Easter Gifts
And God has reserved for his children the priceless gift of eternal
life; it is kept in heaven for you, pure and undefiled, beyond the reach of
change and decay. And God, in his mighty power, will make sure that you get
there safely to receive it, because you are trusting him. It will be yours in
that coming last day for all to see. (1
Peter 1:4, 5)
The poor guy deserves your compassion. When you see him,
don’t laugh, and please don’t mock him. Don’t turn away; don’t shake your head.
Just gently lead him to the nearest bench and help him sit down. Have pity on him.
He’s fearful and wide-eyed. He’s like a deer caught in the headlights, or Tarzan
walking through the urban jungle. He’s stuck, wondering how he got there and
how he’ll ever get out. Okay, so who is this guy? Who’s this poor soul that
we’re talking about? Well, he’s a man in the women’s department of a big box
store looking for a gift. The season may be Easter, or the occasion may be her
birthday; it might even be for their anniversary. Whatever the motive, he’s come
out of hiding. Leaving behind his familiar habitat of sporting goods stores,
food courts and the big-screen television in the appliance department,
he ventures into the unknown world of women’s wear.
It’s not hard to spot him. He’s the motionless one in the
aisle. And were it not for the rings of perspiration under his arms, you’d
think he was a mannequin. But he isn’t. He’s a man in a woman’s world, and he’s
never seen so much underwear. At the Wal-Mart, where he goes to get his own,
it’s six pairs wrapped in a single package sitting on a shelf. But here he is in
a forest of lace. His father warned him about places like this. And though the
sign says lingerie, he knows he
shouldn’t linger. So, he moves on, but he doesn’t really know where to go
because not every man is prepared for moments like this.
My friend’s dad, on the other hand, saw the challenge of
shopping for women as a rite of passage – right there along with the birds and the
bees, and tying neckties. He taught his son how to survive when they shopped. In
fact, my friend told me about the day his dad sat him down and taught him two little
words. “You see,” his dad said, “to get around in a foreign country, you need
to know the language.” So, my friend’s dad taught him the language of the
ladies’ department. “There will come a time in your life,” he said solemnly,
“when a salesperson will offer to help you. And when they do, take a deep
breath and say, ‘Estee Lauder.’” And, on every gift-giving occasion for
years thereafter, my friend’s mom received two gifts from the two men in her
life: Estee Lauder and … Estee Lauder.
I didn’t use to have any particular fear of the women’s
department. But then I met my wife, Sandy. She’s not particularly fond of Estee Lauder. Though I could have told
her that it would make her smell mysterious, or womanly, or motherly and all,
she hasn’t changed her mind, and I’ve been in a bind ever since. For instance,
last year for Christmas, I opted to buy her a dress. When the salesperson asked
me Sandy’s size, I said I didn’t know. I honestly didn’t at the time, and I
still don’t. I know I can wrap my arms around her, and that her hand fits perfectly
in mine. But her dress size? I never inquired because there’s certain questions
that a man just doesn’t ask. But the saleswoman tried to be helpful. “Well, how
does she compare to me?” Now, I was taught from an early age to be polite to
women, but I couldn’t be polite and
answer that question because there was only one answer: “She’s much thinner than
you.”
So, I just stared at my feet instead, trying to think of a polite
reply. After all, I’m a lawyer – surely I could think of the right words to say.
For instance, I considered being direct: “She’s less of you.” Even complimentary:
“You’re more of a woman than she is.” Perhaps a hint would suffice? “I hear the
store is downsizing.” Finally, I swallowed and said the only thing I
knew to say, Estee Lauder, at which point
the saleslady pointed me in the direction of the perfume department. But I knew
better than to go there.
So, I thought I would try the purses. I thought it would be
easy. I mean what could be so hard about selecting a simple carrying device for
credit cards and money? I’ve used the same wallet for years. What could be so difficult
about buying a purse? If you tell an attendant in the men’s department that you
want a wallet, you’re taken to a small counter next to the cash register. And
once there, your only decision is black or brown. However, tell an attendant in
the ladies’ department that you want a purse, and you’re escorted to an entire
room. A room full of shelves. Shelves full of purses. Purses with price tags.
Price tags so potent that it should obviate the need for getting a purse
altogether. I was pondering this thought when the salesperson asked me some
questions. Questions for which I had no answer. “What kind of purse would your
wife like?” My blank look told her that I had no idea, so she began listing my options:
“Handbag? Shoulder bag? Glove bag? Backpack? Shoulder pack? Change purse?” Dizzied by the options, I had to sit down before I fainted. But that
didn’t stop her. She was persistent. Leaning over me, she continued, “Moneybag?
Tote bag? Pocketbook? Satchel?”
“Satchel?” I perked up at the sound of the first familiar
word I’d heard. Satchel Paige pitched in the major leagues. This must be an answer.
So, I straightened my shoulders and said proudly, “Satchel.” But apparently she
didn’t like my answer because she started cursing at me in another language. I
didn’t understand all she said, but I do know she called me a “Burberry,” and
threatened to “Gucci” me with a “Spade” that belonged to someone named Kate. And
then she got really crazy invoking some saint named “Laurent,” while picking on
my favorite musician, “Louie.” I guess she thought she knew me because she
called me “Michael Kors,” but Michael isn’t even my name. It could’ve been Marc
Jacobs for that matter. But when she said it was “Armani,” I put my hand over my
wallet and said, “No, it’s my money.” And that was it. I got out of there as
fast as I could. But as I left the room, I gave her a bit of her own medicine. “Estee Lauder,” I shouted, and ran as
fast as I could. It wasn’t very Christian-like, I know.
