her and honest with him, but how could I be both? Well, I tried. For the first time in my entire courtroom life I answered, “Well, your honor, I’ve been called both. But frankly, I generally answer to Randy; it kind of takes the mystery out of it.” May my ancestors forgive me.

But that moment wasn’t without its redeeming value. The situation provided me with a glimpse into the character of God. Because on an infinitely grander scale, God faces with humankind what I faced with the court clerk and the judge. How can God be both just and kind? How can he dispense truth and mercy? How can he redeem the sinner without endorsing the sin? Can a holy God overlook our mistakes? But then can a kind God punish those mistakes? From our perspective there are only two, equally-unappealing solutions. But from God’s perspective, there’s a third. It’s called the cross of Christ.

The cross. Can you turn in any direction without seeing one? Perched atop a chapel. Carved into a headstone. Engraved onto a ring, or suspended from a chain. The cross is the universal symbol of Christianity. But it’s kind of an odd choice, don’t you think? Because it seems a little strange that a tool of torture would come to embody a movement of hope. The symbols of other faiths are a lot more upbeat. For instance, take the six-pointed Star of David, or the crescent moon of Islam, or the lotus blossom of Buddhism. But a cross for Christianity? It’s like adorning an instrument of execution.

For instance, would you wear a tiny electric chair around your neck? Or, would you hang a gold-plated hangman’s noose on your wall? How about printing a picture of a firing squad on your business cards? Yet we do that with the cross. Many even make the sign of the cross as they pray. But would we make the sign of, let’s say, a guillotine? Instead of the triangular touch on the forehead and shoulders, how about a karate chop on the palm? Doesn’t have quite the same feel, does it? So why is the cross the symbol of our faith? To find the answer, we don’t have to look any further than the cross itself.

Its design couldn’t be simpler. One beam horizontal; the other vertical. One reaches out – like God’s love; the other reaches up – like God’s holiness. One represents the width of his love; the other reflects the height of his holiness. The cross, then, is the intersection of God’s love and holiness. The cross is where God forgave his children without lowering his standards.

But how could he do that? Well, in a sentence, God put our sin on his Son and punished it there. “God put on him the wrong who never did anything wrong, so we could be put right with God.” (2 Cor. 5:21) Or, as rendered in another translation, “God made Christ, who never sinned, to be the offering for our sin, so that we could be made right with God through Christ.”

Envision the moment. God on his throne. You on the earth. And between you and God, suspended between you and heaven, is Christ on the cross. Your sins have been placed on Jesus. And God, punishing the sin, releases his wrath on your mistakes and Jesus receives the blow. But since Christ is between you and God, you don’t. The sin is punished, but you’re safe. Safe in the shadow of the cross. God’s Friday. Good Friday. Christ’s crucifixion viewed through the lens of an Easter Sunday morning.

That’s what God did. But why? Why would he do that? Did God have a moral duty? Was there some sort of heavenly obligation he had to attend? Maybe a paternal requirement? No. God isn’t required to do anything. Besides, consider what he did. He gave his Son. His only Son. Would you do that? Would you offer the life of your child for someone else? I wouldn’t. There are those for whom I would give my life, like for my family. But ask me to make a list of those for whom I would kill my son or daughter, the sheet would be blank and I wouldn’t need a pencil, because the list has no names.

But God’s list contains the name of every person who ever lived. That’s the scope of his love. And that’s the reason for the cross. He loves the world. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son.” (John 3:16) And aren’t you glad the verse doesn’t read: “For God so loved the rich … ”? Or, “For God so loved the famous … ”? Or, “For God so loved the thin … ”? It doesn’t. Nor does it state, “For God so loved the Europeans or Africans …, ” or “the sober or successful …, ” or “the young or the old ….” No, when we read John 3:16, we simply read, “For God so loved the world.” So, how wide is God’s love? Wide enough for the whole world. And if you’re in this world, then you’re included in God’s love.

And it’s nice to be included, isn’t it? Because sometimes we’re not. Universities exclude you if you aren’t smart enough. Businesses exclude you if you aren’t qualified enough. And, sadly, some churches exclude you if you aren’t good enough. But though they may exclude you, Christ includes you. When asked to describe the width of his love, Jesus stretched one hand to the right and the other to the left and had them nailed in that position so that you would know that he died loving you.

After World War I, the United States government allocated funds to help care for the orphans in Europe. At one of the orphanages, an emaciated man brought in a very thin little girl. He said, “I would like for you to take care of my little girl, please.” They asked him if the girl was his daughter, and he said “Yes.” “Oh. We’re so sorry,” they told him, “but our rules and policies are such that we can’t take in any children who have a living parent.” “But I was in prison camps during the war,” he explained. “And now I’m too sick to work, and her mother’s gone. She will die if you don’t take care of her!” The officials felt compassion for the distressed man, but told him their hands were tied; there was nothing they could do.

Finally, the man said, “Do you mean to tell me that if I were dead, you would take care of my little girl, and she could have food and clothes and a home?” “Yes,” they replied. And with that, the man picked up the little girl, hugged her and kissed her, and then put her hand in the hand of the man at the desk. “I will arrange it,” he said. He then walked out of the orphanage and sacrificed his life so that his daughter could live. And somewhere in eternity, the day came figuratively when Jesus said to the Father, “Do you mean that if I die, those people on earth can live and have a home with you forever?” And the Father said, “Yes.” And with that, Jesus put our hands in the Father’s, walked out of Heaven, was born on earth, and died on the cross to pay for our sins. The cross: the place where the width of God’s love intersected the height of his holiness. And it’s the Easter Sunday resurrection of the one who was murdered on that cross that makes it such an enduring symbol of hope. The hope of Good Friday. God’s Friday.

But isn’t there a limit? Surely there has to be an end to God’s love. You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But David the adulterer never found it. Paul the murderer never found it. Peter the liar never found it. When it came to life, they’d hit bottom. But when it came to God’s love, they never did because there is no bottom. They, like you, found their names on God’s list of love. And you can be certain that the One who put it there knows how to pronounce it – because you’re known. (Psalm 139)

Grace,

Randy