Archives For death

Love is Absurd

samuel kee —  April 23, 2013 — Leave a comment

strangerAlbert Camus wrote a book in 1942 called The Stranger.  He mainly wanted to show how absurd life was—how the little things in life are such big things.  Through a series of thoughtless events, the main character, Meursault, finds himself awaiting execution for killing a man.  At the end of the book, Meursault is ranting about his fate, unable to comprehend the absurdity of it all.  He looks at his looming execution, which he rightly recognizes as an “ultimate” sort of thing.  To decide whether one lives or dies and to carry out that sentence, is magnificent.  The thing he couldn’t get over was this, that his execution would be performed by a guy “who changed his underwear.”

In other words, it’s absurd to realize that such an ultimate act could be performed by a finite mortal, a bumbling human, a creature who is no better than any other creature—a man who changes his underwear.  Perhaps Meursault preferred his executioner to be someone who was above changing their underwear?  At least then his death would have a bit more dignity.

Meursault totally forgets that just a few months before, he killed a man because the sun was in his eyes and causing him an uncomfortable sweat.  Whether or not to grant life or take life seems to be a profound decision, and should not be left to mere mortals.  Yet every day, every hour, human beings are executing their power over life as only God should be allowed to do.

It’s absurd to think that guys who change their underwear should be allowed to put a pressure cooker in a public square and watch it maim and destroy.  And yet I’ve heard other people voicing their disgust over the authorities, also people who change their underwear, who are executing the same sort of judgment over the lives of the suspects.  Everyone is crying incongruence.

But lurking in the shadows of humanity is another Stranger, whose life embraced human absurdity and incongruence.  This Stranger did not take any lives; he did not blow anything up; and he did not perform any executions.  He did not commit any crimes, kept no record of right or wrong, and did not seek vengeance.  Yet he was a Stranger who changed his underwear, grew tired and hungry, and had an appetite for tears.

He also did the absurd.

He came into this tragic world from a perfectly good world, in order to subject himself to our cruelty.  Our redemption came through his condemnation and our rescue came through his cross.  He did not take life, but gave it away in absurd amounts.  He gave second chances, he opened his heart, and brought restoration.  His reward for all of this was trial, torture, and death.  There is no more absurd character than Jesus, whose love compelled him to face the onslaught of punishment that our sins deserved—bravely, calm, and controlled.

Yes, one sinner who takes the life of another sinner is absurd; but infinitely more absurd is one sinless Person who gives his life for sinners.  Jesus was not one finite person making an ultimate decision, he was one Ultimate Person making the decision to be finite.

Love is more absurd than cruelty.  It’s fairly easy to complain about the absurdity of suffering, but it’s another thing to have the sense to complain about the absurdity of God’s love for us.

© Samuel Kee, 2013

In Cultural Issues, Knowing God , , , , , ,
permalink

God Is Blind and Dead

samuel kee —  March 18, 2013 — Leave a comment

4129The sight of blood is rarely a good thing.  When you’re using your circular saw to cut a piece of plywood in half and you see blood, it’s not a good thing!  When you get up after being knocked down and you see blood, it’s not a good thing.  To see blood is to see the imminence of death; life is leaving the body.

In the Bible, the word “blood” is most often associated with violent death.  In the Old Testament, it’s used about 165 times in cases of violent death.  In the New Testament, it occurs about 25 times to signify violent death.

One of the most memorable occurrences of blood in the Bible is in Exodus 12.  Here the Lord tells Moses to kill a lamb and paint its blood on the doorpost—in fact, every home was supposed to kill a lamb and paint its blood on their home’s doorpost.  Why?  Because the angel of death would be passing through at midnight in order to kill the firstborn of every home.  The only way to protect yourself was to put lamb’s blood on your doorpost.  Every home had to do this.  When the angel came to your home, he would see that death had already taken place, and would “pass over” the home.  This event came to be known as The Passover.  The lamb’s blood was given as a substitution for the blood of the firstborn; the doorpost displayed the graphic proof.

My friend Colin Smith (in his new devotional book), points out how frantic Moses must have been the night before.  You can imagine Moses going from door to door, asking people if they knew what they were to do, and then begging them to put blood on their door.  “Do you have blood on your door?” he must have exclaimed thousands of times that night.  He knew what would happen if they didn’t.

