​For most, the scene was incidental. Inconsequential. It wasn’t even biblical; it was included only for effect. And yet it wrecked me.
 
There is a horrific depiction in the movie, The Passion of the Christ, of a trembling Jesus, chained to a whipping  post, being scourged to within an inch of His life by taunting,  heartless Roman soldiers. But that is not the scene to which I am referring. It was the next scene.
 
Soon after the limp and torn body of Jesus is dragged away there is a image of Mary, the mother of Jesus, on her hands and knees, cleaning up the mess. There were many scenes in the Passion that gripped my heart. But the picture of Mary, cradling towels soaked in her son’s blood, seared my soul. It triggered a memory I can never erase.
 
It was July of 1992. Our eight-year-old son was asked to walk with his little league team in our town’s annual Independence Day parade. My wife and daughters were also in the parade, having been invited to ride on our church’s float. Since I was the only family member not important enough to be in the parade I offered to chauffeur my wife and kids to the beginning of the parade route, watch the parade from there, then meet them back at home. The parade ended a block from our house so the plan was for Jan to walk home with the kids once they had all crossed the finish line.

I waved at my wife and kids as they passed by. Once the end of the parade was in sight I went home. While waiting for my family's return I was startled by the sound of  someone banging nonstop on our front door. I opened the door to find a frantic, out-of-breath teenage boy who gasped, “Call an ambulance. I hit a kid.”
 
I ran to the phone in the kitchen, called 911, and said, “Apparently someone’s been hit by a car.” I gave our address then went outside to see what had happened.
 
Dozens of people had already gathered in the middle of the street. I made my way to the center of the circle to see if I could help. What I saw I will never forget. Even now, decades later, whenever I think about that night, that dreadfully detailed image flashes in my mind. There was my son, sprawled out on the pavement, motionless, his eyes fixed and staring into space, streams of blood down his face. I have never felt a pain like that before. I hope to never feel it again.
 
I have much less clarity about what happened next. All I know is when we got to the hospital we knew our son was going to survive, but didn’t immediately know the extent of his injuries.
 
After a long night of x-rays, monitors, and MRIs, I went home the next morning to pick up some things for an extended hospital stay for me, my wife, and our son. As I turned onto our street, the early morning sun brought sobering clarity to what had happened the night before. There on the pavement, just a few yards from our house, was a pool of blood. That mere sight dredged up feelings I was not prepared or willing to feel. I soon found myself in the middle of the road, on my hands and knees, with a bucket and towels, wiping up my son’s blood. For a brief moment, I felt Mary's pain. And God's.
 
In my years of helping others through painful life experiences I have concluded that there is no pain worse than that of losing a child. Our son recovered fully from his injuries. I am grateful that my wife and I did not have to experience that pain. But I am even more grateful that God was willing to experience it.

God was willing to go through the worst pain imaginable—the pain of losing a child—because of His great love for us. We must ponder that on those days when we feel insignificant. We must think about that when life's circumstances make us wonder if we are valued by God.

He paid the ultimate price for us. The blood of His Son has washed away our sin and shame. The blood of His Son has restored us to right relationship with Him. The blood of His Son has insured that we will spend eternity in His loving presence.  
 
God showed how much he loved us by sending his one and only Son into the world so that we might have eternal life through him. This is real love—not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins (1 John 4:9-10, NLT).

Real love, indeed.

His character is conspicuously absent in virtually every children's Christmas program. His figurine is not included in traditional nativity sets. Carols don't even make mention of him. Yet he is a central character in the Christmas story. In fact, without him there is no Christmas story.

We all know the hero in the story of Christmas: Jesus, the Son of God come to earth. But without a villain there can be no hero. We need to recognize the archenemy in the narrative of Christmas. His name is Satan, a.k.a. Beelzebub, the Devil, the Prince of Darkness, the Evil One.

We do ourselves a great disservice by ignoring the Enemy's role in the story of Jesus coming to earth. As captivating as the feel-good storyline is, what with the virgin birth, the Messiah in a feeding trough, and a sky full of angels, when we don't recognize the villain, the story of Christmas loses all dramatic impact. It's like Peter Pan without Captain Hook. The Wizard of Oz without the Wicked Witch of the West. Die Hard without Hans Gruber. Moby Dick without, well, Moby Dick.

