May 29, 2013 · 4:05 pm

Run, Robb, Run!

Running has become a huge part of my life.  Running in official races has been one of the most important factors my transformation.  Since February 2012, I have have gone from 325 pounds to 250 pounds.  In June 2012 I ran my first 5K in just under 36 minutes.  I ran three more in 2012, trimming minutes off of each of my times.  Throughout the winter, I continued to train.  In March 2013 I knocked off almost 5 minutes from my personal best.  All of these races have come within the span of a year.  Eventually this crazy rate of improvement will slow down.

June 2012 – Susan G Kommen Race for the Cure – 36:00 (12 minute mile)

July 2012 – Firecracker 5K – 35:15 (just under 12 minute mile)

August 2012 – Crimestoppers 5K – 33:47 (11 minute mile)

October 2012 – Lagomarcino’s Cocoa Beano 5K – 31:40 (just over 10 minute mile)

March 2013 – St. Patrick’s Day 5K – 26:52 (under a 9 minute mile)

May 2013 – Soldier Field 10 Mile – 1:38.30 (10 minute mile)

The Soldier Field 10 was the most rewarding run yet.  After crossing the finish line I was able to pause for a moment and reflect on what I had just accomplished.  When I registered for the race in January, I had set a goal of finishing in 1:50.00.  By the time of the race, I had moved my goal up to 1:40.00.  I knew that a 10-minute-mile pace was going to be tough.  It was tough, but I made it.

Before the race. Soldier Field is a such a beautiful place. It’s too bad that they had that UFO land in the middle of it.
There were 12000 people that ran the race. We were gathered in corrals. The starting system was ingenious and really kept things moving. Right from the beginning of the race, there was plenty of room to run. I did a lot of passing, and never really had trouble getting through traffic.
Before the race. Someone asked me what I was listening to. At this point, I had not turned on the music. I listening to books during long runs. They seem to keep my calm, whereas music can play with my emotions. At about the sixth mile I turned on the music for an emotional lift. Mumford and Sons was the soundtrack for my last few miles.
At about the sixth mile I was starting to get tired. After the emotional lift of passing the halfway point, I was in need of another lift. Then Mumford and Sons’ “Awake My Soul” came on just as this spectacular view came into focus. It was an amazing jolt of energy. I raised my hands in praise as I ran and said a prayer of thanksgiving.
believe this was shortly before the 8 mile mark. The stadium was tantalizingly close.
Very early in the race I started to repeat to myself, “this is for my girls, but it is because of my Angel.” I was doing this for my daughters, but I was only able to do it because of my wife. As I ran, the mantra came over and over “For them. Because of her.” At eight miles I was starting to wear down. My legs had never been so tired. So I pulled out the phone and texted Sarah. “8 miles done for them. Because of you.”
I snapped this picture as I was running. Sarah was waiting for me about a hundred yards after this. I got a little choked up when I saw her. I was so happy because when I saw her I knew I was going to make it under my goal.
As we ran through the innards of the stadium, “Bear Down” was being played. That was a cool touch. This was the view as we emerged from the tunnel. It was a very nice moment.
Inside the stadium after the race. After making such a big deal about being able to finish inside Soldier Field, the organizers were really trying to herd us through to the exits. I paused long enough to catch my breath, and there were people telling me to move on. I didn’t. I lingered. I had just run for 98 minutes to get onto that field, I was going to savor it.
I took this shot of the finish line before I left the field.
After the race, a young man in uniform gave me this medal. It seemed backwards. I shook his hand firmly and thanked him for the medal, and for his service.
Sarah said later that was probably the best seat she will ever have in Soldier Field. I was so glad she was there. It would have been cool if my daughters had been there, but it would have been tough getting them there that early. This was a very nice moment when I hugged her and thanked her for helping me get this far.
The medal is nice. Not sure what to do with it now, though. I just took out my schedule of runs for the summer. My next goals are a sub 25-minute 5K, and a half marathon.

