Good? Friday...

I get the 'reasoning' behind calling it "Good Friday". I know it was 'good' that Christ was betrayed, suffered, died, etc. in order to fulfill His purpose and bring about the new covenant with God. However, I think the moniker allows us to ignore the real horrors the man went through. I think in many ways, as we celebrate the spiritual Christ we forget the true suffering of the man Jesus. There was nothing good about it.

I caught a few minutes of "Passion of the Christ" (you know that Mel Gibson opus) a few days ago and taking out some of the...um...poetic license of the piece what I really appreciated was that he did not hold back on the horror the man Jesus went through. I think so many other films try to depict it, but are still a little sensitive to audiences, and while Gibson may have gone a little over the top (I mean the image of the cat-o-nine tails getting stuck in Jesus' side and ripping the flesh off is now burned on my retinas) the point is that he drove the point home.

We talk about Christ's suffering, on an intellectual level we understand the horror he went through, much like when we here of torture in other circumstances because there is no mistaking that was what was done. He was being tortured as a political prisoner. To Pilate, the Roman soldiers, and the small group of Jewish leaders who spearheaded his arrest and execution, Jesus was a threat to the status quo. Therefore once Jesus was marked for death as a political prisoner, he had to be punished as such. If there something the Romans (and the Inquisitors of the Spanish Inquisition) knew how to do it was torture people. And crucifixion was used often among Roman provinces to discourage those who would perpetrate crimes against Rome.

So while you sit on this Holy day and thank God and Christ for what transpired so we might all find salvation; take moment and think on what Jesus went through as the man. Really try and understand the physical pain and suffering he willingly submitted to in order to die for what he believed. The whips ripping his flesh, the thorns digging in, the nails bursting through bone and muscle. Then hanging on his own body weight, literally dying slowly through the suffocation his own body was causing by the pressure exerted on his lungs, heart, limbs. Think of anytime you've truly hurt yourself physically (deep cut, broken limbs, etc) and magnify that by hundreds.

In some twisted way, Jesus' suffering and his willingness to go through it all (like all people who have truly been tortured and killed for their beliefs), is the greatest unification legacy he left. If there is one thing all humanity can come together and understand as a collective whole it is suffering and pain. We seem to unite best, when looking at the worst. So to do all Christians, no matter the demonination come to agreement on the suffering of Jesus. It is one of our unifications in a religion that is so splintered.

Maybe "Good Friday" is the correct moniker after all.

Why I Wasn't Chosen....

As I've stated many times before there is an overlying flaw in my soul and that is fear. Maybe flaw isn't the right word, maybe I should say it's my personal demon. Over everything else it is the one thing that has the potential to rip me to shreds. It can eat at my gut, my mind, my heart and colors everything I do in my life. Where did it start? Why did I develop such an acute case? Who knows, the answers could be buried in some deep psychological scar or it could simply be the spiritual test I cannot seem to pass. Recently I was struck by another thing it kept me from...being chosen to serve the Lord.

That's not to mean I can't serve in ways, if I could get past a lot of my issues with the overlying institution of "The Church" in general then I could serve, but I mean truly serve. When I was younger, I think the overlying belief for everyone in my Church and amongst my family was that I was going to be called into ministry. I heard that a lot. I tried to sit sometimes and wonder if I was, if I had been called but just wasn't listening correctly, but I never felt that urge. Nothing told me to take a mission trip to build houses in a needy community, nothing said to go out and volunteer at every shelter, or to go to some country where they did not know God and tell them about Him. I became frustrated at times because of it. I knew others who did, but not me. I wanted to believe that I was a "good Christian" since I obeyed nearly everything I was told was of great importance, even to the point of trying to oppress those things about myself that might seem "un-Christian" like.

The one that really hit close to home, literally, was my little brother. I don't know if I ever said this to him, but there are times I have envied his fearlessness. In all things. He's lived in ways I never allowed myself. I'm not saying all of them were good or wise, but he did them with fearlessness. He was never as "into" Church as me growing up. Oh, he went when Mom would drag him, but there was a number of years there that I honestly think he might have given up on the concepts of God all together. Then he found the path that was right for him. Suddenly this kid full of life, but no purpose, who barely got by in school and was interested only in living it up changed. There was suddenly this fire in him we'd never seen, this sense of self, this goal. Then, he decided to go into The Ministry. To say everyone who knew and loved him were shocked would be putting it mildly.

Over the ensuing years, he's studied theology, gone to Seminary, gotten his Masters Degree and will one day seek his PhD. To use the words Reverend in front of his name still seems so surreal. The fearlessness he exhibited in his wilder years, he now uses in his Ministry. He's jumped into serving God with the same fervor that he had toward partying, and he still has maintained that sense of joy he always had. If there was another thing we widely differed in it was in our outlooks on life. Me- pessimism, He - optimism.

In the back of my mind was always the niggling sense of why him? For years I always thought it was because he had had a sort of Simon/Peter conversion. Wild child to Young Adult Minister, and who would better understand what they go through than someone who has walked that path? But in the past few months I've realized that although in a way that is a good reason, the real reason is his lack of fear.

When push comes to shove my brother will not back down. He does not fear the sacrifices and fire that giving yourself to God requires. He's not afraid to have God take his mind and soul and burn it with knowledge and purpose, even if it's hard lessons to know. He was chosen over me because where he can stand in the midst of that awe, I would crumble to dust. I fear it more than I crave it.

I would never have the strength to hear that voice and carry out its plan. I have never read the Bible all the way through because I fear the parts that make me question how I live my life, or how we live as a world. I have no problem talking religion with anyone, I'm not afraid of having my faith questioned, I am strong in that. But my fear makes me weak in serving. I fear everything about God, but not in the healthy way that we should. It's not the proper respect for His greatness, but an abject fear of it. It's a bitter pill to swallow, to look at yourself and realize your greatest weakness and how it has held you back from the most important relationship of any Christian's life.

I fear praying for things because He might answer. I fear sitting quietly because He might try and speak to me. I fear going to Church because He might have a lesson that I need to hear which will change me. I fear reading the Bible for the same reason. I fear letting go of the fear because it's familiar and I wouldn't know me without it. I fear exorcising the demon because I don't know what it will mean for the future of my life. And now I fear never being rid of it because I can't really live until it's gone.

I guess the first step is admitting you have a problem...