4/12/09…”It is finished”…Father, it is Easter Sunday, and I awoke early in the a.m., somehow feeling the need to express what You have done for me in writing, but my thoughts turn to another. There is an image etched into the recesses of my mind causing it to continually replay over and over. I wonder if this is why You created memory. I also wonder about the miracle of memory, almost like data stored in my brain waiting for Your finger to press a button and download it at the appropriate time.
A week ago Sunday, I heard one of the most touching messages from a pulpit. In detail it described the crucifixion process, not in cold hard facts, but in cold hard emotion. For the first time in my life I understood some small measure of what Your Son went through, but I quickly remind myself I was not there so any attempts to truly understand are feeble at best. However, I can picture this as the pastor begins describing the crucifixion process. First, spikes are driven through both Christ’s hands, probably through the wrist area so the bones on either side could support sinking flesh. Then, a spike is driven through the left foot’s flesh into the right foot’s flesh as both feet are overlapped. And now begins the process of dying. Slowly His muscles in His arms begin to cramp. The cramps travel slowly from the forearms to the shoulders like a slow pouring out of molasses. They become so agonizing there is no relief, instead only hours of somehow trying to reposition Himself to alleviate the pain. Then slowly the leg cramps begin traveling from the calves to the thighs. Father, I have felt what a calf cramp feels like, it is an excruciating contraction of the muscle. In fact one time I recall falling down in agony on a gym floor with the only relief coming from someone taking their hand and pushing the top of my foot towards my head to relax the muscle. And now I think of Your Son because there was no one to do this for Him. Instead all He had was a metal spike mocking Him because any attempt by Him to push Himself up on the cross to alleviate the pain would in turn be met by the pain of His flesh being ripped apart by the spike. Father I could not endure 30 seconds of a calf cramp, how did Your Son endure HOURS OF THIS HELL?? I am so tired for waking up early to write these words that I am numb to the tears that want to flow. And now your finger presses the button and downloads the memory from a week ago…
In a church of which there are seated thousands in the pews, the preacher finishes his lesson and begins the invitation to those who want to accept that Jesus in fact was the Son of You. Normal protocol dictates the preacher goes through some standard words called the invitation. It is true that some part of me has become numb to these words because I have heard them repeatedly over the course of my life. Somehow they have lost meaning to me, which should trouble me, but it seems so impersonal because I am not the one uttering them. And I think of, let’s say, a faithful church attendee, who is 50 years old and let’s say they have attended church faithfully every week for 30 years…50 times a year times 30 years is 1,500. One thousand five hundred times this person has heard an invitation. I say, one thousand five hundred times. Isn’t it true that any one of us would become numb to this? The invitation has lost its taste, much like a piece of Godiva chocolate. In fact, I think of the first time I ate a piece of Godiva and I recall the wonder of its creaminess and the rush of endorphins in my body. Oh what a wonderful feeling of heightened sense and how satisfying it was. However, I wonder if I ate 1,500 pieces of the same chocolate if my body would respond the same way…
And now in the midst of thousands of people, a man arises from a pew. I see him from the corner of my eye. The preacher has not finished his habit. He is supposed to offer the standard words, and everyone in the congregation is supposed to remain seated until he asks for us to stand. This allows for some time for the deacons to position themselves in front to receive those who would come forth to make a decision. But this man could not wait. The preacher continues his habit, and this man breaks protocol and arises while thousands of people are still seated. I see him. Everyone sees him. The preacher sees him and for a moment he loses track of his habit, but quickly recovers and continues his standard rehearsed words. In the meantime this man is trying to do everything in his power to climb over eight people still seated in his pew so he can make it to the aisle. I have never seen such purpose in my life, and I have never witnessed such brokenness arising from a seat knowing that the only thing standing between him and salvation is making it to this aisle. I imagine he stepped on many feet and he bumped many knees just trying, trying, TRYING to make it to the aisle where the path was unobstructed to the front of the church. As I sit and watch this spectacle being played out before me, an emotion arises in me, and tears begin forming in the corner of my eyes as I experience the pain and brokenness of another man whom I do not even know, and who in desperation is trying to make it to the aisle…
And I think of the thief on the cross, who for six hours endured his pain, but in a moment of reflection as He witnessed the One without reproach enduring the same pain, cried out to the One above reproach, and Jesus did not say…go and be baptized, or start going to church for a year to understand more of who I am, or go start tithing your income each week, or go do penance. No. He simply told him, You have acknowledged me, so today You will enter the kingdom with me. And now thousands of years later a man in a church has heard this same message. Come as you are. And as I continue to watch this surreal moment play out, this man makes it to the aisle, and as my son Avery told me later, as the man in a half run makes it to the front of the church, he almost collapses before he makes it to the altar because of the weakness in his legs, because years of painful cramping can no longer support his weight. And this man, this huge man bulging in a suit which cannot contain his muscles, does indeed collapse before an entire congregation of thousands and asks Jesus to come into his life…
And Father this is what I think of when I think of Easter Sunday…thank You for downloading a memory…thank You for an invitation.
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