Tag Archives: crucifixion of jesus

Ravi Zacharias Ministry – The Gift of Ordinary

 

On the occasion of summer’s demise and the return of school year schedules, a thought of Oscar Wilde’s crosses my mind. Wilde thoroughly resented the power of modern calendars to remind us that, though full of activity, “each day that passes is the anniversary of some perfectly uninteresting event.” My own calendar’s declaration that yesterday was World Salami Day and today is Iguana Awareness Day seems to prove Mr. Wilde’s point. He would no doubt be further troubled to know that we are currently in a season that the Christian calendar calls “Ordinary Time.”

There are actually two intervals of Ordinary Time within the Christian church year, unbeknownst to most modern calendars. The first interval begins after Epiphany (the remembrance of the arrival of the wise men to the birthplace of Jesus) and continues until Lent (the forty days of remembrance leading up to the crucifixion of Jesus). The second interval of Ordinary Time begins at the conclusion of Pentecost (the celebration of the coming of the Holy Spirit) and continues until Advent (the celebration of the coming of the Christ child). We are currently living within this second interlude of Ordinary Time, waiting for the approach of Advent. But this is hardly the Church’s way of saying that the day before us is actually ordinary.

Far from announcing days that are commonplace or mundane, Ordinary Time is meant to be a season of anticipated living. The term actually comes from the word “ordinal,” which means that it is time “counted” or “numbered.” Though the Church’s festive banners may have come down after the celebrations of Lent and Easter have ended, the startling realities of life under the banners of a crucified King and the vicarious presence of a resurrected savior have begun. The Church attempts to remind the world to live expectantly between the mystery of the cross and the assurance of the living one within our midst.

Though Jewish feasts and holy days were a major part of the lives of Jesus and his disciples, the same was true for them as it is for the church: the majority of their time together was the time spent between holy days. Yet far from being described as the lull between holidays, the disciples’ “ordinary time” was spent healing and feeding crowds, proclaiming the kingdom, raising the dead, learning at the feet of Jesus, finding themselves in the mystery of the Son. More often than not, they were genuinely surprised by the one in their midst, no matter how ordinary the day.

In the everyday lives of Christ’s followers today there is a similar expectant quality within each moment, time that is shared with the world as a divine invitation. This is time counted; time that matters. Time in the presence of one who neither slumbers nor sleeps.

It is appropriate that the first signs of Jesus’s identity were displayed not to Jerusalem’s religious leaders or in the pious celebrations of a chosen nation. The first bold signs of the startling work of God came to foreigners, people who had to journey a great distance to see what the heavens were revealing. In the form of a great star to foreign astrologers, the God of Israel chose to reveal the birth of Jesus to nations far beyond the religious activities of Jerusalem.

Later revelations of the child’s identity were similarly filled with ordinary time and people. After the hype of Passover had settled in Jerusalem and the last of the festivities were waning, long after the villagers who had traveled far were on their way home, twelve year-old Jesus had stayed behind, though his parents were unaware of it. Three days later they found him in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And “everyone who heard him was amazed” (Luke 2:47). Likewise, the first miracle Jesus performed was not in the temple or as a religious leader but at a wedding as a wedding guest. Quietly and discreetly for a party that was running short on wine, Jesus used the symbols and waters of purification, and he created enough wine to bless the bride and groom and all their guests long after the wedding was finished—a sign of both his coming hour of a life poured out and the coming feast of one at work gathering nations to his table. And once more, ordinary time was marked by the extraordinary.

While the calendar may seem to set us up to live from one major holiday to the next, what if there is far more to expect from the rest of our days? While holy days mark events that dramatically shape both religious and secular worldviews, our ordinary days give us the space to live these events out. In the repetitive rhythm of the church calendar, human hearts are invited to beat expectantly of a greater kingdom. Ordinary time is never ordinary, for God’s presence always involves the unexpected.

Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

Ravi Zacharias Ministry – Behold, the Crucified

 

Even modern English Bible versions often end up retaining the rather un-modern term “behold” in their translations of the Hebrew word hinneh and the Greek word idou. This is because there is no other equivalent English word that quite does the job that behold does. All the three terms—Hebrew, Greek, and English—have a certain gravitas, and, whenever used, command us to pay careful attention to what follows.

