CHAPTER 1
First Week in Lent
How close Will You Get?
If any of you wants to be my follower, you must put aside your selfish ambition, shoulder your cross daily, and follow me.
Luke 9:23 (NLT)
Following Jesus, truly following him, is never easy. There are risks, unexpected twists and turns, surprises and events that we never dreamed could happen. There are moments when following seems meaningful, full of excitement and joy. However, there are other times, times of difficulty, even danger, when we become discouraged and afraid, and things don't seem to be turning out at all the way we thought they would.
The apostle Peter experienced this same sense of struggling as he followed Jesus. Peter is one of my favorite people in the Bible because he reminds me of so many Christ followers, a searcher with a good heart who stumbles but tries to follow as best as he can; someone always open to growing in his relationship with Jesus, even if that growth involves some pain. Peter was full of emotion, giving himself completely to Jesus at one moment, but then fearfully retreating from Jesus the next. He boldly declared his belief that Jesus was the Messiah (Matthew 16:16), yet he turned around and questioned and chastised Jesus for talking about the suffering that lay on the horizon: "Heaven forbid, Lord.... This will never happen to you!" (Matthew 16:22, NLT). Peter was thoroughly genuine in all his responses, even those that were bumbling and inappropriate. When he witnessed the astonishing event of Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah on the mountain, all he could think to do was to offer to build shrines, places for each of them to live (Matthew 17; Mark 9; Luke 9). Another time, when Jesus offered to wash Peter's feet, a common way of expressing one's hospitality and servanthood in those days, Peter refused, feeling himself to be completely unworthy. When Jesus responded that it was necessary in order for Peter to be a part of him, Peter's love poured forth: "Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!" (John 13:9, NRSV). Peter genuinely desired to follow Jesus, even if he didn't always know exactly what that meant; and he was willing to offer his entire self, with all of his shortcomings, knowing somehow that Jesus had created safe space between them.
Jesus understood Peter. He knew how truly human Peter was. Jesus knew that deep down in his heart Peter desired to follow him, even though Peter's understanding and capabilities were dramatically limited. Jesus knew Peter well enough to call him the rock upon which he would build his church (Matthew 16:18); yet Jesus also knew Peter well enough to predict accurately that before the rooster crowed twice, Peter would deny three times that he even knew Jesus at all (Mark 14:26-31).
We are like Peter: We too are truly human, with all of the frailties and limitations that brings. And just as he understood Peter, Jesus also understands us. Jesus knows that there are times when we want to follow, yet there are other times when we choose to shy away. But Jesus' call to Peter was to follow, not at a distance—not in the shadows, afraid of what might happen next—but to move into the light and follow boldly, whatever may come our way. This is Jesus' call to us as well. Jesus knows how limited our resources are. He knows that life is full of choices, temptations, complex situations where we become confused and frightened. Yet he calls us to follow him anyway, closely and not at a distance.
We are entering into the season of Lent, the season that marks a recommitment to discipline and focus as we follow Jesus. Each year, Lent is an opportunity to choose, again and again, how we will follow—whether it will be in the shadows or in the light, at a distance or by Jesus' side. Like the people who greeted Jesus as he entered Jerusalem for his final week on earth, we have the opportunity during this unique time to choose how close we will get to him. Remember, the authorities and the public watched his every move. Will we hang in there with him? Will we be loud about our hosannas, or will we wait and watch? Will we wave our palm branches with gusto, or will we simply hold them uneasily? Will we go with Jesus to the garden? Will we stay awake with him while he prays and wrestles with the terror of his impending future? Or, like one who betrayed him, will we choose to sell him out for money—and if so, how much will we take? How close to the fire will we get as we stand in the courtyard?
Living the Jesus way is never easy. It wasn't easy for Peter, and it isn't easy for us. While surface religious activity seems acceptable, even easy, we live in a time when the culture around us is often unreceptive to those who take their faith beyond the confines of their houses of worship. Jesus understands our difficulty. He warned us about it when he described what it takes to be his follower—putting aside selfish ambition and shouldering our cross (Matthew 16:24). Jesus invites us to follow, not at a distance but by his side. He carries his cross, and we carry ours.
For many of us, Jesus' words about shouldering our cross have come to represent the bad things in our lives. We see those bad things that we feel to be unique to our lives as the crosses that we have to bear. To be sure, there is an element of truth in this concept of shouldering our cross. Jesus does not desire that we run from suffering. We must deal with it head on and look to God for strength as we persevere.
