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What do you do with that day in history? What do you do with its claims?
If it really happened…if God did commandeer his own crucifixion…if he did turn his back on his own Son…if he did storm Satan’s gate, then those six hours that Friday were packed with tragic triumph. If that was God on that cross, then the hill called Skull is granite studded with stakes to which you can anchor.
Anchor Point #1: My Life is Not Futile
This rock secures the hull of your heart. Its sole function is to give you something which you can grip when facing the surging tides of futility and relativism. It’s a firm grasp on the conviction that there is truth. Someone is in control and you have a purpose.
The people came. They came out of the cul-de-sacs and office complexes of their day. They brought him the burdens of their existence, and he gave them not religion, not doctrine, not systems, but rest. As a result, they called him Lord. As a result, they called him Savior. Not so much because of what he said, but because of what he did. What he did on the cross during six hours, one Friday.
Tombstones mark the final resting place for our bodies. Lucado found an interesting tombstone once for Grace Llewellen Smith. No date of birth is listed, no date of death. Just the names of her two husbands, and this epitaph, “Sleeps, but rests not. Loved, but was loved not. Tried to please, but pleased not. Died as she lived—alone.” Words of futility.
How many Grace Llewellen Smiths are there? How many people will die in the loneliness in which they are living?
That’s why the story of Jesus Christ is significant. It’s the story of another tombstone. This time, however, the tombstone doesn’t mark the death of a person—it marks the birth.
Remember
On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews… John 20:19
Things haven’t changed much in two thousand years, have they? How many churches today find themselves paralyzed in the upper room? How many congregations have just enough religion to come together, but not enough passion to go out? If the doors aren’t locked, they might as well be. Upper-room futility. A little bit of faith but very little fire.
Good people. Lots of ideas. Plenty of good intentions. Budgets. Meetings. Words. Promises. But while all this is going on, the door remains locked and the story stays a secret.
There is one element so vital that its absence ensures our failure. What is needed to get us out is exactly what got the apostles out. The one betrayed sought his betrayers. What did he say to them? Not “What a bunch of flops!” Not “I told you so.” No “Where-were-you-when-I-needed-you?” speeches. But simply one phrase: “Peace be with you.” The very thing they didn’t have was the very thing he offered: peace.
People began to call them “Christ-ians.” Christ was their model, their message. They preached “Jesus Christ and him crucified,” not for the lack of another topic, but because they couldn’t exhaust this one. What unlocked the doors of the apostles’ hearts? Simple. They saw Jesus. They encountered the Christ.
When times get hard, remember Jesus. When people don’t listen, remember Jesus. When tears come, remember Jesus. When disappointment is your bed partner, remember Jesus. When fear pitches his tent in your front yard. When death looms, when anger singes, when shame weighs heavily. Remember Jesus.
Do yourself a favor. Stand before him again. Or, better, allow him to stand before you. Go into your upper room and wait. Wait until he comes. And when he appears, don’t leave. Run your fingers over his feet. Place your hand in the pierced side. And look into those eyes. Those same eyes that melted the gates of hell and sent the demons scurrying and Satan running. Look at them as they look at you. You’ll never be the same. A man is never the same after he simultaneously sees his utter despair and Christ’s unbending grace. To see the despair without the grace is suicidal. To see the grace without the despair is upper-room futility. But to see them both is conversion.
Anchor Point #2: My Failures are Not Fatal
It’s not that he loves what you did, but he loves who you are. You are his. The One who has the right to condemn you provided the way to acquit you. You make mistakes. God doesn’t. And he made you.
Ninety feet tall. One thousand three hundred twenty tons of reinforced Brazilian tile. Positioned on a mountain a mile and one-half above sea level. It’s the famous Christ the Redeemer statue that overlooks the city of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
What kind of redeemer is this?
- Blind? Eyes fixated on the horizon, refusing to see the mass of people at its feet?
- Heart made of stone? Held together not with passion and love, but by concrete and mortar.
What kind of redeemer is this? Blind eyes and stony heart? Lucado explains that he’s since learned the answer to his own question: what kind of redeemer is this? Exactly the kind of redeemer most people have.
For some, Jesus is a good luck charm. The “Rabbit’s Foot Redeemer.” Pocket sized. Handy. Easily packaged. Easily understood. Easily diagramed. You can put his picture on your wall or you can stick it in your wallet as insurance. You can frame him. Dangle him from your rearview mirror or glue him to your dashboard. His specialty? Getting you out of a jam.
What about the woman caught in adultery, as described in John 8? Accusers approach Jesus and ask what should be done with her since the law of Moses says she deserves the death penalty. After a while, Jesus wisely responds, “All right, but let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone!”
