Author: steveandrulonis

John 19 stands as one of the most momentous chapters in all of literature. Here, we read of Jesus and Pilate; we read tragic words and triumphant words. This is where the clash of kingdoms reaches a climax. This great battle is embodied in two men – one, Pontius Pilate, who possessed an authority of men; the Other – Christ – who possessed the authority of Heaven.

Pilate wore his position like an ill-fitted suit of clothes. The words he says and the way that he speaks to those subject to him indicate that this man was uncomfortable and insecure. His governorship had been roiled with difficulties. The yoke of the Roman Empire proved chafing to the majority of the Jewish population in and around Judea.  Soldiers shut down a variety of riots and demonstrations as passions boiled over in the territory. The tension was thick and required a man of skill and diplomacy. Pilate was not this man.

This ruler, it seems, was a man of few friends, and the religious leaders of Jerusalem knew it. Jesus, with His words and wonders, had upset the status quo that made life very comfortable for these leaders and their families. The leaders’ wealth, honor, and privilege were on the line and they were not going to let them be stripped away by this preacher from Nazareth.

Christ was cast as a rebel, a man who claimed a crown,  and put before the civil seat of judgment. Roman authorities were quick to eliminate anyone who made such claims. Before Pilate, Jesus did not deny His crown; He emphasized, however, that His Kingdom was of a different origin. His Kingdom was built upon “Truth,” a notion Pilate sniffed at as incomprehensible. To make matters even thornier for Pilate, his wife dreamed of Jesus and warned her husband to stay clear of “that just man” (see Matthew 27:19).

The poise of Jesus, His quietness, His manner, His humility, stunned Pilate and paralyzed him for a time. Never had he seen a man so sure of himself in the face of judgment. The governor’s frail conscience wrestled with him, a thin thread of real conviction had tightened in his heart, and, for a few hours, he did all that he could to pacify Christ’s accusers.

First, Pilate sent Jesus off to Herod, who was responsible for Galilee, where Christ and most of His followers were from. Next, he instructed the soldiers to flog Jesus, which they did with relish. Christ was brutally battered and left a bloodied mass. He was fitted with a crown of long, jagged thorns and mocked as the “King of the Jews.”

Pilate presented Jesus, in this disfigured condition, thinking this would satiate the bloodlust of the mob that raged against Him. He loudly pronounced, “Behold, the man,” and waited for them to disperse.

The ploy didn’t work. The chief priests wanted nothing less than the Cross for Christ. “Crucify, crucify, crucify,” the crowd shouted.

“Shall I crucify your King?” Pilate asked.

Then came the most tragic words ever spoken: “We have no king but Caesar” (John 19:15).

The statement came from the chief priests themselves. Their rejection of Jesus was full and entire. Speaking for their people and their nation, these leaders of the holy Temple of Israel bowed to the world system and its ruling economy. I dare say that this subjection continues to this day.  Through the pages of history, we can read of how God’s chosen people have endured numerous periods of hardship, pain, and ruthless persecution. They refused their King and are still looking for Him.

Thankfully, the story does not end there, even in John 19.

Christ goes to the Cross and dies a death to end all deaths. He fulfills every last line of prophecy related to the redemptive purpose for which He took on flesh and blood.

At last, the Son of God was able to proclaim His accomplishment.

“It is finished!”

These are the triumphant words of John 19:30. It is done. The Savior offered His Body as the ransom for all. No longer could death claim authority to keep people from the presence of the Lord.

On the third day, Jesus’ resurrection demonstrated the defeat over the grave. Some weeks later, Christ victoriously ascended through the atmosphere controlled by the devil, the prince and the power of the air, to take His seat at the right hand of the Father.

There, Christ now intercedes for us every day. He points to His precious blood as the price paid, once and for all, so that His mercy can flow to all who call upon the name of the Lord.

Now,  Jesus rules and reigns in the lives of those who believe. One day – soon! – He shall return to earth to establish all righteousness. He came once wearing His crown upon His heart. He shall come again with the Crown upon His head, and all will see Him as King of kings and Lord of lords.