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May 24, 2013 · 11:21 am

Woman of Valor

mccoys girlsShe is my partner.  She is my strength, my inspiration, and my teammate.  We are Team Robb and Sarah, and we are a formidable pair.  We are undefeated.

I just finished reading Rachel Held Evan’s “A Year of Biblical Womanhood.”  It is one of the best books I’ve read in a long time.  In it, Evans describes her year of trying to live out all the rules for women in the Bible as literally as  possible.  She examines Proverbs 31, and digs deeply into Paul’s teaching about women speaking in church.  She re-discovers inspiring Biblical women, some named, some anonymous that must never be forgotten.  The book is about a lot of things.  It is about the Bible.  It is about a self-avowed feminist calling her husband “Master.”  It is about discovering ancient spiritual practices, communing with Quakers, and the value of a well-baked loaf of cholla bread.

As I read the book, I was enlightened by her expert examination of the Biblical texts.  I was touched by her vulnerability when sharing her fears about motherhood.  I laughed with her when she made mistakes, and worried with her as she prepared meals.  Evans’s writing grabbed me, and invited me not only into her experience, but into the Biblical stories in a refreshing and powerful way.

Perhaps her greatest achievement in the book was the way she re-framed Proverbs 31.  She takes a passage that is so often used (abused) to describe the ideal of Biblical womanhood, and transforms it.  Instead of being a nearly impossible prescription for what a woman should do, it is really a love song to men reminding them of all that women are able to do.  It is not a checklist for women, but a reminder for men.  I read this chapter in the Nashville Airport, and had tears streaming down my face.  I wondered if Sarah knew how amazing she truly is, and I worried that I had not done enough to let her know.  I felt compelled to take her, hold her, and tell her “You are amazing.  You are strong.  You are brave.  You are a woman of valor, and I am honored to be your husband.”

Evans’s book is about a lot of things, but to me it is above all a love story.  It is a story not just of a woman, but of a team; Team Dan and Rachel, they call it.

Tomorrow I am going to run the Soldier Field 10.  It is the next step in my journey to love God, live well, and do good.  Less than one year ago I ran in my first 5K.  Sarah and I did it together, and afterwards we nearly collapsed in each others’ arms.  At that 5K, I was able to jog for the first two miles, and had to walk/jog most of the third mile.  I finished 3.1 miles in about 35 minutes, which bested my goal of a 12-minute-mile pace.  Tomorrow, my goal is to run 10 miles in 100 minutes.  I don’t know if I can do it, but I know how far I’ve come.

I have only been able to do what I’ve done because of Sarah.  All along I’ve said I’m doing this for my daughters.  I’ve done this so I can see them grow up.  I’ve done it so I can carry them up the stairs at night and not be winded.  I’ve done it so that I will see them in caps and gowns and white dresses and business suits and hospital gowns.  I have done it for my daughters, but I’ve done it because of Sarah.  Tomorrow we are going to conquer the Soldier Field 10.  We have already conquered so much.

We have conquered ten (almost eleven) years of marriage.  We have conquered selfishness and over-sensitivity.  We have conquered snarky comments, rolled-eyes, and cold shoulders.  We have weathered floods, heat waves, Snowpocalypse, and power outages.  We have screamed and cried and punched walls.  We have laid in bed at night and pondered the great mysteries of faith, the universe, and life itself.  We have struggled with Scripture and shared in prayer and Communion.

We have grown, sometimes kicking and screaming, into a faith that embraces wonder and gray.  We have laughed hysterically and spit drinks out.  We have celebrated wildly and emptied a few bottles of wine.  We have built enduring, life-giving friendships.  We have endured sickness, and mourned loss.  We have started the arduous and amazing task of raising two girls in a world that is full of danger.  They have lost a tooth, but have broken no bones.  We met after a Theta Chi party 15 years ago, and because of that night I cannot believe the saying that “Nothing good ever happens after 2 a.m.”

Tomorrow when we conquer the Soldier Field 10, I might be the one that crosses the line, but she will be there. It will be her power that gets me there.  No, it will be our shared power.  It is the power that we share with Christ, who conquered even death.  It is our shared power that has given us strength to conquer all things.  It is our shared power that will guide us into the future, ready to face the next challenge, the next Mount Laundry, the next 10 miles, the next ten years, the next chapter in our shared lives.

