Where Did They Take Him?

But Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot. They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?” “They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.”

(John 20: 11-13 NIV)

            Visitors bent over to enter. Stared at the bare, stone ledge. The words of the angels rang in my ears. “He is risen!”

            Usually, other pilgrims stood beside me. Often, a hush encircled us. But on other visits, jabbering tourists took pictures like they were at Disney.

            My favorite time, when I entered alone, allowed me to remember in silence the gospel accounts about Jesus’ death and resurrection .  Mary Magdalene’s tears. Peter and John’s amazement. The appearance of the angels. Even though I read the stories multiple times, like Thomas, I wanted to see for myself.

            Being in the empty, garden tomb, heightened my senses and touched my heart. Like Mary, I wondered, “Where did they take Him?”

            In our culture and around the world, Jesus is being taken out of lives.

You can’t read the Bible in school.

The 10 commandments have to be taken down.

The cross has to be removed from the park.

We should take In God we trust off our money.

Nativity displays have to be taken off government property.

            How disheartening it is to hear of Jesus being taken out of lives. But the disciples heeded His words, “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to very creature.” (Mark 16: 15 NIV)

            If only Christians today would do the same.

            Mary of Magdala went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her. (John 20: 18 NIV)

Dear Lord, help me to share more boldly about you and not take you out of my life. Amen

Remembering the Pit

            Darkness closed in on us. At the bottom of the stone steps, our tour group waited in the dungeon.

            Before climbing the outside stairway, we learned that Jesus would have walked the same steps toward his mock trial. My feet walked along His as He willingly prepared to die for me.

            Standing in the same courtyard as Peter when he denied Jesus. The statue of Peter and the cock made me look inside myself. How many times have I denied Christ? Maybe not always with words but with my actions or silence?

            While I thought of that distressing night, we descended narrow, stone stairs. Prisoners were held there before their executions. After we gathered at the bottom, the lights went out. Silence. My heart cried for what He endured. Tears coursed down my face.

            Then a clear, beautiful voice echoed in the pit. Her words asked, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” With each verse, more tears flowed. The agony of His death clutched me.

            The magnitude of His sacrifice intensified. Despair. Grief. Abandonment. Betrayal. Intense pain. He did it for us.

            It is easier to skip from the Last Supper to Easter. From the Upper Room to the empty tomb. From the new covenant to joyful celebration. But only when we remember the pit can we fully understand the sacrifice.

            

Lost Focus

When Jerusalem came into view, He looked intently at the city and began to weep.   Jesus: “How I wish you knew today what would bring peace! But you can’t see.”

(Luke 19: 41-41 The Voice)

            “Car coming,” someone shouted. Our line of pilgrims hugged the towering, concrete wall.

           

            The narrow road twisted as it descended from the Mount of Olives to the valley outside the walls of the Old City of Jerusalem. Four times I walked the path where Jesus walked. Every trip touched my heart as I traced His final journey.

            The barren, rocky cemetery beside the road held thousands of Jewish graves. Above ground monuments and stones covered the hillside. Black clad mourners walked to loved ones’ graves and stood reverently in silence.

            On my last trip to the Holy Land, rain made the descent even more hazardous than normal. As our tour group avoided rushing cars, slick pavement made walking difficult. Our guide repeatedly reminded us to hold the handrails. With baby steps, I moved downward. Unfortunately, gaps of several feet in the iron railing caused more obstacles. But willing hands reached out to support unsteady travelers. My breathing returned to normal at the end when I stepped into the Garden of Gethsemane.

            We finished the laborious downward trek because we focused on our footsteps, listened to our guide, and received strong hands for support. If we had been distracted by the view of the city or tombs or ignored assistance, the results could have been disastrous.

            When the crowd joined Jesus for His jubilant entry to the city on Palm Sunday, they sang and danced. Shouts of hosanna rang out. Palm branches waved and formed a carpet beneath the donkey’s path. The crowd focused fully on Jesus.

            However, the celebrating didn’t last long. Only a few days later, their focus changed. The people joined a much different crowd. One clamoring for Jesus’s death. Most ignored the truth of His message.

            It is easy to condemn the crowds surrounding Jesus. But today our focus on Him changes too. Mistakes happen. Poor decisions are made. Busyness squeezes Him out. Feet slip. People slide. Thankfully, His hands reach out to support each wavering drifter.

Jesus, thank you for holding and guiding me even when I falter. Amen