In John’s narrative of the trial and the crucifixion of Jesus, there are five occurrences of the term—three coming from the mouth of the unwitting prophet, Pilate, and twice from the mouth of our Lord Jesus. Each occurrence summons us to a facet of the person and work of Christ.

In John 19:4, “Pilate came out again and said to them, ‘Behold, I am bringing Him out to you so that you may know that I find no guilt in Him.’” We may render Pilate’s words as: “Behold, the Guiltless One!” Christians have always claimed, and will always claim, that Jesus, the Innocent, bore the sins of a guilty world. When his executioners twisted together a crown of thorns and thrust it upon his head, little did they know that they were enacting a prophetic truth! For in that single image—the crown of thorns on his head—is encapsulated the central Christian claim: that this guiltless-but-crucified one bore upon himself the guilt and curse of the whole of creation. Remember: “Cursed is the ground because of you…. Both thorns and thistles it shall grow for you” (Gen. 3:17-18).

The following verse is the second time the word occurs: “Jesus then came out, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said to them, ‘Behold, the Man!’” (v.5). Jesus is the window to God; He is also the mirror to man. In him, we see what is wrong with us, and what we are meant to be. The poetic poignancy of the occurrence is also found in the allusion that, just as the first human being, Adam, takes stage on the sixth day of creation, Christ, the New Human Being, takes center stage on the sixth day—Good Friday—of new creation.(1) And we are summoned to pay close attention to him, the man.

We are no longer helplessly and hopelessly fated to take the course of Adam. There is another pattern for being fully and truly human: Behold, the man!

The third time “behold” appears is in verse 14, where “[Pilate] said to the Jews, ‘Behold, your King.’” In his book, Jesus Rediscovered, Malcolm Muggeridge, in his inimitable way, says, “The crown of thorns, the purple robe, the ironical title ‘King of the Jews,’ were intended to mock or parody Christ’s pretensions to be the Messiah; in fact, they rather hold up to ridicule and contempt all crowns, all robes, all kings that ever were. It was a sick joke that back-fired.”(2) Muggeridge is perhaps being a touch cynical here, and may be guilty of rendering serious political reflection and engagement impossible and pointless. All the same, the Christian claim that Jesus is the Christ (i.e., the King) is a claim that effectively loosens all other claims, renegotiates all other allegiances, recasts all other power, downsizes all other authorities, domesticates all other principalities, and tempers the Christian resolve to not give beings and things, apart from God and his Christ, an ultimacy that they demand but do not deserve. Christ, in short, dismantles idols and unravels idolatries.

The final two occurrences are found in John 19:26-27: “When Jesus then saw his mother, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, behold, your son!’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Behold, your mother!’ From that hour the disciple took her into his own household.” We may club the two occurrences to mean, “Behold, your new family!” Theologians have also often noted John’s allusion to the Church in his record of Jesus side being speared (Jn. 19:34): as Eve, the bride of Adam, issued forth from Adam’s side, the Church, the bride of Christ, issues forth from the crucified’s side, with the blood and water symbolizing the two foundational sacraments of the Church, Lord’s Supper and Baptism. At the foot of the Cross, there is the creating and forging of a new family, a new community, a new humanity—the Church: a believing that leads to a belonging.

Kethoser (Aniu) Kevichusa is a member of the speaking team at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Nagaland, India.

(1) This basic thought is borrowed from the various writings of N.T. Wright on the passage.

(2) Malcolm Muggeridge, Jesus Rediscovered (London: Fontana, 1969), 47.

Ravi Zacharias Ministry – Pointing Fingers

Ravi Z

For a world of finger-pointing, the day is ripe with opportunity. Today is “Spy Wednesday,” an old and uncommon name for the Wednesday of Holy Week, so-named because it marks the agreement of Judas to betray Jesus. As told by Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Judas approaches the chief priests and asks what they would be willing to give him for turning Jesus over to them. They agree on a sum, and from then on Judas looks for opportunity to hand him over.(1)

Some commemorate the involvement of Judas in the story of Holy Week by collecting thirty pieces of silver, the exact amount Judas was given to betray Jesus, and later returns to the chief priests in regret. Typically, children gather the coins and present them as gifts to the church for the community. In a less congenial commemoration, tradition once involved children throwing an effigy of Judas from the church steeple, then dragging it around the town while pounding him with sticks. For whatever part of us that might want a person to blame for the events that led to the betrayal, death, and crucifixion of Jesus, Judas makes an easy target.