He was single-minded, too.  He wasn’t looking for any other answer.  “Well,” some homes might have said, “We’re a pretty good group here—God must be pleased with us.”  “No!” Moses would reply, “That doesn’t matter—do you have blood on your door?”  Another family might say, “We’ve said all of the right prayers, have been to regular religious services, and treat each other with love…”  “No!  That’s not good enough—Do you have blood on your door?”  Still another home might say something like, “I’m such a sinner, having done too many evils for God to spare us.”  Again, Moses must have shouted, “No!  That doesn’t matter; do you have blood on your door?”  In each and every case, whatever excuse, Moses had only one reply, “Do you have blood on your door?”  Nothing else mattered, for there was no other way to be saved.  Their good works couldn’t rescue them and their bad deeds couldn’t condemn them.  The only thing that mattered was the lamb’s blood.

In the New Testament, we’re told quite plainly, “For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed” (1 Corinthians 5:7).  We no longer have to offer millions of lambs, one for each home, year after year, but we find salvation in just One Lamb; Jesus Christ is our Passover lamb.  His blood was not painted on an Egyptian door post, but on a Roman cross.  He was given as a substitution for us all, so that the wrath of God might see his death and pass over us.

We have to stand beneath the blinding blood of Jesus, for that is what it is.  God goes blind when he sees his Son’s blood.  The only thing God sees is red.  God doesn’t see my imperfections, the evil within my heart, he sees only the Lamb’s blood.  God doesn’t see my past, present, or future, but only the blinding blood of Jesus.  God doesn’t see your remarkable accomplishments, good works, or spiritual resume, he only sees blood-soaked wood.

God the Son died on a cross; God the Father went blind to our sin.  He only sees the unblemished Lamb, offered in our place (see Exodus 12:5 and John 1:29).  Do you have what it takes to stand before God?  It only takes one thing, the precious blood of Jesus, applied to your life.

© Samuel Kee, 2013

In God's Existence, Knowing God , , , , ,
permalink

The Centurion

samuel kee —  April 6, 2012 — 2 Comments
Image

The centurion recognized a fellow warrior when he saw one.

He was a good old boy.  He loved his beer and he loved to fight.  He was good at it, too.  You had to be, if you were going to be in charge of 100 Roman soldiers.  He had seen plenty of action, both defending Rome and with the temple prostitutes.  He tried his best to appease his many gods and stay loyal to Caesar, whom he had to address as, “The Son of God.”  How pretentious.  Today was just like any other day, as he was given oversight of the executions.  He was a professional executer, you might say.  He had performed hundreds and hundreds of them.  Once, they lined up six thousand crucified men along the road; death stretched for miles.

He knew exactly how to put a guy to death, had it down to a science.  Depending on the occasion, like if there was a festival or some gladiatorial event at the coliseum, he could speed up the criminal’s death.  You just had to break their legs or pierce their hands.  By breaking the legs, the victim could not push off the cross in order to catch their breath.  By piercing their hands, there was more blood-letting, hastening the process.  The centurion could also prolong the victim’s death, too, if he wanted to inflict maximum torture.  He would just place a seat beneath his naked buttocks, forcing the criminal to sit down, enabling him to breathe better.  By increasing his oxygen just a little, his excruciating suffering would drag out, even longer.

Crucifixion was invented by the Persians centuries before.  And by the first century A.D., Rome had it down to a science.  They knew how to inflict maximum punishment.  The whole point of crucifixion was to cause both humiliation and suffering.  Crucified criminals would be displayed publicly, like along roads, so that everyone could see them.  It was as if to say, “Don’t do what this guy did, or this will happen to you.”  Birds would gorge on the criminal’s rotting flesh.  People would hurl both insults and bodily fluid on them.  They’d be hung at eye-level, so that everyone could look them in the face and offer ridicule.  All the while, the victims slowly died by asphyxiation.  This means that they did not get enough oxygen in their bloodstream, because they cannot breathe normally.  So they’ll get extremely weak as all the blood is absorbed from the bloodstream.  They’ll pass in and out of consciousness, until finally they never wake up.