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“Following Christ means you surrender your right to apathy.”

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May 2, 2013 · 12:54 pm
April 26, 2013 · 1:24 pm

Sermon: Jesus saved a seat

This was my Maundy Thursday sermon this year.  It was largely inspired by an insight I received while watching Adam Hamilton’s 24 Hours That Changed the World DVD study.  In it, he asserts that Jesus and Judas must have been sitting next to each other at the last supper.  As the story is told, it was Judas that was seated at a position of honor, even as he was the one that was to betray Jesus.  Knowing Judas’s heart, what did Jesus do? He broke bread with him.  This was an incredible act of grace, and forms the heart of this sermon.

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April 24, 2013 · 3:06 pm

Sermon: You are the light of the world.

I wonder in this world, how many people have never been told that they are the light of the world.  How many people, how many children?  How many adults have lived their whole lives and no one has ever said to them, “You are the light of the world.  You are the light of my world”? How tragic that is.  There is somebody out there, maybe sitting right here. Maybe its a neighbor or a co-worker.  Maybe it is someone that comes to our community dinner, or someone that we serve at The Wardrobe.  Maybe there is someone you sit next to on an airplane or someone you see at the grocery store, or the waitress you will have at lunch after church.  There is somebody that has never been told, “You are the light of the World.”  There are people out there in the world living that have never been told that they are the light of the world.  But I’m here to tell you, every single one of you, that you are the light of the world.  But its not just my words, no one cares if I think you are.  Jesus Christ, the Son of the Most High thinks you are the light of the world.  You.

For the full sermon, click here.

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April 16, 2013 · 9:10 am

Light of the World: Be the Change

A portion of the poem, “Light of the World:Be the Change”

Our world was left smudged, marred and despondent
Until…..
Mercy ran back into carnage and extended its human hand

Read the rest of the poem at the Queen Book Buff blog

Light of the World: Be the Change.

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The Queen Book Buff is a book lover. She is a Mom, a reader, a Christian in ministry, a writer, and a wee bit royal. She blogs about her joyful journey with books. It is a beautiful blog. She is one of the people in this world that calls me “pastor,” and every time she does, I am humbled. And it pleases me to call her friend.

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April 14, 2013 · 9:50 am

You are the light of the world.

Part Two of my story of Godspell. Read part one here.

Click here to go to the full sermon, where I talk about our experience with Godspell, called “You are the Light of the World.”  From 11:30-20:00, I talk more extensively about the salt and the light as found in Matthew 5:13-14.

Our Riverside UMC "Godspell" cast

Our Riverside UMC “Godspell” cast

“You are the light of the world,” I sang. And then I went home and reflected on the amazing thing we had just done. Godspell had forever changed me, but in the hours after the show I don’t think I had any idea just how much.

“You are the light of the world,” we all sang. Dino Hayz, director of the Center for Living Arts and our Jesus, went out into the audience. He grabbed someone and had them stand up so we could all sing to that one particular person, “You are the salt of the earth.” Then quickly to another man he dashed. He got him to stand up so we could point to him and sing, “You are the city of God.” Finally, he found one last woman. She was sitting near the back, and we sang one more time, “You are the light of the world.”

It was the last song before intermission. We left the sanctuary rocking. We were half way home, and we all sensed that things were going well. None of our rehearsals suggested that the show would go as smoothly as it had been. At the end of the show, after singing the beautiful refrain “We can build a beautiful city, yes we can. Yes we can. We can build a beautiful city. Not a city of angels, but finally a city of man,” I felt a great sense of accomplishment.

After the show a woman approached me. She told me that she had a great time. She loved the music, and she was so glad she could come. For years, she told me, she had a Playbill from the original Broadway production. She also had an album she had never played. For years she had kind of wondered what Godspell was, and when she saw us in the paper, she decided on a whim to come check it out. I told her how happy I was that she was there, and invited her to come again to worship with us.