Yes, it's true. God sent His Son to the world in the form of a baby to save us from our sins, to restore us to right relationship with Him. But we will never grasp the significance of God's generous gift to us until we identify the villain in the story and give him his due. 

We have a powerful enemy. We cannot ignore that. And he has but one objective--to keep us as far away from God as possible. He knows what God and us together can do. So he works long and hard to separate us from God, to keep us stuck in our sinful thoughts, behaviors, and addictions. He is cunning and smart. He knows everything about us--our weaknesses, our vulnerabilities, our blind spots. And that is precisely where he attacks.

The Bible warns us of the enemy's presence and offers this stern warning: Stay sober, stay alert! Your enemy, the Adversary, stalks about like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour (1 Pet. 5:8, CJB). What a terrifying and precise word picture. We must never forget that the Devil is always on the prowl, waiting to pounce when we least suspect it; seeking to rip from our grasp God's gracious gifts of love, joy, hope, and peace and force on us his onerous offerings of fear, shame, discontent, and hate, of which he has an endless supply.

Jesus was born to set us free, to release us from our sins and fears. But that is not to say that His coming into the world and into our lives has stopped the Enemy from carrying out his dirty deeds. We will continue to do battle with Satan as long as we are on this earth. Jesus didn't come to take our adversity away. He came to help us get through it and point us to a future life with Him where there will be no trials or troubles. His words recorded in John 16 are both frightening and comforting:  Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world (Jn. 16:33, NLT).

We need to recognize the presence of the enemy in the Christmas story and in our lives. But we must also stand firm in the truth that as powerful and persistant as he is, he is no match for Jesus. Our battles with him continue. But, thanks be to God, the war has been won!

Hail, the heaven-born Prince of peace!
Hail the Sun of righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Risen with healing in his wings.
Mild he lays his glory by,
Born that man no more may die,
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.
Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory to the newborn King.

We all have problems in our lives. Every one of us. Even those who are always "fine" have problems. At the top of their list is denial.

We all have problems because we are all affected by sin in the world. No one is exempt. As a result, we all have "stuff" that we carry.

• Worry.
• Fear.
• Anger.
• Addiction.
• Health concerns.
• Financial concerns.
• Conflict with others.
• Conflict with ourselves.

Codependents have it even worse. They carry not only their stuff, they carry everyone else's.

We weren't meant to trudge through life bearing the weight of our problems. We have a God who has offered to take that load off our shoulders. Listen to the offer Jesus Himself makes to us: Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. (Matt. 11:28)

We have been invited to lay our burdens down at the foot of the cross. The Greek word used for "burden" is translated, the troubles of this life. 

To lay our troubles down at the cross is a conscious choice. It is an act of surrender--we are giving up the notion that we can handle them on our own. It is an act of faith--we are trusting that God can handle them. But laying our problems at the foot of the cross is also an act of worship. For when we look up we will see that the cross is empty. Jesus is no longer there. He conquered sin and death. The empty cross stands as as a symbol that we, too, can overcome. The same power that freed Jesus at the cross is available there to free us.

Jesus' triumph at the cross not only gives us life, but abundant, victorious, everlasting life; life to the full (Jn. 10:10). Nothing can make our lives more full than an empty cross.

Since her passing a few days ago, many colorful words have been used to describe the life of Joan Rivers. Indeed, she was hilarious. She was quick-witted. She was a trail-blazer, a pioneer. She was brazen.  

But after watching a documentary of her life filmed a few years ago, the word that has kept coming to my mind when I think of her is insecure. She appeared to be driven by an insatiable desire to be loved and accepted by others. It seemed she didn't just want people to laugh at her routine, she needed them to laugh. Criticism sent her reeling. 

Although she denied the 2002 Huffington Post report that she had undergone over 700 "procedures," Rivers at least was honest that she had had plastic surgery. I found that quite refreshing, especially in a Hollywood culture where lying about nose jobs and botox injections is second nature--even when the physical evidence of such enhancements cannot be disputed. 

Yet, the fact remains, that even though Joan Rivers went to great lengths to build a face and body that defied her eighty-plus years, she was never secure enough in who she was to leave well enough alone.  