Disciples are people who choose to give themselves to learning.  This is who we are when we come before Word of God. We’re disciples when we listen to a message from a pulpit; we’re disciples when we talk among ourselves about who God says He is; and we’re disciples as we drink in the truth from the pages at the breakfast table, in a quiet study, or on our knees before we lay ourselves down to sleep.

Jesus spoke of disciples in His parables. In particular, the Parable of the Sower describes the Word as “seed” that falls into various types of soil.

The Bible is a surprisingly earthly-minded book. We live in the here and now and so did Jesus, our Lord. He brought His deity down from above and clothed it with dust, our dust. He became a jar of clay just as we are jars of clay.

Consider this:  Jesus said more about money than He did Heaven or Hell. Those places are realities, but the ultimate reality, as far as the Bible is concerned,  is the New Heavens and the New Earth.

What may surprise some even more is that God’s signature element in that “newness” will be a city. The climax of the divine plan does not find God with His people swept away to a mountain top or even into a terrestrial paradise. The New Jerusalem comes down and it is perfectly square. All the angles are right angles and every corner of the place shall be filled with His presence, so much so that His glory shall be the only Light. Lamps, suns, moons, and stars shall no longer be needed.

The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it. Matter matters to Him. His Creation fits together according to His great design.  Knowing these things, we should not be surprised that Jesus talked about spiritual principles by the way of natural things.

Soil. Dirt. Mud.

This is that stuff that we’re made of, and Christ longs for us to let His Word take root in us. We can come, just as we are, with all of our grit and grime.

The question we must continually ask ourselves is what kind of ground do we offer Him? The lesson of the Sower of Seed is the first of a series of stories  that Jesus taught in Matthew 13.

It starts with the seed that falls on the path – the high traffic areas. This seed is quickly gobbled up by the birds before it has a chance to take root.  People can come to Christ and His Word as if it’s just another of many communications. The seed falls among all the others; it’s never allowed to sink in.

Next, we read of soil that’s shallow and rocky. This kind of heart listens and learns – a little bit. It is happy to know something right and real, until difficulties or challenges come along. This kind of thin faith then falters and withers.

Seed sown among thorns grows well for a time, until the entanglements of this world progressively choke it out. Notice how these weeds pop up and steal the life of the good plant. Cares of this world come, followed by the deceitfulness of riches, and the lust for other things (see Mark 4), and these choke the Word and render it ineffective in life.

Those who come before the Word with good-grounded hearts are those who hear and understand. Deep roots form and the plants shoot upwards. Their fruit flourishes to the point that it brings an increase. That is, others are fed from the lives in which the Word takes root.

This is the essence of being Christ’s disciples, and being together is part of that. Church life makes for real growth; it helps us become rooted.

God moves us in His purposes. So we become part of fellowship and get together as the Spirit moves us.

The right kind of fellowship is one with communion – the connection among the people is built upon the love of God. Communion invites differences and diversity. A real collection of disciples is going be a cast of contrary characters. We’re different people with different lives and different things to share with each other.

I cannot choose who I am going help in his or her discipleship; neither can I choose who or what God uses to make me into a stronger believer. It is the Lord who adds to my circle of connection. This is the Spirit’s work, and it is a wonder and mystery. The foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of man (1 Corinthians 1:25).

All I know is that God has something great for each of us and that great thing is a deep relationship with Him. And, He has made it so that true depth is only reached in community, in our operation as members of the Body of Christ.

We need each other, even if it’s just few of us gathering for coffee and pastry. It’s part of His work in us. The kingdom of heaven is like a grain of mustard – it is the smallest of seeds. But it flavors everything it touches.

What’s in a name? Take Andrew for example. The word means “man.” That’s it. There’s no larger metaphor attached to it. It’s as if his parents took a look at the boy child and suddenly were at a loss as to what to call him. So they took the easy way out — “He’ll be a man so we’ll call him Man.” It’s not so unusual. My uncle once taught a class in a small Maryland town that included students officially named “Boy Jacobs” and “Female Wilson.”

Andrew is a fairly simple designation as Bible names go. Page through the Scriptures and we find Israel, meaning “Prince with God,” Peter, “a stone,” and John, “Yahweh is gracious” to name a few. Also, there’s Ichabod — “glory has departed” and Lo-ruhamah — “no mercy.” Those are big and significant connotations.