The next day I was talking to our head usher about what a great experience the show was. We were marveling at the amount of people that came, and how many people came that were not a part of our church. I told him about the woman I talked to after the show, and he quickly realized that he knew who I was talking about.

“Yeah, I was talking to her at intermission. She seemed like she was looking for something, and I wanted to help her. I saw her and said, ‘You are the light of the world,’ she was one of the people that you guys sang to when Dino got her to stand up.'”
She kind of laughed when I said that,” Tom told me. “And then she said, ‘No one has ever called me that before.'”

I got goosebumps when he told me that, and I thanked Tom for telling me about their exchange. Then I went back into my office and was overwhelmed. Something washed over me that I can only describe as the Holy Spirit as I prayed “Thank you God.” Tears started to flow, and my efforts at standing became feeble. I literally fell to my knees in tears as I was struck at once with an overwhelming sense of awe, wonder, sadness, joy, and purpose. “No one has ever called me that before,” she said.

There were so many moments that made Godspell a memorable experience. If it were not for Tom’s story, I would have counted it as a great memory. I would have remembered the impromptu rehearsals in the kitchen with my wife and daughter as we sang and danced together. I would have remembered Molly gently nudging me into the right place so I was ready to be one of the priests in the Good Samaritan parable. I would have remembered the prayer we shared before the show. I would have remembered hugging Dino during the farewell song, and whispering to him. “Thank you, brother.” With or without that conversation with Tom I would have relished in the glow of accomplishing something as a team.

After hearing the story of the woman that had never been told that she was the light of the world though, I had something more.

“You are the light of the world,” is not just a catchy line in a pretty song in an upbeat musical.
“You are the light of the world,” are Jesus’ words to his followers. They are words from what we call The Sermon on the Mount as found in Matthew 5-6. It is a small part of Jesus’ dissertation about what it means to live in this world.

“You are the light of the world.” It is a claim on those that had gathered. It is an assurance of what Jesus’ followers are, and what they shall be.

“You are the light of the world,” Jesus said so long ago.

“You are the light of the world,” Jesus declares today. You.

So let your light so shine. There is a light that is within you that is good. There is a light within you that is of God. There is a light within you that needs to be seen. I think for a moment of the children in this world that have never been told that they are the light of anyone’s world, and it breaks my heart. I think for a moment of people stuck in abusive relationships, allowing their light to be crushed, and I want to scream. I think for a moment of youth that want only to hide and be as invisible as possible so as not to draw anyone’s attention, and it kills me to know that they have never been told, “You were created in the very image of God. The light that God created at the very moment of creation. That is in you. Hear Jesus crying to you, ‘You are the light of the world.'”

That little musical gave me a lot of things. It gave me memories. It gave me friendships. It gave me knowledge about myself. And it gave me a renewed sense of purpose. It gave me a way to think about my mission as a follower of Christ.
I will strive to never allow another man, woman, or child pass me by without letting them know, in no uncertain terms, that they are the light of the world.

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April 12, 2013 · 2:00 pm

I love it when a plan comes together

PART ONE of my story about GODSPELL
My wife and I during rehearsal. In the show, this became one of the little bits of magic onto which I will forever hold. Every time we rehearsed this, 'Jesus' cuts in and stops us from dancing. And I was supposed to say, "Yeah, but she's so, so..." Every time in rehearsal, I said something different to end that line. Nothing I tried ever felt right. Then during the show, I looked at her and our eyes met, and my heart melted again, and I finished my line perfectly "she's an angel."

My wife and I during rehearsal. In the show, this became one of the little bits of magic which I will forever cherish. Every time we rehearsed this, ‘Jesus’ cuts in and stops us from dancing. And I was supposed to say, “Yeah, but she’s so, so…” Every time in rehearsal, I said something different to end that line. Nothing I tried ever felt right. Then during the show, I looked at her and our eyes met, and my heart melted again, and I finished my line perfectly “she’s an angel.”