But nothing about Holy Week is easy, and the gospels leave us wondering if guilt might in fact hit closer to home. It is noted in Mark’s Gospel, in particular, that the moral failures of the week are not handed to any one person, but described in all of the actors equally: Yes, to Judas the betrayer. But also to weak disciples, sleeping and running and fumbling. To Peter, cowardly and denying. To scheming priests, indifferent soldiers, angry mobs, and the conceited Pilate. Mark brings us face to face with human indecency, such that it is not a stretch to imagine our own in the mix.

While we may well successfully remain apart and shrouded from the events, conversations, and finger-pointing of Holy Week, the cross invites the world to see that we stand far nearer than we might realize. Such a thought might seem absurd or dramatic, a manipulative tool of theologians, or an inaccurate accusation on account of your own sense of moral clarity. Yet the invitation to emerge from our own darkest failings, lies, and betrayals is somewhere in the midst of this story as well; not an invitation to dwell in our own impoverishment or to wallow in guilt on our way to Easter morning, but rather, a summons to death and light via our shared humanity with Christ himself.

The difficult message of the cross is that there is room beside the hostile soldiers, fickle crowds, and fleeing disciples. But perhaps the more difficult, and merciful, message of the cross is that it summons us to set that guilt down and see humanity more clearly in the one being crucified. Pointing fingers and holding onto a sense of guilt is easier than admitting there’s a way to wholeness of life and hope and liberty, which leads through the death and self-giving love of another soul. Before we find an adequate scapegoat to detract attention from our own failings, before we even considered the endless possibilities of finger-pointing, Christ in fullest humanity died pointing at the guilt-ridden and the guilt-denying, the soldier and the priests and the disciple and the friend and the adversary, who he would just not let go.

Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

(1) See Matthew 26:3-5, 14-16, Mark 14:10-12, Luke 22:3-6.

Our Daily Bread – Shout Of Triumph

 

John 19:30

Recently I read about Aron Ralston, a hiker who was trapped alone at the bottom of a remote canyon. With scant hope of being found and his strength ebbing away, he had to take drastic measures to save his life. During a moment of excruciating pain, he shouted in agony and in victory, because he had freed himself and now had a chance to escape and live.

Those who witnessed the crucifixion of Jesus saw His hours of agony and heard Him cry out in a loud voice, “It is finished!” as He gave up His spirit (John 19:30). His final words from the cross were not a cry of painful defeat but a shout of triumph, because He had accomplished all that the Father sent Him to do.

When Jesus died, He shared in what all of us must experience. But far beyond that, He did what none of us can do. He paid the price for our sins that we might be forgiven and have eternal life through faith in Him.

“It is finished!” was the Lord’s shout of victory because now, through Him, we can escape the power of sin; we can live and be free.

Because of Jesus’ sacrifice for us, we call the day of His death Good Friday.

I have been to the cross where my Savior died,

And all of my life is made new—

In the person of Him I am crucified.

I have been to the cross. Have you?

—Helen Frazee-Bower © 1956 Helen Frazee-Bower

Jesus died that we might live.

Ravi Zacharias Ministry – The Messiah We Hope For

 

When considering the Christian message, it is important to remember that the disciples of Jesus were totally surprised by the events that took place in Jerusalem. After the crucifixion of Jesus, the apostles rightfully believed that all was lost.

Though some have argued that the disciples merely refused to accept failure after Jesus’s death and made up the story of the resurrection, a crucified and risen Messiah simply did not fit into Jewish expectations for the One who was to come. Though there was no single understanding of what the Messiah would be like, there were common elements that every Jew would have assumed within their messianic expectations.

First, the Messiah was closely linked to Jewish beliefs regarding the place of worship. He was to institute a renewal of the temple in Jerusalem. It was also commonly understood that the Messiah would be a royal military leader who would overthrow Israel’s enemies and prove his lordship through conquest. Jesus clearly did neither of these things; rather, he came in peace and died in his youth like a criminal. Why, then, would his followers maintain that he was the Messiah? Why did they not just cut their losses after his death and move on?