It’s humiliating, too, since the victim will lose all control of bodily functions.  Grown men will relieve themselves, weep like a baby, and throw up.  They have absolutely no strength and no control.  They are utterly weak.

The centurion had seen this hundreds and hundreds of times.  Nobody died any differently.  Until he met Jesus.

It had been a pretty routine procedure.  Jesus was stripped, scourged, and nailed to a cross.  The bloodletting happened early on, to hasten his death.  He was beaten so badly by the cat-of-nine-tails by the Roman guard, that not even his own mother could recognize him.  The scourge laid open his body from head to toe, breaking his ribs in the process.  He was scarred and swollen, bloody and bruised.  The nine-inch-spikes of the date palm were sunk into his skull, as the soldiers crowned him with this sardonic symbol.  He was so weak and broken before the crucifixion took place that he couldn’t even carry his own crossbeam.  The centurion knew it wouldn’t be long.  Maybe he could go visit his cult prostitute later that night, enjoy some wine, and relax.

Yes, everything was going according to procedure.  It wouldn’t be long now.  His buddies were having some fun with the one in the middle, whose notice of charges above his head stated, “King of the Jews.”  They grabbed the stick and sponge.  This is what they used to clean themselves with, after going to the bathroom.  They put some sour wine on it and shoved it in Jesus’ mouth.  Yet even their wicked cruelty couldn’t provoke Jesus.  He didn’t curse them; strangely, he said, “Father, forgive them.”

The hours went on.  The three executions were coming to an end, the centurion knew it.  They were all getting weaker and weaker.  Barely any breath was coming out of any of them, especially the one in the middle, the “King.”  He was haunting to watch; a slight feeling of shame crept over the centurion.  This Jesus was not like the others, who acted just as horribly as every other man in the centurion’s life.

It looked like some invisible pillow was smothering Jesus.  His blackouts were getting longer and longer.  His body, though caked with dried blood, was getting pale.  The dirt beneath the cross was saturated with blood, so that it was both sticky and sweet.  It wouldn’t be long now.

The scene was getting quieter and quieter.

Just then, the unthinkable happened.  Jesus’ eyes blazed with fire.  The muscles in his neck bulged as they bled.  He lifted up his head and screamed, “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”  The scream lasted for several moments.

“And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last” (Mark 15:37).  The centurion jolted out of his routine.  He was both amazed and terrified at the same time.  He couldn’t believe it.  He had never seen or heard anything like this before.  In hundreds of executions, this was a first.  Unable to hold in his words, he said “Truly this man was the Son of God!” (Mark 15:39).  “When the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last,” he knew that Jesus was no ordinary man.

In fact, unable to control himself, the centurion called Jesus what he was only supposed to call Caesar—son of God—the one to whom he had sworn allegiance.

What did the centurion see?  What was so utterly radical about Jesus’ death?  Jesus let out a loud shout.  That was not supposed to happen.  By definition, when one dies from crucifixion, he dies of weakness.  You have no strength and no breath.  You have no oxygen and no air with which to shout.  You are overcome, you do not overcome.

The centurion had never heard anything like that before—wait, yes he had.  He had heard a shout like that before, on the battlefield.  Jesus made the sound of a battle cry.  Only he did not make the sound of the defeated, but of the defeater.  Jesus made the sound of a rushing army, overcoming the enemy and shouting out victory.

The centurion realized that Jesus went into death conquering.  Jesus was not simply being overcome; Jesus was overcoming.  Jesus was defeating the enemy, not being defeated.  Jesus was not weak, but strong.  When the centurion saw this, he couldn’t help but realize that he was face-to-face with someone greater than Caesar, greater than death itself.

The centurion recognized a fellow warrior when he saw one.

What did Jesus conquer?  He conquered your sin.  He conquered your slavery to the things you don’t want to do, but you just can’t help it.  He conquered your punishment—this means that God will never punish you, if you’re relying on him.  Jesus conquered your guilt and your shame, the stuff that you just can’t get rid of.  Jesus conquered your judgment.  Jesus conquered your separation from God.  Nothing is keeping you from God anymore.  Jesus conquered your death.  One day, his victory will be your victory, and you can rise from the grave like him.