I messed up my line every time in rehearsal.  I only had two lines, and mine was the first line of the song.  There was no warm-up.  No lead-in.  No chance to find my way in the song.  No chance to start slow and pick up momentum.  It was just cue music, grab mic, and sing.  Sing.

I’ve held a mic on “stage” before hundreds of times.  I’ve given sermons, speeches, toasts, and prayers in front of large crowds and small gatherings.  I’ve even sung in front of people before, but always as a member of a choir.  I had not been nervous in a church in years.  Yet I knew my line was coming.  From the moment the previous song started I was already thinking about it. My turn to clutch that mic and sing was coming.

Every time in rehearsal I had messed it up.  I came in late.  Or I was way off key.  Or I botched the wording.  Up until the show I was ‘ofer.’  I should have been terrified.  It thought I was going to be terrified, but here’s the crazy thing, when it came time for my two-line solo, I wasn’t nervous.  I sang it.  “You are the light of the world,” I said as I pointed to one of the people in the audience.  And then the ensemble came in behind me  “You are the light of the world.”  I felt good, so I kept going.  I don’t know if I was off-key or not.  I knew at this point the only mistake I could make was to hold back.  “But if that light’s under a bushel, it’s lost something kind of crucial,” I sang. And for a moment, if only in my mind, I was Donnie Osmond as Joseph or Michael Crawford as the Phantom.  I was hooked.

A few months ago I sat in a coffee shop and met with the Director of the Center for Living Arts, Dino Hayz.  The Center is one of those little gems you find in old cities.  It is not a big theater, but it has a lot of heart.  Focusing mostly on youth theater, the Center specializes in doing quality shows quickly.  Before there was a Center though, there was Dino and his wife and friends that put together a company to do Godspell in churches.  They have been doing Godspell in churches for over ten years.  They consider it their life’s ministry to spread the message of love and community that is a part of Godspell to as many people as possible.  “It’s not so much a musical,” he explained to me, as it is an experience.  “I want people to experience Christ’s love through what is happening all around them.”

We sat together and talked about an idea.  It was an idea hatched by our children’s minister months (years?) before.  What if we did Godspell together at our church?  What could we create if we took a few of the experienced members of Dino’s company, and did Godspell with the talented and willing people from our church?  What if, instead of them doing Godspell at our church, we did it together with our church?

I left that lunch knowing that we were embarking on something good.  I had no idea just how magnificent it would become.

On the day of our placement auditions, I wondered who would come.  On the first night it was clear that we had created something special.  20 people came.  There were two kindergartners, a handful of junior high and senior high youth.  There were a couple of adults who had never been in a show before.  There were a few remarkably talented singers.  There was a senior member of our church choir, and regular singer from our praise band.  We ranged in age from 5-65(ish).  We were men and women, boys and girls.  Some brought members of their family in the journey with them, others came with friends.  Some came eagerly.  Some came only because they were dragged, almost literally, from other tasks.  We were scared, excited, and willing.

We supported each other.  As each person took turns singing a few lines a capella from a song of their choice  we cheered.  At least one youth simply had someone standing next to her for support, so she wouldn’t have to stand alone.  The truth was, none of us were alone.  On the very first night we were creating the community that Godspell is about.  From moment one, we were living the musical.  On that night, each one of us put a pebble in our shoe and called it “dare.”

They say live theater gets in your blood.  People talk about it in the same way they talk about addiction.  Intellectually, I accepted that it must be true, but until the word “crucial” left my lips, I had never experienced anything like it.  

Being a part of this production Godspell changed me.  I’m not even sure how exactly yet.  I know I want to be a in another musical.  I know that I want to have that 10-minutes-to-showtime excitement again.  I know that I want to have that it’s-almost-my-line sense of calm confidence again.   I want to look out into an audience and see their smiles, read their expressions, bask in their gripped silence.  I want to look into the eyes of a cast member in the midst of another show and whisper, “we’re really doing it,” with the same mix of fun and terror that I had last Saturday.  I want to put my arms around a group of friends after a show well done.  I want to crash into bed, emotionally spent, and dream about the songs I just sang.

