Thirty-three years. That is approximately how old Jesus was when he was crucified, the moment that abruptly put an end to his life. Hanging there he must have known that it was only a matter of time before his body would give out. A seeming infinity before his heart would begin to beat too slowly for his frame and eventually trail off into silence. And, when it happened, under a million stars wrenched with disbelief, the whole world stood still, crashing to a halt like a fallen satellite. A small group of the committed bore witness to the quintessential moment and they pounded their chests and shouted to the night sky: a moment where, quite likely, every single being in existence somehow knew that something was terribly wrong. Nature had somehow stepped passed its boundaries. Creations have risen up and killed their creator, and the creator has allowed it. And, for some strange reason, the next day he would still cause the sun to rise, the moon to shine, and the rain to fall.
It is a moment that seems so unfair, so wrong, that it actually brings a taste of bitterness to the mouth if you think about it for long enough. It pricks the conscience and wrenches the heart at the very same time. Yet, somehow through it all there is hope because it is the only moment that can make everything right: the only moment that can breathe life in you and make it feel like you’re living off borrowed air. It is Jesus’ invitation for everyone to come back home. It’s like he’s standing there by the porch light waiting for us to find our way back to where things make sense. And, when we get there we’re going to find Jesus hugging us with holes in both hands regardless of what we have done or been through. Such is the nature of the Father that calls home. And when we find our way back and finally rest our heads in his chest we will only care that we were living reckless for so long.
God is constantly calling us back to him, and in our moments of weakness he asks us if today we will go to him with a hammer and a nail or a warm embrace. And in our weakness who among us can say that we have not at a time, in our sin, partaken in hammering flesh to wood. But he comes to us, he finds us out, peruses us and desires to embrace us anyways. It is an act that defies all justice and comprehension.
What can we, in our seemingly infinite grace say but God is good.
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nicely put lil' Al!