The centurion recognized a King when he saw one.  Do you?

© Samuel Kee, 2012

In Knowing God , , , , , , , , , , ,
permalink

Why did he do it?

samuel kee —  March 31, 2012 — Leave a comment

God didn’t want to go another day without you.

“I’m gay.”  That’s what the note said.  It was the last thing his teenage son wrote before he hung himself in the attic.  That was the second personal tragedy in my friend’s life.  First, his wife left him.  Now, alone in his home with the cold body of his son, he was enduring what no father should have to go through.  It’s just not right.  My friend thought to himself, “Had my son only known how much I loved him and that what he wrote on the note didn’t matter.”

Just over a year later, the police came to the workplace of my friend.  More bad news.  They told him that his other son had been shot, as he was trying to break up a fight between two others.  In case you’re doubting, this is a true story—and it’s just not right.  No father should have to go through what my friend did.

It’s been many years since these tragedies, but no amount of time can take away the sting.

It’s been many years since another tragedy, in fact, it’s been many centuries.  But that sickening feeling in the gut remains.  No father should have to go through what this Father had to go through.

And it’s just not right.  That’s the thought you’re supposed to have when you hear about the life and death of Jesus.  Any honest reading of Mark’s Gospel will give you this feeling.  The historian and writer Mark spends most of his ink establishing Jesus as God’s Son.  The first fourteen chapters of his book are loaded with descriptions of Jesus’ divinity, power, perfection, and right to the helm of the cosmos.  Jesus was God’s Son: he healed the sick, made the blind to see and the deaf to hear.  He displayed stunning power over demons and nature.  Quite literally, Jesus walked on water.

No person ever lived like he.  No human had a resume like his.  He didn’t just act like God, he was God.  All honor and glory should be his.  He ought to have the right over every life, to dispose of every creature as he wished.  Indeed, he ought to exercise that right, especially given what we’ve done to our world and to each other.  We are so dark and he is so pure.

Then Mark turns the corner in his book in chapter 14.  He begins to take him down a few notches.  He narrates the humiliation of Jesus.

What did this humiliation look like?  Jesus was betrayed by one of his closest followers (14:43).  He was lied about, slandered, and testified against (14:56).  He was spit upon and slapped (14:65).  He was outright disowned (14:71).  He was legally accused (15:3).  He was judged less than a murderer, who was released (15:11).  He was mocked by a fake robe and a crown of thorns, struck on the head, stripped, tortured, and ultimately crucified (15:17-20).  On top of that, his remaining possessions were stolen from him (15:24) and everyone passing by his lifeless body reviled him (15:32).

After knowing what you know about Jesus and then reading how it all turns out, your overwhelming sensation should be, “That’s just not right.”

Anyone with a pulse should have the same moral outrage as that of my friend, if you truly grasp the significance of Jesus’ death.  This isn’t to minimize the pain that my friend went through, but to recalibrate your view of Jesus.  It was a tragedy.  God’s Son should never have to go through what he went through.

So why did he do it?  Why was he abused?  Why was he humiliated?

Because God didn’t want to go another day without you.  It feels like I’m committing an indecency even writing these words, but they are utterly true.  God chose to forsake his Son so that he could forgive you.  God crushed his boy in order to welcome you into his arms.  God, help me as I say this—God felt the same moral outrage at the thought of losing you, as we feel at the thought of losing a child.  God looked at you, seeing what might become of you if he didn’t intervene, and said, “That is not right.”

© Samuel Kee, 2012

In Cultural Issues, Finding Hope, Knowing God , , , , , , , , , ,
permalink

Honk if you (don’t) love Jesus

samuel kee —  March 13, 2012 — Leave a comment

The sign betrays too much about our beliefs

I saw one of those obnoxious church signs that read, “Honk if you love Jesus, text if you want to meet him.”  Now, I understand what the sign is getting at: if you text while driving, you might die.  At first this was funny to me, but the more I thought about it, the less funny it became.  Think about it.  The sign is using something that is wonderful (being with Jesus) and turning it into a crime deterrent (don’t text while driving).  In other words, it was saying, “You had better not do this crime, or else you’ll have to go see your heavenly Creator…”  Can you imagine what God must thinking?  His beloved children are using him to keep themselves from doing stupid and illegal things.  “Oh, how God’s heart must weep at the thought that his children do not want to see him.”[1]

Don’t hear me wrongly, I am not approving of texting while driving. Neither am I saying that we should kill ourselves just so we can be with God.  What I am saying is, why bring God into this?  Why not just say something like, “Texting while driving is reckless and might kill someone.”  I know that’s not too catchy, but it at least it’s honest and not self-centered.  At least it puts others before yourself.  For the sake of your neighbor, please don’t text while driving.