The things we do to give gifts to those we love. But we don’t
mind, do we? We’d do it all over again. The fact is, we do do it all over
again, but every so often we find ourselves in foreign territory – grownups in toy
stores; dads in teen stores; wives in the parts department; husbands in the
purse department. And not only do we enter unusual places, we do unusual
things. We hide Easter eggs on the lawn and in the bushes. We assemble bicycles
at midnight. I heard about one fellow who rented a movie theater so that he and
his wife could see their wedding pictures on the big screen on their
anniversary. We are at our best when we give. In fact, we are most like God
when we are giving.
Have you ever wondered why God gives so much? If we give
gifts to show our love, how much more does he? If we, imperfect though we are, love
to give gifts, how much more does a perfect God enjoy giving gifts to us? Jesus
asked, “If you hardhearted, sinful men know how to give good gifts to your
children, won’t your Father in heaven even more certainly give good gifts to
those who ask him for them?” (Matt. 7:11)
God’s gifts shed light on God’s heart;
God’s good and generous heart. Jesus’ half-brother, James, tells us: “Every
desirable and beneficial gift comes out of heaven. The gifts are rivers of
light cascading down from the Father of Light.” (James 1:17) Every gift reveals
God’s love. But no gift reveals his love more than the gifts of the cross. They
came, not packaged in a plastic Easter egg, but wrapped in a passion. Not
placed in the grass, but nailed on a cross. Not glistening in pastel colors,
but sprinkled in blood red. The gifts of the cross. A lot’s been written about
the gift of the cross itself, but what about the other gifts? What about the
nails, and the crown of thorns? The garments taken by the soldiers? The
garments given for Jesus’ burial? Have you taken the time to open these gifts,
too? He didn’t have to give them, you know. The only act, the only required
act for our salvation was the shedding of his innocent blood. Yet, he did so much
more. Search the scene of the cross, and what do you find? A wine-soaked sponge.
A sign. Two crosses beside Christ. Divine gifts intended to stir that moment,
that split second when your face brightens, your eyes widen and God hears you
whisper, “You did this? For me?”
Have you ever thought
about why there were two crosses next to Christ? I mean, why not six, or ten,
or a dozen or more? And if you’ve thought about that, have you ever wondered
why Jesus was in the center? Why not on the far right, or far left, instead? Could
the crosses on either side of the savior symbolize God’s gift of choice? Perhaps,
because the two thieves on either side had a lot in common. They were convicted
by the same system; they were condemned to the same death; they were surrounded
by the same crowd; and they were equally close to Jesus. In fact, they even
began with the same insults: “The two criminals also said cruel things to
Jesus.” (Matt. 27:44) But then one of the thieves had a change of heart.
A lot has been said
about that penitent thief, but what about the other guy? Wouldn’t a personal
invitation have been appropriate? Wouldn’t a word of persuasion have been
timely, especially given the circumstances? I mean, doesn’t the shepherd leave
the ninety-nine and pursue the one, lost sheep? And doesn’t the housewife sweep
the house until the lost coin is found? Yes, the shepherd pursues and the
housewife sweeps. But the father of the prodigal? – the last “lost” parable in
the trilogy contained in Luke 15:1-32. The father does nothing. Why? Maybe it’s
because the sheep was lost innocently, and the coin was lost irresponsibly. But
the prodigal son? He left intentionally. The father had given the prodigal son
the choice, and Jesus gave the criminals the same.
There are times in our
lives when God sends nothing but silence as he honors us with the freedom to
choose where we spend eternity. And what an honor, don’t you think? I mean, in
so many areas of life we don’t really have a choice, do we? For instance, we
didn’t choose our gender, our family, our race or even our place of birth. And,
let’s face it, sometimes that lack of choice really angers us. “It’s not fair,”
we complain. “It’s not fair that I was born in poverty, or that I sing poorly,
or that I run so slowly.” All that changed, however, in the Garden of Eden. Man
made a choice, and it wasn’t for God. And man is suffering the consequences of
that choice. It’s called sin. Granted, it would’ve been nice if God had
let us order life like ordering a meal at a smorgasbord. “I’ll take some good
health and a high IQ, please. No, I think I’ll pass on the music skills, but
please give me a big helping of that fast metabolism!” That would’ve been nice,
but that’s not what happened. When it came to life on earth, you weren’t given
a voice; you weren’t even given a vote. But when it comes to life after death,
you’ve got a choice.
Have we been given any greater privilege than that of
choice? Not only does this privilege offset any injustice, but the gift of free
will can offset any mistakes. Think about the thief who repented. We don’t know
a lot about him, but we do know this: he made some pretty bad choices in life.
He chose the wrong crowd, the wrong morals, and the wrong behavior. But would
you consider his life a waste? Is he spending eternity reaping the fruit of all
the bad choices he made? No, just the opposite, actually. He’s enjoying the
fruit of the one good choice he made. In the end, all of his bad choices were
redeemed by one good choice.
We’ve all made bad choices in life. We’ve chosen the wrong
friends, the wrong car, the wrong way, or maybe even the wrong career. We look
back over the years of our life and say, “If only ….” “If only I could make up for all those bad
choices.” The good news is that you can. One good choice for eternity offsets a
million bad ones made here on earth – and the choice is yours to make. Because when
one thief prayed, Jesus loved him enough to save him. And when the other thief mocked
him, Jesus loved him enough to let him.
Could it be that the hill of the cross and
the empty tomb are actually rich with God’s gifts? Examine them. Unwrap these
gifts of grace as if for the first time. And as you touch them — as you feel
the timber of the cross, trace the braid of the crown, finger the point of the
spike and ponder a vacant grave — pause and listen. Maybe you’ll hear him
whisper, “Yes. I did it just for you.”
Happy Easter,
Randy
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