Andrew? It’s a name that doesn’t seem to carry so much weight, and maybe that’s a good thing. When we study the details about the man — the Apostle — who carried this name, we get to know someone whose life was one of simple and direct obedience.

Andrew was a man all right, a man after God’s heart.

Beholder of the Lamb

We learn most about Andrew from the gospel of John. He, like James and John, the men Jesus called the sons of thunder, was a follower of John the Baptist.

One day John pointed out Jesus clearly — “Behold the Lamb of God!” (See John 1:36.) That was enough for Andrew, who was with John, the Apostle and writer of this gospel. The two of them chased down Jesus.

“What do you want?” Christ asked them. “Rabbi, where do you live?” They asked. “Come and see,” the Lord said, and so Andrew and John came and saw. They spent a day with Jesus, as He began to gather His group of student-leaders, the men who walk and talk with Him and later turn the world upside down as witnesses of His resurrection and carriers of the Gospel of salvation.

Andrew couldn’t keep these developments to himself. He ran to tell his brother, Simon, a name which means “listen” by the way.

“We have found the Messiah,” Andrew told him.

How did Simon take this news from his little brother? Being an older brother myself, I am thinking Simon was likely a bit wary of Andrew’s fascination with and forays into the Baptist’s community. This man dressed in leather and camel’s hair, subsisted on a diet of locusts and wild honey, and lived down by the river Jordan. He preached loud and long about repentance, of the need to turn to God. He declared a Kingdom was to come and spoke of the King who stood among the people.

John the Baptist was notable for a lot of the wrong reasons. Still, common people — soldiers and shepherds and fishermen like Andrew, John and Simon — heard him gladly and took heed of the message.

[bctt tweet=”Simon listened and followed Andrew to Jesus.” username=”ggwo”]

For whatever reason, on this day, Simon took his brother’s words seriously. Simon listened and followed Andrew to Jesus — “And when Jesus beheld him, He said, ‘You are Simon the son of John: you shall be called Peter, which is by interpretation, a stone” (see John 1:42).

Peter, as we know, grew into one of central figures in the early Church movement. He was the powerful, Spirit-filled preacher at Pentecost (see Acts 2); his shadow healed those it fell upon; he obediently and boldly entered into the house of the Gentile Cornelius and sparked the Gospel movement to all nations.

None of this happened, however, without the man Andrew. Bringing people to Jesus characterized his life. It was Andrew who brought the lad with two loaves and five fish to the Lord, and so thousands were fed (see John 6). A couple of Greeks said to the Apostle Philip, “Sir, we would see Jesus.” Philip went to Andrew who said, “Let’s go and tell Jesus.”

“And Jesus answered them, saying, The hour is come, that the Son of man should be glorified” (John 12:23).

A man with a simple name simply followed the Lord. It makes such a difference.

Ordinary People with Extraordinary Faith

Through the ages, there are hundreds of stories like this one. They involve ordinary people who are extraordinary in the faith.

Mr. Kimball, a Sunday School teacher in Boston, was determined to pray for an 18-year-old boot salesman named Dwight L. Moody. He spoke to Moody of the love of Christ with what Kimball called a “very weak plea.” It was enough to change this salesman and set him on course to be one of the greatest evangelists of his era.

Charles Spurgeon spoke of how he was unhappy, despondent, and despairing at the age of 15. “I dreamed of hell,” Spurgeon said. He did this until one snowy day he ducked into the back of Primitive Methodist Chapel. A raw but real lay preacher taught from Isaiah 45:22 — “Look unto me, and be saved, all the ends of the earth; for I am God, and there is none else.” Then, this rough and rugged man pointed to the teen-ager Spurgeon and shouted, “Look! Look, young man! Look now!”

It was enough. Spurgeon believed on the Lord and skipped home that day feeling clean as the fresh snow all about him. It was a beginning for the man who was to become known as the Prince of Preachers whose sermons were heard and read by thousands in London and beyond.

See, the Andrews of the Lord are everywhere, and their faith makes an eternal difference.