The sign betrays too much about our beliefs, even the default assumptions of Christians: death is loss.  True Christianity, in contrast, flies in the face of such atheism.  “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain,” says the Apostle Paul (Philippians 1:21).  Then he goes on to say, “If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me.  Yet which I shall choose I cannot tell.  I am hard pressed between the two.  My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better.” (Philippians 1:22-23).  Paul actually struggles between living here on earth and living in heaven with God.  To the Christian, one is just as real as the other.  Actually, to the Christian, to be with Christ is “far better.”

Please don’t hear me being a radical, fundamental, grumpy Christian, who hates life and all forms of comedy (the sign actually is kind of funny).  Rather, hear me challenging your worldview.  Have we truly grasped the implications of our faith?  If we have, then we’ll operate out of the same longings as Paul.  We will fully realize that death will actually make us better, happier, and more real, not less.  We’ll stop being afraid, stop holding back, and stop being intimidated, for to die is gain, not loss.  Upon death, we will cash in, receiving all of longings of our hearts and more joy than we could ever handle.  We’ll be in the presence of a God who can’t stop loving us, beautifying us, and serving us (Ephesians 5:25-27).

The farther we drift from the reality of God in heaven, the heavier our hearts will become on earth.

© Samuel Kee, 2012

[1] This is a paraphrase of a quote that I heard from Tim Keller, I believe.

In Cultural Issues, Knowing God , , , , , , , , ,
permalink

Hands

samuel kee —  January 31, 2012 — 1 Comment

In the grip of Christ, we have no need.

My dad drew up my hand and placed it next to my grandfather’s, who was in the casket.  He then placed his next to mine, so that all three were in a row, saying, “You see, Sammy, where you get your hands?”  My young eyes noticed the similarities between my grandpa’s hands, my dad’s, and my own.  Each had the same wrinkly skin and stubby strength, passed on from generation to generation.  In that moment, as a little boy, I learned more than just genetics; I learned that everyone you love, will leave you, no matter how strong his hands.

Our safety in life is not found in all the trivial and temporary things that can be stripped away in a second.  Our comfort in life is not found in plans, pleasures, power, or people, for all will vanish.  If we place ourselves into their greasy hands, we will slip right out.  These things will always let you down.  People will always let you down, your possessions will always let you down, pleasures will always let you down.  None of these have hands that are fit to hold the human soul.

So what should you give yourself to and where is your solace found?  Recently, some have said that religion is not the answer.  They are quick to point out that Religion will let us down, too—that religion hurts, drops, kills.  It is graspless.

When your friends fail, when your money disappears, when your reputation is tattered, where is your comfort to be found?  Even more, when your life itself refuses to breathe again, what is your comfort in death?  What will hold you then?

It seems that we need hands that have been both to heaven and earth.  We need hands that hold the power of the cosmos and that hold the palm of the child.  We need hands that have thrust the stars into their orbits and that have thrust the heart into the human.  We need hands that have both the power to heal and the tenderness to hold.

The hands of Jesus Christ are the hands for us.  Not only did they spin the world into motion, but also they touched the oozing sores of a leper and dried the tears of a prostitute.  They wakened the universe with power and they writhed in pain from mortal nails.  His hands were both divine and dead, miraculous and mortal.

The holes in his hands are a portal through which heaven and earth touch.  And that is where he holds us.  That is our solace and comfort.  That is where we will never be shaken, the spot from which we will never be let go.  In the grip of Christ, we have no need.  In the grip of Christ, we can let go of our troubles, our idols, and our self-definitions.