After all the accusers leave, Jesus tells the woman to look up. “Is there no one to condemn you?”
She got a promise and a commission. The promise: “Then neither do I condemn you.” The commission: “Go and sin no more.”
If we could somehow transport her to Rio de Janeiro and let her stand at the base of the Cristo Redentor, she would say, “That’s not the Jesus I saw,” she would say. And she would be right. For the Jesus she saw didn’t have a hard heart. And the Jesus who saw her didn’t have blind eyes. However, if we could somehow transport her to Calvary and let her stand at the base of the cross…you know what she would say. “That’s him,” she would whisper. “That’s him.”
The Eleventh Hour Gift
Remember that Nicodemus approached Jesus in the middle of the night. The centurion came in the middle of the day. The leper and the sinful woman appeared in the middle of crowds. Zacchaeus appeared in the middle of a tree. Matthew had a party for him. The educated. The powerful. The rejected. The sick. The lonely. The wealthy. Who would have ever assembled such a crew?
Though they had nothing to offer, they asked for everything: a new birth, a second chance, a fresh start, a clean conscience. And without exception their requests were honored.
Then, remember the criminal crucified next to him? As he looks into the eyes of his last hope, he makes the same request any Christian makes. “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” No stained-glass homilies. No excuses. Just a desperate plea for help. At this point Jesus performs the greatest miracle of the cross. Greater than the earthquake. Greater than the tearing of the temple curtain. Greater than the darkness. Greater than the resurrected saints appearing on the streets. He performs the miracle of forgiveness. A sin-soaked criminal is received by a blood-stained Savior. “Today you will be with me in Paradise. This is a solemn promise.”
Anchor Point #3: My Death is Not Final
There is one more stone to which you should tie. It’s large. It’s round. And it’s heavy. It blocked the door of a grave. It wasn’t big enough though. The tomb that it sealed was the tomb of a transient. He only went in to prove he could come out. And on the way out he took the stone with him and turned it into an anchor point. He dropped it deep into the uncharted waters of death. Tie to his rock, and the typhoon of the tomb becomes a spring breeze on Easter Sunday.
Jesus’ friend Lazarus—brother of Mary and Martha—passed away. Then, Jesus wept. He wept not for the dead but for the living. He wept not for the one in the cave of death but for those in the cave of fear. He wept for those who, though alive, were dead. He wept for those who, though free, were prisoners, held captive by their fear of death.
“Lazarus, come out!” It took only one call. Lazarus heard his name. His eyes opened beneath the wrap. The cloth-covered hands raised. Knees lifted, feet touched the ground, and the dead man came out. “Take the grave clothes off of him and let him go.”
God has been known to plan a celebration in a cemetery.
Have you got God figured out? Have you got God captured on a flowchart and frozen on a flannelboard? If so, then listen. Listen to God’s surprises. Hear the rocks meant for the body of the adulterous woman drop to the ground. Listen as Jesus invites a death-row convict to ride with him to the kingdom in the front seat of the limo.
The Final Glance
As the hours wore on that Friday long ago, one centurion found himself looking more and more at the one on the center cross. He didn’t know what to do with the Nazarene’s silence. He didn’t know what to do with his kindness. But most of all, he was perplexed by the darkness. He didn’t know what to do with the black sky in midafternoon. No one could explain it…no one even tried. One minute the sun, the next the darkness. One minute the heat, the next a chilly breeze. Even the priests were silenced.
The King looked down at the crusty old centurion. Jesus’ hands were fastened; they couldn’t reach out. His feet were nailed to timber; they couldn’t walk toward him. His head was heavy with pain; he could scarcely move it. But his eyes…they were afire. They were unquenchable. They were the eyes of God.
“Surely this man was the Son of God.” Six hours on one Friday. Six hours that jut up on the plain of human history like Mount Everest in a desert. Six hours that have been deciphered, dissected, and debated for two thousand years.
For the soul looking into this side of the tunnel of death, that Friday means deliverance. Six hours. One Friday.
The most reliable anchor points are not recent discoveries, but are time-tested truths that have held their ground against the winds of change. Truths like:
- My life is not futile.
- My failures are not fatal.
- My death is not final.
One final word. Don’t be content to depend on someone else’s anchor points. Don’t settle for a faith inherited from your family or borrowed from your friends. Their help is important and their teaching is vital, but you never know when you’ll have to face a hurricane alone. So be sure that your heart is safely secured. Take the advice of the sailor, “Anchor deep, say a prayer, and hold on!” And don’t be surprised if Someone walks across the water to give you a hand.