That truth, however, is only part of what Jesus means when he tells us that to be his followers we have to shoulder our cross. A deeper meaning lies in how we follow. We are to follow in the same way that Jesus leads. We abandon selfish ambition in favor of service in the Jesus way. As Jesus gave of himself, we give of ourselves. We reach out to others just as he reached out to others. As Jesus loved, so do we love. As Jesus sacrificed himself for us, so do we sacrifice ourselves for others. We follow by picking up the cross. Jesus' cross becomes our cross; his love becomes our love; his sacrifice becomes our sacrifice.
Following as Jesus leads is difficult. It is difficult because there is no such thing as an easy Jesus. The theatrical release of Mel Gibson's film The Passion of the Christ was a rare event, capturing the attention of religious and secular media alike. The film's graphic depiction of the brutal torture Jesus endured through the Crucifixion, along with the nature of the personal sacrifice that entailed, caused many people to deeply search their soul and confront their preconceived ideas about Jesus. In an op-ed piece printed in the Los Angeles Times, one commentator had this to say:
The biggest problem I have with The Passion ... isn't the violence. It is with the protagonist. The guy on the screen is nothing like that insipid, tunic-wearing, lamb-carrying, two-dimensional, felt-faced Jesus from Sunday school. That Jesus was easy. He could be molded and crafted like Play-Doh into anything I—or anyone else—wanted from him. ("Gimme That New-Time Religion—a Play-Doh Jesus," by David Kuo; Los Angeles Times, March 8, 2004; page Bl 1)
Following the real Jesus—not our own personal, moldable version—requires a radical lifestyle. It can't be done at a distance. It does not guarantee convenience or comfort. In fact, if you're following the Jesus way, chances are you're going to be very uncomfortable, because the Jesus who shouldered his cross isn't "moldable, pliable, malleable—not even huggable. He's determined. He knows who he is and why he's doing what he's doing" ("Gimme That New-Time Religion—a Play-Doh Jesus," Los Angeles Times). If you are going to follow beside Jesus, rather than at a distance, you have to be right in the thick of things, close to the fire where everyone can see exactly who you are.
Wendy Murray Zoba wrote about an experience she had with her sons in the wake of the Columbine school-shooting tragedy. Her seventeen-year-old son had just come home from a youth group gathering and said, "When I die, I want you to play the Supertones' 'Heaven' at my memorial service." Zoba says that her heart skipped a few beats before she agreed. She described her thoughts:
My son and I brought different assumptions to that moment. My assumption was: Parents are not supposed to bury their children. His assumption was: To serve the Lord means you think about your memorial service. This was a post-Columbine conversation. ("Elegy for a Jesus Freak," by Wendy Murray Zoba; Christianity Today, December 6, 1999, Vol. 43, No. 14; page 70)
Zoba's two sons had been reading the book Jesus Freaks, by the Christian rock group dcTalk in collaboration with The Voice of the Martyrs. Jesus Freaks is a book written for teenagers that highlights martyrdoms of people all over the world, from the disciple Stephen to Cassie Bernall, one of the students who died in the Columbine shooting. The testimony of a young Russian named Ivan, who in 1970 served in the Soviet military at the age of eighteen, particularly struck Zoba's son Jon. In an attempt to make him renounce his Christianity, Ivan was forced to stand in subzero temperatures wearing his summer uniform for twelve nights. Yet, this was Ivan's response: "A lark threatened with death for singing would still continue to sing. She cannot renounce her nature. Neither can we Christians." ("Elegy for a Jesus Freak," Christianity Today)
It's probably safe to speculate that the majority of us who are reading this book right now don't feel in danger of being tortured for our beliefs. But if there is no physical danger, then why is it so hard for us to follow Jesus? Why do we follow at such a distance? Why do we lurk anonymously in the shadows, away from the light of the fire?
I believe the answer is deceptively simple. It is risky business to follow Jesus; however, if we aren't in danger of being killed for our belief, that safety provides us with a false sense of security, a feeling that following in the Jesus way is really not that difficult. In addition to our sense of security, we have recreated the Jesus we have chosen to follow, abandoning the determined Messiah who proclaimed himself to be "the way, the truth, and the life" (see John 14:6). Instead, we have co-opted him for our own purposes—my way, my truth, my life. We mold this pliable Jesus in order to validate our personal successes and our views on political and social issues. Some of us would say "our" Jesus supports faith-based charities and is against gay marriage. Others of us would say "our" Jesus is against all war except the "war on poverty" and favors gun control. "Our" Jesus might stand politically either on the left or on the right; it all depends on who is doing the following. The sad truth is that many of us are not doing the following at all; we are merely bringing Jesus along on our journey.
