I’m a friend of Cleopas, Jesus. At least I would have been had I lived in Jerusalem. The day of your resurrection I walk with him and another friend a few miles down the road to Jericho. I’m perplexed at the news. Alive! The women say he is alive! Who do they take me for? I’m no fool. I saw him hanging on the cross on Friday. I saw the ripped skin, the thorns deep in his head. I saw the guard thrust the spear into his side. Alive? Ha. It’s all too perplexing to me.
Then a man joined us on the road. We had much to talk about and were more than happy to fill him in on the events of the day. He must have been living in a hole somewhere. I do that a lot, Lord–talk a lot, speculate about the nature of God, make up theories about God’s intent, wonder about the possibilities of God. I’m never bashful about sharing my opinions. True, usually, they are just that–opinions. They have no foundation. I reason out of the mind but am clueless when it comes to spiritual matters. It all seems Greek to me (or maybe I should say, it all seems Chinese to me).
The man along the road, however, didn’t seem nearly as worked up as we were. He had that calm assurance about him I wish I had. He spoke with a wisdom that seemed to be clearly in touch with spiritual reality. He talked about God’s plan, about the purpose of Jesus. I wish, Lord, I understood that plan. I wish I could see the world from the eyes of God, to catch a glimpse of spiritual matters that seem to elude me.
All too late, Jesus, we realized our fellow traveler was you. It came as a flash of insight when you broke the bread. You allowed me that glimpse of understanding that I crave. You helped me see truth. Jesus is alive. Jesus did rise from the dead. Intellectually (which is how I try to understand God), resurrection not possible. But I’ve come to understand that spiritual truth comes only from God; it comes only in moments of grace when you open my eyes to a different reality than I live every day.
Grant me more glimpses of the risen Jesus. Teach me truths only you possess. Amen.
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The day after your crucifixion, Lord, the scriptures are silent.
A day of sabbath, disciples retreated to their homes and locked their doors.
Stunned. Waiting. Grieving. Silent.
So, I, too, offer my silence this day.
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Jesus, the prayer you prayed on Good Friday that came to my mind first this morning was your cry of abandonment, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” I thought of this one perhaps because I, too, have felt abandoned at times in my life. Then, however, I reread the account of your crucifixion in Luke and rediscovered two other prayers you prayed that day.
First, as they nailed you to the cross and divided up your clothes you prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.” I am moved by your ability to forgive even those who do you harm. Truly you are a forgiving God. Truly you are a God of mercy and grace. How many times do I wrong you, abandon you, or turn my back upon you, and yet I can hear you interceding for me, “Forgive him, he doesn’t know what he is doing.” And, indeed, often I don’t. I live my life in ignorance swayed by the mistaken pull of others. Forgive me for my wrongs and thank you that you are so willing to forgive.
Your very purpose on the cross was so that I might be forgiven. Your blood dripping from the nails in your hands and feet, dripping from your lashings, your crown of thorns and the spear in your side–it splatters upon me, washing away my sins.
Second, the moment before your death you called out, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Jesus, you succeeded in fulfilling God’s will perfectly. You gave up yourself for others. Teach me, too, how to give up my spirit, my will, my personal desires, and place them in your hands. I want to trust you enough, Lord, to offer my whole self as Jesus did.
I tend to think of the crucifixion as a sad day. And in many ways it was. But this day also represents fulfillment of God’s will. It represents forgiveness and grace. It represents hope for all humanity. Thank you, Lord Jesus. Amen.
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Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane you showed me how to pray. Seldom, if ever, have I prayed with the kind intensity that you prayed that night. I’m much more like Peter, James, and John who didn’t fully grasp the significance of that moment. Help me, Lord, to understand the magnitude of spiritual issues, the importance of your will in any matter. Keep me awake, not just physically, but spiritually to the movement of God. Keep me from sleeping at those critical moments when I should be listening to you.
Jesus, you also showed me the importance of persistence in your Gethsemane prayer. I find it encouraging that even though you understood God’s will for your life, you prayed three times to let that cup pass, to be free from this difficult task ahead of you. I see that’s it’s okay for me to do the same–to pray again and again. You don’t see that as a lack of faith or an act of disobedience. Rather, you understand it for what it is–a plea from deep in the soul that cannot be satisfied easily.
Jesus, your prayer is a model for how I should pray in God’s will. This is difficult for me. How do I balance the prayer of “Your will be done” with the prayer of “Ask and you shall receive”? I think most of my problem is that I don’t listen very well. I’m too busy figuring out what I want and fail to hear what you want. Help me begin with the latter. Help me hear your desires for my life first. Then, when there is a battle between your will and mine, as you experienced in the Garden, I’ll see the selfishness of my own will and be ready to long for yours.
Jesus, in the end it was inevitable. God didn’t change the divine will. You still were required to go through with the sacrifice. And in the end you accepted it in obedience. No, it’s more than an acceptance. You embraced it because it was God’s will for you. Teach me to embrace what is your will for me, Lord. Rather than moping around filling sorry for myself, give me the courage and grace to open my arms wide to the circumstances before me.
Jesus, thank you for your obedience. It has made all the difference in my life. Teach me to also pray as you pray that I might act in obedience and make a difference in your kingdom. Amen.
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I desire oneness with you, Jesus. I understand you want the same with me. You prayed for that oneness during the days before your death. To be one with you would mean I would faultlessly understand your will. I could understand your mysteries. I would perfectly walk in your ways every day. If I were one with you, Lord, your thoughts would be my thoughts. Never again would I have to wonder which path to take. Never again would I be plagued by doubt or sin that now defeats me. If I were one with you, my personality would meld with yours and yours with me. I would demonstrate love, joy, peace, patience, humility, and hope everyday.
So if I want this union and you want this union, what prevents it from happening? Why do I profess to want oneness with you and yet pull away? Why do I insist on maintaining my separateness as an individual driven by my own pride? Why do I insist on doing things my way as if your way is not good enough? Why do I continually seek after my own way, rather than seeking yours? Perhaps I’m afraid of oneness. I’m afraid my identity will be swallowed into nothing and I will cease to exist. Remind me that oneness does not strip one of identity or uniqueness. Rather, oneness joins two in the pursuit of one goal, one purpose. This I can understand, and this I seek.
What is even more difficult for me in these days is your prayer that your followers be one. You prayed that we might “be brought to complete unity.” Your desire seemed to be that the world be drawn to you and to your love because of the oneness they see in your followers. This is painfully difficult for me because there are some Christians I oppose. There are some who call themselves Christian that make me shutter. I desire to be one with you because you are perfect and I want to be so. How can I desire oneness with others who, like me, fall far short of perfection?
Further, what is the basis of this unity with other believers? Sometimes, we can’t agree on even the most basic theological principles. Lord, I truly wish the church could live in oneness, for I know that our division often causes non-believers to turn their head in disgust. Forgive us this holy week. May believers from all over the globe set aside their differences and petty theological disputes and agree together on the Lordship of Jesus. May we kneel as one and accept the atoning blood of Jesus. May we all together understand our unworthiness before God and humbly accept the sacrifice that makes possible our oneness with you. Amen.
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