When I think about the journey that started with a lunch in a coffee shop in October, and ended on a spring afternoon… Well, I have to stop myself.

This journey is going to keep going.  There are going to be more shows.   There are going to be more rehearsals.  There are going to be more chances to sing about love.  Nothing ended that night.  It turns out that something was sparked.  Relationships have been forged.  Dreams have been shared.  A vision has been caught.  There’s more to come.  The show will go on.

And if you’re looking for a ensemble to “do” Godspell in your church, I know just the group.

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March 29, 2013 · 6:22 pm

Thursday-Friday devotional, part 8

The next few posts are going to be a running devotional, reading through the Gospel of Mark, with short commentary and prayer.  I will post several of these over the next few days, leading up to the Easter.
SCRIPTURE

People walking by insulted him, shaking their heads and saying, “ Ha! So you were going to destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, were you? Save yourself and come down from that cross!”

In the same way, the chief priests were making fun of him among themselves, together with the legal experts. “He saved others,” they said, “but he can’t save himself. Let the Christ, the king of Israel, come down from the cross. Then we’ll see and believe.” Even those who had been crucified with Jesus insulted him. From noon until three in the afternoon the whole earth was dark. At three, Jesus cried out with a loud shout, “Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani,” which means, “My God, my God, why have you left me?”

After hearing him, some standing there said, “Look! He’s calling Elijah!” Someone ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, and put it on a pole. He offered it to Jesus to drink, saying, “Let’s see if Elijah will come to take him down.” But Jesus let out a loud cry and died.

The curtain of the sanctuary was torn in two from top to bottom. When the centurion, who stood facing Jesus, saw how he died, he said, “This man was certainly God’s Son.”

REFLECTION

“My God, My God, why have you left me?” I’ve wondered the same thing.  “Why?” is a common question that is posed to God.  All too often the answer is left unanswered.  Some may find it disconcerting to think of Jesus asking this question while on the cross.  How can God abandon Jesus?  If they are one in the same, how is this possible?

Tomes have been written on the subject by people more learned and articulate than me.    So we discover another “Why” question in the midst of the ultimate “Why?”  There are a lot of explanations to Jesus’ cry.  Whole sects and heresies have risen and fallen based on different answers to this question.  In seminary, this is the part of the class that started throwing out words like “Neo-Platanism, Gnostics, and Arianism.”  This was the part of the class that my eyes got glossy, and I longed for the next coffee break.

I value my seminary education, and cherish every moment I spent immersed in the transformative learning that I experienced in seminary, yet I admit I am no Biblical scholar.  I would fail miserably as a seminary professor.

I speak only as a man of faith when I say that Jesus’ cry on the cross haunts me and comforts me.  It is both a great source of humility and a source of strength.  For one, I know the Psalm which Jesus is quoting.  When he cries out “Why have you left me?” he is quoting Psalm 22.  It is as if he is shouting out the title of a song, which starts with loss, isolation, and abandonment, but ends with assurance, comfort, and victory.

It is entirely possible that in Jesus’ last cry the whole of the Psalm is captured.  And thus, the whole of Jesus’ mission.  It is a call forward, not just of despair, but of promise that out of despair God will raise us up.  Psalm 22 is a promise to all generations, to the future people of God that God will be present.  Given the fact that crucifixion is meant to wipe out one’s future legacy, this is a bold statement.  To claim Psalm 22 is to claim the promise of God even in the midst of apparent loss.

I also feel though, that I have to be careful to not read too much into Jesus’ cry.  It is, on surface, a cry of lamentation.  I have to ask myself, is it okay to leave it that way?  Is it okay to leave Jesus on the cross alone and forsaken?  Is it okay to leave Jesus a man that is facing his own mortality as any other man would?  Is it okay to have a Savior that was that vulnerable?  Is it okay to let Jesus be abandoned?