New Testament scholar N.T. Wright explains:

“There were, to be sure, ways of coping with the death of a teacher, or even a leader. The picture of Socrates was available, in the wider world, as a model of unjust death nobly borne. The category of ‘martyr’ was available, within Judaism, for someone who stood up to pagans… The category of failed but still revered Messiah, however, did not exist. A Messiah who died at the hands of the pagans, instead of winning [God’s] battle against them, was a deceiver… Why then did people go on talking about Jesus of Nazareth, except as a remarkable but tragic memory? The obvious answer is that… Jesus was raised from the dead.”(1)

In this light of resurrection, the disciples had to go through a massive renewal of their thinking. Seeing the once-dead Jesus now standing before their eyes brought them to what was a radical new way of understanding the Messiah. Of course, this is in addition to the radical suspension of the well-understood laws of nature with which they also had to grapple. Despite the quick dismissal from modernity, no mind is so primitive so as to believe that all is usual when bodies rise from the dead.

The events of Holy Week remain similarly radical today. On the day that Jesus rose from the dead, he spoke of himself saying, “Was it not necessary for the Christ to suffer these things and enter into his glory?” (Luke 24:26). As if resurrection was not hard enough to grasp, it is vastly difficult to see how there could be glory in suffering. Yet it is not hard to see that the death of Christ carries with it the force of something much more. The glory of the suffering Messiah lies in the magnitude of the love he showed on the cross.

It was this very point that Jesus’s disciples missed until his resurrection, and it is a point that many are still missing today. The Messiah’s glory was not shown through his power, though it easily could have been, nor was it shown in status or position. Instead, it was shown in his suffering and his love, which remains a far-reaching, albeit stymieing, gift to the world. He may not have been the Messiah all had hoped for, but he is indeed the Messiah of great hope.

Stuart McAllister is vice president of training and special projects at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

(1) N.T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), 658.

Ravi Zacharias Ministry – Finger Pointing

 

For a world of pointing fingers, the day is ripe with opportunity. Today is “Spy Wednesday,” an old and uncommon name for the Wednesday of Holy Week, so-named because it marks the agreement of Judas to betray Jesus. As told by Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Judas approaches the chief priests and asks what they would be willing to give him for turning Jesus over to them. They agree on a sum, and from then on Judas looks for opportunity to hand him over.(1)

Some commemorate the involvement of Judas in the story of Holy Week by collecting thirty pieces of silver, the exact amount Judas was given to betray Jesus, and later returns to the chief priests in regret. Typically, children gather the coins and present them as gifts to the church. In other cultures, the tradition involves children throwing an effigy of Judas from the church steeple, then dragging it around the town while pounding him with sticks. For whatever part of us that might want a person to blame for the events that led to the betrayal, death, and crucifixion of Jesus, Judas makes an easy target.

But nothing about Holy Week is easy, and the gospels leave us wondering if guilt might in fact hit closer to home. It is noted in Mark’s Gospel, in particular, that the moral failures of the week are not handed to any one person, but described in all of the actors equally: Yes, to Judas the betrayer. But also to weak disciples, sleeping and running and fumbling. To Peter, cowardly and denying. To scheming priests, indifferent soldiers, angry mobs, and the conceited Pilate. Mark brings us face to face with human indecency, such that it is not a stretch to imagine our own in the mix.

While we may successfully remain apart and shrouded from the events, conversations, and finger-pointing of Holy Week, the cross invites the world to see that we stand nearer than we might realize. Such a thought might seem absurd or dramatic, a manipulative tool of theologians, or an inaccurate accusation on account of your own sense of moral clarity. Yet the invitation to emerge from our own darkest failings, lies, and betrayals is somewhere in the midst of this story as well; not an invitation to dwell in our own impoverishment or to wallow in guilt on our way to Easter morning, but rather, a summons to death and light.

The difficult message of the cross is that there is room beside the hostile soldiers, fickle crowds, and fleeing disciples. But perhaps the more difficult, and merciful, message of the cross is that it summons us to set that guilt down. Pointing fingers and holding onto a sense of guilt is easier than admitting there’s a way to wholeness of life and hope and liberty, which leads through the death and self-giving love of another soul. Before we found a scapegoat to detract attention from our own failings, before we even considered the endless possibilities of finger-pointing, Christ died pointing at the guilt-ridden and guilt-denying, the soldier and the priests and the disciple and the friend and the adversary, who he would just not let go.

Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

(1) See Matthew 26:3-5, 14-16, Mark 14:10-12, Luke 22:3-6.