May we all choose to be like this “man” Andrew. May we behold the Lamb of God and follow after Him. And may we make it our mission to tell others how to find and follow Him.

“Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is heaviness” (Proverbs 14:13)

Mockery has become so manic, and the parodies so predictable.  From time to time, there’s ferocity that breaks into mean-spiritedness behind all the funny.

There is jesting.

There is joking.

There is the jab, jab, jab and the poke, poke, poke of those who refuse to see the seriousness of our situations.

Potty-mouthed pundits promote a mindset that calls everyone to the cesspool. Overly obscene observations are celebrated for their shock value. Make a scene so that you can be seen, this is the spirit of the age. Spotlight the spectacle – it’s a kind of continuous vaudeville, only this one fills its stages with vaunts and vanities and vexations.

It is fiendish, faddish, and fainting. And, it fails and those who are part of it know this and always have.

Motown’s Smokey Robinson and the Miracles once sang about the “Tears of a Clown.”  There’s a certain and real sadness that is at the center of all of these shenanigans.

This is comic relief that offers no real relief. It is like Shakespeare’s Mercutio, the bawdy character who yuks it up throughout “Romeo and Juliet” until he is killed off,  so the tragedy can proceed to its bitter climax.

Yes, the laughs do end — especially the nervous, anxious variety.

What’s hiding behind the fabric of foolery? What’s hidden by the curtains of comedic callousness? I sense a real desperation of spirit, an emptiness that threatens to swallow their worlds.

Something’s very wrong, but few want to face it honestly. With every tawdry skit, a bit of nakedness is flashed. With taunts and tickles, personality after personality tap-dances around the chasm that’s yawning within them. And people chuckle along with the program.

Whistling in the graveyard is what it is. Things right, true, honest, and pure have fallen dead in the street. The curses and calamities of the hour go ignored.

Laugh it up. Paint those you disagree with as fools and wind up being fooled all the more. When the laughter stops, others gin up the anger, stomp and shout, and amplify messages that are no messages at all.

But hearts remain sorrowful. Mirth melts down into bitterness. The weight of reality staggers and brings low.

Times like these are nothing new. Who will tell what God can do? It only takes one to step into the disaster and bring about a revival.

It takes one like Nehemiah, a man with a nice job and comfortable surroundings as the cupbearer of an ancient king. This man became grieved that Jerusalem had become desolate, an open city with fallen walls.

Nehemiah sought leave from the king and he got it. He headed home and led an intense and efficient building project. After 52 days, Jerusalem was walled again. Led by Nehemiah, the citizens dedicated themselves to a renewal of their city and its purpose. It happened by the power of God communicated through the vision of one man.

When the work was finished, the people of Jerusalem gathered to hear the Word of God. Ezra took to the pulpit and carefully read and explained the Scriptures. The words cut to the hearts of the hearers. Soon, the people wept, the city was full of the sounds of sorrow.

Exactly what God and the preacher wanted, right? Wrong. Notice, Ezra’s response to this outburst; in essence, he told them, “Cut it out, and rejoice.”

“ This day is holy unto the Lord your God; mourn not, nor weep. … Go your way, eat the fat, drink the sweet and send portions unto them for whom nothing is prepared:  for this day is holy unto our Lord:  neither be ye sorry; for the joy of the Lord is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:9-10).

Wow! Ezra commanded the people to party. This might come as something of a surprise to those who think the way of Christianity involves gloomily grumping along through days on the path to glory. The Bible is full of feasting and festivity. The finality of the Lord’s ultimate victory will include a Marriage Supper (see Revelation 19).

“Merry hearts” bring health, while broken spirits produce dry bones (see Proverbs 17:22). Our senses of humor are gifts from God to us. He made us for His joy to be manifest in us.

Crude comics and jesters provide only short-term respites. Their light fare provides nothing that brings true healing and, worst of all, they hinder the work of real repentance and reconciliation.

What’s really needed today are people full of the joy of the Lord. Who has this? Those who understand that there are days to come when the presence of God will fill every corner of Creation, they look for a time when Light will last and laughter will be pure, powerful, and real.