What is truly, deeply, our only comfort?  Even the most non-religious person can see that our comfort is not in what we can hold onto, for our grasp is so weak and the natural course of this life rips everything out of our grip.  My solace and comfort come not from what I can hold onto, but from Whom is holding onto me.

So reads the Heidelberg Catechism, “What is your only comfort in life and in death?”  The answer: “That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.”

You belong to Jesus Christ and he will never let go of you.

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation.  For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him.  And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together.[1]

© Samuel Kee, 2012

[1] Colossians 1:15-17, ESV.

In Finding Hope, Knowing God , , , , , , , , ,
permalink

Why Do We Have to Die?

samuel kee —  July 21, 2011 — Leave a comment

Our DNA is set to die.

“Daddy, if Jesus died for us, then why do we still have to die?”  My son, who was four at the time, was still trying to make sense of his grandpa’s recent passing.  He was looking to me for answers.  I was struck by the depth of his question, born from experience, no less.  At this point, dads, don’t rely on mom to answer the tough questions.  When we’re asked to step up to the plate, we must do so with courage.  If you don’t know the answer to your child’s tough questions, then do what ever it takes to figure it out.

I told him the story of Ulysses and the Cyclops in Homer’s Odyssey.  The Cyclops was a savage beast with one eye and as tall as a tree.  He managed to lure Ulysses and his men into his cave and then roll a stone in front of the entrance, so that they were trapped and could not escape.  But one night, the men managed to blind the Cyclops while he was sleeping.  Then, they were able to escape!

Before we can escape from the cave, the Cyclops must be defeated.  Applying this to my son’s question, the cave represents death and the Cyclops represents sin.  The assumption behind my son’s question is that humans are alive.  Though this is hard to explain to a four-year-old, we must realize that we are not alive.  Though our bodies are alive physically, our souls are dead spiritually.  Scripture affirms this: “And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked.” (Ephesians 2:1-2).

This means that we are already dead; we start off in the cave.  The question is virtually unanswerable if we are alive; as my son said, then it makes no sense that we have to die if Christ already died for us.  But what if Scripture is right in saying that we are not alive, but dead?  Then it’s not a matter of figuring out why we still have to die, but how we can escape from the cave.

The real question is: “How can I escape from the cave of death?”  You see, we were born into the cave and have never lived outside of the cave.  Worse still, we’re being guarded by a monstrous Cyclops who keeps his eye on us at all times.  The only way for us to escape from the cave is if someone deals with the Cyclops.

The Cyclops, remember, is sin.  Someone has to deal with our sin, which is the power inside of the cave (“the sting of death is sin” according to 1 Corinthians 15:56 ), before we can escape from the death-cave.

Whether we like it or not, we are born inside of the cave; there’s nothing we can do about that.  Our DNA is set to die, following the course our souls have already blazed.

By understanding this, we can now see what Jesus’ death does for us.  His death on the cross destroys the Cyclops in the cave.  Though Ulysses and his men merely blind the Cyclops and manage to escape through trickery, Jesus finishes the job.  Jesus utterly destroys death, leaving it limp and powerless.  Having destroyed death, we are free to leave the cave.

This means that we do not have to stay in death any longer.  Did I say that we no longer have to die?  No, I did not.  I said that we no longer have to stay in death.  Remember, we were born inside of the cave; we all will die eventually (excluding the miraculous return of Christ).  But Jesus’ death on the cross means that we do not have to stay in death.  Since Jesus defeated sin, we are free to rise to life.  Or, as the Apostle Paul puts it, “But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our sins, made us alive together with Christ.” (Ephesians 2:4-5).

Because God loves us so much, he defeated sin so that we could escape from death.  Because God loves us so much, he made dead people come alive.  Jesus died for us, not to spare us from death, but to save us from death.  Had Jesus not done that, then we would remain forever in death, a torturous existence apart from God.

Now that Jesus has defeated sin, grab hold of him and let him pull you out of death.  The part about the resurrection of Jesus that thrills me the most is the fact that I can hold onto Jesus and let him pull me to life.  Feel the force of the resurrection pulling you back to life, out of the cave, out of the grave.