Have you ever found that it takes much more effort and energy to pretend to be someone you're not than to simply be who you really are?

Yet, so often--in an effort to win the approval of others-- we find ourselves wearing masks. We are insecure in who we are. More frequently than we would like to admit, we go to great lengths to prevent others from seeing the "real" us. 

The driving force behind our insecurity is often a deep-seated fear of being rejected. We tell ourselves, If they knew who I really was they would want nothing to do with me. So we spend our lives projecting a false image of who we are. And we lose ourselves in the process.

In ancient Greece, theater troupes often wore masks which exaggerated facial features and expressions. The masks, called hupos, prevented audience members from knowing the true identity of the person wearing it, enabling actors to play several different roles in the same play.       
The Greek actors behind the hupos were known as hupokrites. If that word looks familiar, it should. It's where we get the word hypocrite. 

In the Christian culture, hypocrite is a label we like to hang on people whose walk doesn't match their talk; who are quick to point out the blemishes in others without ever looking into a mirror themselves. The biblical Pharisees are a case in point. If anyone personified sheer hypocrisy, it was those self-righteous Pharisees.

But perhaps we would be wise to take a closer look at the definition of the word.  A hypocrite is someone who pretends to be something they’re not; someone who is false; someone who hides who they really are.

The moment we insist that the word does not describe us we prove that it does. As the Apostle Paul so eloquently writes, All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God (Rom. 3:23). Despite our best efforts to hide our shortcomings, we all come up short. But because being brutally honest with ourselves and others might reveal flaws we don't want to admit we have, we often come to the false conclusion that it is less painful to simply pretend we have our spiritual act together. That is commonly called living a lie. And that makes us hypocrites.

The opposite of hypocrisy is sincerity. The word sincere comes from Latin word sincerus which means without wax.

Early Romans who sold pottery would often come across jars that had cracks. It was a common practice for merchants to use colored wax to fill in cracks so the imperfections would be hidden from prospective buyers. But it didn't take long for buyers who had been deceived to begin holding the jars out in the sun before making a purchase. If the jars had filled-in cracks, the sun's rays would melt away the wax and the flaws would be revealed.

To prove their honesty, merchants began labeling their pottery sincerus, or, without wax.

We all need relationships in which we can be free to be who we truly are--relationships that are genuine, authentic, and real. We need to be "without wax" in the presence of other people who are "without wax." And if we find that we cannot be ourselves in front of some folks, the answer is not to put on a mask and pretend to be something we're not. The answer is to find other folks--people who will love and accept us despite our flaws. 
 
That's why I love Jesus so much. I don't have to pretend with Him. In fact, I can't pretend with Him. He knows everything about me. He sees what's behind the mask I often wear in front of others. He knows the real me and loves me anyway. That security enables me to be real in an un-real world.

I am not much of a dancer. I’m convinced it’s genetic. It's a Dutch thing that goes way back. It has nothing to do with dancing being sinful. It was just too hard to do with wooden shoes. But I am least willing to try. 

A few years ago, my wife and I attended a dance class with some friends of ours. For me, it was the biggest waste of time since attending LeMaze classes before our first child was born. When my wife was in labor, I instinctively began to administer the effleurage massage technique I had practiced on her in class. Through the sweat and screams she gored me with her glare and said something to the effect of, "Stop touching me. I don't ever want you to touch me again." 

She denies saying that. But I know what I heard.

I was hoping for a more positive payoff for my efforts this time around, although we did get a pretty good kid out of the other deal.

For eight weeks, my wife and I took dancing lessons. I must say I held my own on the dance floor. I was able to do all the moves and do them in the right sequence without causing untold embarrassment to myself or the ones who love me. But I didn't learn how to dance.

The reality is, those eight weeks of lessons would have been enough; I could have learned how to dance if I then regularly went dancing. But going clubbing just isn’t a top priority for my wife and me. So any dance moves we may have picked up during those eight weeks were completely gone in two.

Like any other skill, learning how to dance takes discipline. We must not just receive instruction but put it into practice if we're going to be excel at it. 

That holds true for the fine art of loving others as well. 