This false sense of security and our creation of a "Jesus in our own image" hinder us from recognizing the radical nature of the Jesus way. Jesus' words to take up our cross become a faint echo heard only on Sundays and drowned out by the clamor of our lives during the rest of the week. The concept that Jesus may have taken the lashes of hell for a reason that had nothing to do with productivity or profit, success or appearance, diminishes in the face of images from Madison Avenue. The idea that he actually meant what he said about caring for the poor—that he was serious when he said that loving him requires it—becomes foreign (Matthew 19:16-23; 25:31-46). Our memory of Jesus' words about wealth fades so much that we forget how hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of heaven (Matthew 19:16-23) and what a bad idea it is to profiteer in Jesus' Father's house (John 2:13-16). We follow but at a distance, never getting close enough to the fire to feel its heat, never leaving the shadows long enough to be transformed.
Regardless of what we have made it, the Jesus way is truly risky business. As Wendy Murray Zoba discovered in talking to her sons, our young people possibly understand the extreme nature of following Jesus better than we do. They realize that in a culture inundated by extremes—extreme sports, extreme makeovers—Christians need to be as potent as the culture in which we find ourselves, and that can't be done at a distance. It requires getting close enough to the fire to feel the intensity of its heat. In the words of dcTalk, it's about not caring whether others label us Jesus freaks, " 'cause there ain't no disguising the truth." ("Elegy for a Jesus Freak," Christianity Today)
Following Jesus is not about co-opting him for our own purposes. It's about being open to the radical nature of Jesus' life, death, and resurrection. David Kuo's description of The Passion of the Christ is appropriate for our understanding:
The Passion is so hard because it presents Jesus as we've never seen him and reveals a truth: Conic face to face with Jesusin any way and prepare to squirm, or maybe even to hate him. He arouses that kind of passion and should make all of us who use his name for anything be very, very careful. ("Gimme That New-Time Religion-—a Play-Doh Jesus," Los Angeles Times)
Following in the Jesus way is about coming face to face with Jesus, following as he leads, risking rejection from people who disagree. It requires that we reach out in love to people who aren't always the easiest to love, or to those whom others have deemed to be unworthy of our love. It's about opening our hearts to the possibility of pain and hurt when others refuse to love us in return. Following means moving out of the shadows and into the light of the fire close enough to feel its heat, close enough maybe even to get burned. The Jesus way is risky because it's all about relationships—our relationship with God and our relationships with others on God's behalf. Carrying our cross alongside Jesus requires that we make ourselves vulnerable in order that Christ might be seen through us, and that Christ's love might be reflected in our lives. It requires that we solidly stand against injustice and in solidarity with all who are oppressed in order that others can taste God's justice and mercy.
In the movie Now and Then, four women who shared a lifeshaping summer as young girls reunite after twenty years. As they reminisce about that unforgettable summer, Demi Moore's character, Sam, reflects on her attempts to protect herself from pain, saying, "If you don't fall in love, you can't get hurt." Her friend Roberta (Rosie O' Donnell) replies, "Yeah, but it sure is lonely all by yourself." Continuing, Sam considers the idea that rather than shielding herself from hurt, she has insulated herself from fulfillment. She finally declares, "I've been so afraid of the bad things that I've missed out on the good."
Our spiritual lives can be much like Sam's experience. If we avoid the risk of living close to the fire, if we follow at a distance playing it safe, we insulate ourselves from the power God offers us when we immerse ourselves in the Jesus way. We may avoid the difficulty and challenge, but we will also miss the deep meaning and significance. Yet, when we determine to follow Jesus side by side, shouldering our cross as he shouldered his, the spirit of Jesus permeates our entire being. It is this spirit of the one who was strong enough to offer himself at Calvary for us that dwells within us. His strength becomes our strength, his boldness becomes our boldness, his courage becomes our courage.
In 1986, Boston Red Sox pitcher Roger Clemens played in his first All-Star game. He hadn't hit in years because of the American League's designated hitter rule, so when he came up to bat in the second inning, he was very nervous. Clemens took a few practice swings and got into his stance. New York Mets pitcher Dwight Gooden, who had won the Cy Young award the previous year, wound up and threw a fastball that zoomed right by Clemens. With an embarrassed smile, Clemens stepped out of the batter's box, turned to catcher Cary Carter, and asked, "Is that what my pitches look like?" Carter replied, "You bet!" Clemens returned to the batter's box, only to be unceremoniously struck out by Gooden. He went on, however, to pitch three perfect innings and be named the game's MVP.
Roger Clemens got a fresh reminder of how overpowering a good fastball is, and he pitched with far greater boldness from then on. If we never take the risk and move closer to where the action is, if we never risk abandoning the Jesus we have created in our image in favor of the real thing, we will never fully understand the depth of the strength, courage, and boldness available to us in our walk of faith; we will never understand how overpowering a good fastball really is.