Jesus died for us so that we could finally live.  Every fiber in your being should ache at the prospect of coming alive at last.

© Samuel Kee, 2011

In Finding Hope, Knowing God , , , , , ,
permalink

Letter to Hostile Friend

samuel kee —  June 22, 2011 — 1 Comment

That's just how we Christians roll.

Dear Hostile Friend,

You give Christians a hard time and make fun of us for what we believe, but I just wanted you to know a few things (since you didn’t bother to ask).  I just want you to know that at any moment, I would take a punch for you.  Did you know that?  If push came to shove and I needed to take one on the chin for you, I’d do it.  Why?  Because I’m a soldier in Christ’s Army and those are my orders from him.

I would also give you my car, if you should need it.  In fact, I’ve done that before.  And I never got a thanks in return.  But that’s okay, because I didn’t want any thanks; I did it freely, with no strings attached.  That’s just the way we Christians roll.  We make incredible sacrifices for others; we know that God owns everything anyway, so it is up to him to decide where his stuff ends up.  If you need my television, then fine, you can have it.  Do you need my washing machine?  It’s yours.  In fact, if you ask for the coat off of my back, I’ll give you my shirt and shoes, as well.  They’re just clothes.

So while you’re mocking me, I’m thinking of ways to bless you.  Sorry, I just can’t help it—for I’ve been blessed so much already.  God has given me so much mercy and grace when I deserved only punishment and wrath.  God sent his Son to die in my place so that I could escape from the penalty of my sin.  And after I die, I’ll actually rise from the grave and live forever in God’s kingdom, a place of unquenchable love and happiness.  So it doesn’t really matter what you say or do to me here.

In fact, and I was thinking about this just the other day, if the circumstances arose that should require me to give my life for yours, I would do it in a heartbeat.  Again, that’s how we Christians roll.  I do not fear death and I do not fear mockery.  I am secure in the hands of my Savior Jesus.  He will never let go of me.

So go ahead and mock me, threaten me, and push me around.  It doesn’t phase me.  Go ahead and make me the butt of all your jokes.  Keep it coming.  I don’t care.  I’ll keep praying for you, weeping for you, and thinking of ways to sacrifice myself and my rights so that you can know the love of my God.

You think I’m weak?  A doormat?  A loser?  Or is it just that I have nothing to prove?  I will do whatever it takes to show you God’s unconditional love.  When you strike one cheek, I’ll give you my other cheek to strike; I’m so tough that I don’t need the approval of others, unlike you.  You mock others because you’ve never felt God’s love for you and you’re desperately trying to prove that you’re somebody, that you’re worth it.

Friend, I just want you to know that you are worth it.  Even though you and I were both enemies of God, he killed himself on a cross for us anyway.  That’s just how he rolls.  Now our worth does not come from how much better than others we think we are, but from how much God was willing to give for us.  And he gave his Son for us in an utter bloodbath.

I don’t know if this little note will change anything between us, probably not.  But in the meantime, know that every time you make fun of me, my heart aches for you out of pure love.

Your friend,

Christian

© Samuel Kee, 2011

In Knowing God, Relationships , , , , , , , ,
permalink

Freedom

samuel kee —  June 15, 2011 — Leave a comment

There are no more debts to be paid.

Every criminal who was executed by crucifixion in Ancient Rome had a “notice of charges” posted on the cross above the head.  The notice of charges was handwritten by those overseeing the execution, giving a public report of why the criminal was being put to death.  It told you why the person was being executed and what debt he owed.  His execution was the method for paying the outstanding debt written above his head; the notice of charges was “paid in full” upon the last breath of the criminal.

Put like that, each person who has ever lived has a notice of charges, a handwritten statement of wrongs he or she has committed, hanging above his or her head.  Our notice of charges is our “Admit One” ticket to destruction.  It’s the debt we owe and eventually we’ll have to pay for it.

This means that now we’re as good as dead: the charges have been written out already, whether we realize it or not.  We each owe a debt to God, which must be paid in order to uphold goodness and justice.  My notice of charges includes all of the wrongs I have committed in the past and all the wrongs I will commit in the future.  It’s a long and painful record of wrongs, proof of my rebellion against God my King.  God is not dead; I am dead to God.