If there is one thing our Heavenly Father wants His kids to excel at it's loving others. When asked by religious leaders what the greatest commandment was, Jesus, without hesitation, singled out loving as the most important thing Christians can do. And yet Christ-like love is often conspicuously absent in our interaction with others.   

Face it, if we’ve grown up in the church, we’ve received all kinds of instruction as to how we are to love God and others. We know all there is to know about the Bible's teachings on the subject. We may even have some of the love passages memorized.

But if we don't practice loving others and practice it faithfully, all that instruction means nothing.

In 1st Corinthians 13--commonly known as the love chapter--the Apostle Paul says it bluntly. It doesn't matter how eloquently we can speak the Gospel. It doesn't matter how deep our knowledge, our understanding, or even our faith. It doesn't matter how much money we give to the less fortunate. If we don't have love, we are nothing. 

Our Heavenly Father loves us with a love that will not give in, give up, or give out. Every day, we need to practice loving others that same way. Look for someone today to whom you can show genuine Christ-like love. Then look for someone else tomorrow. Then the next day. Who knows? You might get really good at it.

I hadn’t seen him since high school. I must admit, the memories dredged from my pool of thought did not inspire me to greet him with warm affection. 

I remembered Ed as a trouble maker. He was big for his age and he used that to his advantage, often pushing late bloomers like me out of his way. Worst of all, he got busted for drugs, an offense made more offensive because we attended a Christian school.

I vaguely remember hearing something about his having family problems. But he didn’t let me or anyone else get close enough to him to find out if it was true. 

And now, here he was, decades later, talking openly about his life-changing encounter with Jesus. It wasn’t just talk. The spiritual change in him was palpable. His whole countenance was changed. Ed was a totally different person.

So stunning was his transformation that I had to ask, “What church did you get plugged into to bring about such a change?”

I will never forget his response. He sneered, reminiscent of the guy I remembered in high school, and said, “I didn’t find Christ in the church. I found Him at A.A.”

I share that story in one of my talks. Church people don’t like it much. But rather than be offended by Ed’s comment, I encourage Christians to be challenged by it.

For those not familiar with A.A., Alcoholics Anonymous is a place where:

• Sinners are safe from judgment, no matter what you’ve done.

• There is no reason to pretend that you have your act together because no one there has their act together.
  
• No one cares how you look or dress or talk or vote--all that matters is that you know that you matter. 
  
• Shame is never used to try to make you conform to a particular standard of behavior.

There are many wounded souls like Ed who would not apply that same definition to today’s church. Many struggling people have turned to the church for acceptance and love, grace and forgiveness, only to leave with an even deeper sense of regret and shame. 

If you asked Christians for the first thought that comes to mind when they hear the word sanctuary, most will make reference to the big room in a church where worship services are held. But there is another definition of the word that we often don’t consider. Sanctuary is also defined as: a safe place; a refuge for the oppressed; a place that provides protection.

Most churches have a sanctuary. But how many churches are a sanctuary? 

For far too many--particularly those who are entangled in sinful behavior--the church is the least safe place for them to be. It is the place where they feel most oppressed. It is the place where they feel least protected.  

In all His encounters with struggling and sinful people, Jesus never once used shame to modify their behavior. Truth is, there was no safer person to be with. Jesus was called Refuge, Fortress, High Tower, Strength and Shield. Jesus met people in the midst of their deepest sin and offered grace, not guilt; serenity, not sermons; healing, not more hurt. Jesus not only took all our sins to the cross to die, but all our shame.

One has to believe that He would want His church looking a lot more like A.A. and a lot less like what it has become for way too many people. 

The cross of Christ is the exclamation point of God's great love for His kids.

Experiencing true freedom in Christ is a two-step process. The first step is understanding that, no matter what awful things we've done, we are forgiven. The second step is offering that same forgiveness to those who've done awful things to us.

As a parent, I cannot imagine a pain greater than the heartache of losing a child. That is the very pain our Heavenly Father chose to suffer to show His great love for us.

He left His Father’s throne above
So free, so infinite His grace--
Emptied Himself of all but love,
And bled for Adam’s helpless race:
’Tis mercy all, immense and free,
For O my God, it found out me!
’Tis mercy all, immense and free,
For O my God, it found out me!
                                  
Amazing love! How can it be, that Thou, my God, should die for me?--Charles Wesley