When I have fallen on my knees in shame, when I have pounded the ground in despair, when I have let myself be vulnerable, only to be taken advantage of and wounded, when I have screamed at the top of my lungs in agony, is it okay?  There is a part of me that finds it reassuring to know that Jesus is not high up on a cross, dying with quiet dignity, above the fray.  I am comforted in knowing that when I am at my lowest, Jesus is there too.  When I feel beaten, battered, and bruised, I pray to a God who knows what I feel.  I pray to a God that has died with me.  When I scream at God in despair, I know that I do so in good company.  I am not going to be offered easy answers.  I am simply going to have a Savior that wraps his arms around me and whispers, “I am with you.”  And I will know that he speaks from experience.

PRAYER

My God, my God, why have you abandoned me? It is a question I have asked before, and if I am honest, it is one I will surely ask again.  Even in my asking I know that it will never really be true.  Even in my struggle I know that you are always present, and for that I am forever grateful.  Amen.

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March 29, 2013 · 6:18 pm

Thursday-Friday Devotional, part 7

The next few posts are going to be a running devotional, reading through the Gospel of Mark, with short commentary and prayer.  I will post several of these over the next few days, leading up to Easter.
SCRIPTURE

Mark 15:16-28.  The soldiers led Jesus away into the courtyard of the palace known as the governor’s headquarters, and they called together the whole company of soldiers. They dressed him up in a purple robe and twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on him. They saluted him, “Hey! King of the Jews!”

Again and again, they struck his head with a stick. They spit on him and knelt before him to honor him. When they finished mocking him, they stripped him of the purple robe and put his own clothes back on him. Then they led him out to crucify him.  Simon, a man from Cyrene, Alexander and Rufus’ father, was coming in from the countryside. They forced him to carry his cross.

They brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha, which means Skull Place. They tried to give him wine mixed with myrrh, but he didn’t take it. They crucified him. They divided up his clothes, drawing lots for them to determine who would take what. It was nine in the morning when they crucified him. The notice of the formal charge against him was written, “The king of the Jews.” They crucified two outlaws with him, one on his right and one on his left

REFLECTION

Crucifixion was more than a death penalty.  It was total annihilation.  The purpose of crucifixion was to remove a person from existence.  By stripping a man naked, flogging him until he was covered with blood, hanging him on public display along a popular path, the Roman authorities knew that the one crucified would be wiped from consciousness.  Those crucified were made permanently unclean.  

No one could touch them from the moment they were hung, and yet no one could turn away.  Adam Hamilton, in his gripping Bible study 24 Hours that Changed the World, explains that one being crucified was not hanging high, isolated from those passing by.  The elevation of the cross, he claims, was actually only about 9 feet.  Jesus’ head would have been lower than a basketball hoop.  His majority of his naked, beaten, bloody, body would have been at eye level.

The humiliation of this death was complete.  It was meant to rob a person not only of his present life, but of his past and of his future.  There would be no legacy for those crucified.  The pain was such that memory would be purged.  The words and deeds of the crucified could not be remembered.  The loved ones and relatives of the crucified one would never claim him.  Crucifixion was a physical, emotional, and spiritual death.

This is what Jesus faced.  The Gospel of Mark does not soften the blow.  There are no redemptive words of forgiveness, as we have in Luke.  There is no tender moment of compassion, nor determined strength of a man carrying his own cross, as we have in John.  There is only a man too weak to carry on.  There is a only a man that is hung with outlaws, spat on and mocked.  There is no dignity in this death.  There is nothing good on this Friday.

On some level, this needs to be the message of Good Friday.  Allow that irony in that name sink in.  Allow the questions.  Allow the sadness.  Allow the reality of injustice hit you with all of its force.  The world is broken, and there is no greater evidence to that fact than the cross on Golgotha where a man was led to die.  God was made flesh, and we crucified him.  That is all we need to know about the human condition.

PRAYER

My soul cries out to thee, O Lord.  Out of the depths do I cry.  The injustice of this world is crippling.  It is paralyzing.  When I ponder for a moment the injustice and cruelty that people are capable, it causes me to tremble.  Tremble.  Tremble.  I seek no quick fixes or easy answers.  I seek only comfort and a promise that this is not the end of the story. Amen.

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