Now I can understand what is meant in Colossians 2:13-15:

13You were dead because of your sins and because your sinful nature was not yet cut away. Then God made you alive with Christ, for he forgave all our sins. 14He canceled the record of the charges against us and took it away by nailing it to the cross. 15In this way, he disarmedthe spiritual rulers and authorities. He shamed them publicly by his victory over them on the cross.

I was dead, but then God made me alive.  Notice first that only God can make us alive.  No matter how hard we try to “feel alive” by the things we do or consume, we will fail.  Only God can make us alive.  He does it by forgiving our sins, which have kept a stranglehold on our existence, squeezing the life right out of us.

He forgave our sins by cancelling the record of the charges against us!  In other words, he took away our notice of charges and gave it to someone else to pay for it.  On whose cross did it go?  God took away our notice of charges “by nailing it to the cross” of his Son Jesus.  My notice of charges was given to Jesus and he died beneath it, for it.

Jesus paid the debt that I owed.  He died for my crimes so that I could go free.  My debt is forever cancelled.  Forever.  Forever.

I owe nothing more; my debt is paid in full by Jesus.  I know this to be true because of the resurrection.  The resurrection is the reward of a sufficient sacrifice.  When God looked at his Son Jesus on the cross, it’s as if God asked himself, “Has all the debt of all the sinners of all time, been paid in full?  If so, then death can no longer hold Jesus in the grave.”  Death can only keep its grip so long as there’s debt still to be paid.  But if every last cent of every sinner’s debt has been paid, then death no longer has any power to keep Jesus in the grave.

That being the case, since Jesus had exhausted the power of death by exacting every debt, God said to his Son, “Rise!”  There are no more debts to pay; they are paid in full.  The resurrection is proof of our freedom just as the cross is proof of our forgiveness.

There is nothing left for us to do, but give our lives to Jesus and accept the payment that he has made for us.  The only debt that we owe is love for God and to experience lifelong love from God.

© Samuel Kee, 2011

In Finding Hope, Knowing God , , , , , , , , ,
permalink

Question of Death

samuel kee —  January 13, 2011 — 1 Comment

Because he died for us, he made death safe for us.

I was sitting in my sons’ room on their brown carpet, reading the Bible to them.  One of my sons, after listening to me talk about the cross, asked me, “Daddy, if Jesus died for us, then why do we still have to die?”  He was thinking about and missing his grandpa who had died a year before. 

If Jesus died for us, then why do we still have to die?  What an important question, which gets to the fundamental meaning of the cross.  Jesus did not die for our immortality, but for our sins.  In other words, he did not die so that we could be free from death, but so that we could be free from sin.  When Jesus died for us, he died for that which was terribly wrong with us, our good standing before God. 

The thing that is most wrong with us is not our appearance or our personality.  The worst thing about us is not our social life or our lack of accomplishments.  The thing that needs the most attention is not our beauty, or lack thereof.  The part of us that needs the most help is our standing before God.  That is what Jesus died to fix.

Jesus died in order to bring us back to God.  He loved us way too much to lose us. 

Jesus died in order to bring us back to God, not to keep us from dying at all.  As great as it would be not to die, even greater is being with God, if you can comprehend that.  The greatest thing that God could do for you is to give you more of himself, not more of yourself, that is, more physical life.

Our DNA is set to die; however, because Jesus died for us, he has joined us on the journey.  And having disarmed the power of death, which is sin, he made it safe for us to travel through.  We will make it through to the other side.

I like to picture a plot of earth that is infested with mines.  Ground like that is completely unsafe to travel through.  But then along comes a minesweeper, who sweeps through the area and neutralizes all of the bombs.  The minesweeper makes the area completely safe to travel through. 

Jesus swept through death and made it safe for us to go through.  There will be no more explosions.  Jesus absorbed all of the bombs against his perfect soul, taking their wrath for us.  Because he died for us, he made death safe for us.  We will make it through to the other side. 

And, so long as we’re at it, he’ll make sure that our loved ones make it safely to the other side, as well.  This means that we will always be together with those who have died trusting in Jesus.   

 © 2010 by Samuel Kee

In Knowing God , , , , , , ,
permalink