The message came to their town when Jesus was nearing His 30th birthday. A man they called John the Baptizer was preaching not far away. I see Him as He hung his hammer and saw on their pegs; as He swept the floor and closed the door on his carpentry shop for the last time; as he told his mother it was time for him to leave and then as he made his way to the river’s edge.
The Baptizer nearly refused to accept Jesus into the river to baptize Him. Jesus said it must be that way for an example to all people who would follow after. A dove came from the sky, hovered over Jesus, and some of the people heard a voice. I wasn’t there, but I imagine that the voice must have been like thunder. I probably would have been scared.
From there, Jesus went out into the desert to be alone and prepare for this new life He was to lead. He needed to spend time in solitude praying—talking and listening to His Father. Near the end of this time—nearly six weeks—he had a visitor. It was Lucifer, now called Satan. He claimed this world as his and he wanted to make certain that Jesus couldn’t take it from him.
With seductive intoxication came the urge to alleviate His own hunger. A simple thing, really. Change the rocks into much-needed bread. It wasn’t as if He wasn’t starving. Scholars agree that He was nearly emaciated by this time. Would it really have been that awful to feed his exaggerated need? Without waiting even a heartbeat, He pushed the thought aside with words of Scripture. Rachael needed to know that personal gratification should not always be the priority. It is possible to resist physical hungers. Every person who was yet to come would know that in this Man’s victory over His physical appetites came the promise that they too, could resist and overcome. Whatever the appetite, whatever the hunger. It is possible to resist. Because of Him.
The enemy’s onslaught continues.
“Throw yourself off the temple to see if Yahweh will keep His promise to keep His followers from harm. You are the Son of God, aren’t you?”
“I know you came to claim the planet. Just bow down to me and acknowledge me as the Prince and it is all yours. You don’t have to follow through with this crazy Plan of yours. You won’t have to live like this anymore. Finish it here. Bow to me. Go back to Heaven and reclaim your throne.”
Twice more this exhausted man resists the invitation to take the easy road. The Plan is deeply etched in his mind. It has been the focus of his time alone in the desert. He has been preparing for this attack, and those to come, by spending time with the Father of us all. This time has made him strong in his resolve to become the answer to all of our questions, the solution to all of our problems; and Satan leaves. Defeated. He knows that his ultimate defeat is now only a matter of time.
The next 3 ½ years pass with alarming speed. This man preaches and teaches; heals and hurts. He captivates the crowds and infuriates the priests. He has drawn so much attention from the people, who now ask questions the leaders cannot answer, that these leaders decide something has to change. They have set him up with impossible questions, only to be bested at their own game. At last, there is only one option left. He must die. They have not been able to get rid of him any other way. His influence grows. After bribing one of His own followers, they make the move to arrest Him, but He has vanished.
He is in a dark garden. His closest friends are asleep not far away. It appears as if He is entirely alone—more alone than He has ever been. He asked His friends to stay awake and pray, and as He fights the battle of His life, they sleep. And while they sleep, the Enemy hovers near, whispering dark words in his ears. He is going to die. One of His own followers is about to hand him over to those determined to kill Him. The percentage of those who will choose the Plan is so small—why, it isn’t even worth it. He might as well give them up and just let Satan have the planet. After all, what is one among so many?
If He thought the weight of separating from his Father was heavy when he first left Heaven, it was exponentially so now. He could not bear up under it. The weight pressed him to the ground and squeezed the breath from His lungs. With what was left in His chest He cried out to His Father, “Please! Not this. I cannot bear it. Isn’t there some other way?”
And in the silence, he heard the answer. There was no other way. His mind swam with visions of the centuries and generations to come. He saw them all. All who would choose the Plan. From His own men in the here and now, to the faithful few in the distant future. And they were too precious in His eyes to let them go.
From the garden, to the court, to the palace, to Calvary this vision was ever in His mind. The pain of His body was obscured by the mental anguish and the crushing burden of eternal separation from his Father. Whip lacerations, embedded thorns, hunger, exhaustion, and dehydration were all forgotten. Even the nails holding his broken body to the cross were inconsequential. All that was in front of him was his impending death and the belief that sin was so repugnant to His Father that this separation was final. He had no hope that He would live again. Creating that hope for us was enough for Him to carry the Plan to completion.
The death. The burial. The resurrection. The ascension. The Plan was successful! The Father approved the sacrifice. And now they wait. They have been waiting for 20 centuries. As they wait, countless generations have been presented with the Plan and the choice. Not all, but many have chosen.
A heartbeat ago, as they measure time, this writer was presented with the choice.
The Enemy whispered invitingly, “Rachael, you have the right to feel the way you do. It wasn’t fair. You should be angry. They should be punished for how they hurt you. Stay angry with them. It will serve them right.”
And so I held on. A day; a week; a month goes by—a year and then two or three. Anger became so common that I could not imagine being without it. Holding on to anger was as natural as breathing.
I had been raised going to church. I had been baptized when I was 10. I knew all the “Christian stuff.” I knew we are supposed to forgive. I knew we are supposed to let God take care of us when we are wronged. But I also knew better. My anger was worth holding as a tool to punish.
But finally I discovered that my anger was hurting me more than the people I wanted to wound. And when I listened very, very closely I heard another voice—a very still, nearly silent voice.
“Rachael, give me your hurt. Let me carry it for you. Haven’t you held it long enough? Remember, I promised. Whatever the hurt, whatever the hunger…I am here.”
So with a friend holding my hand, I let it go. I gave it all to the One who promised that through His victories, I could conquer; that through His death I could live; and that because of the weight He carried, my burdens could be so much lighter.
And now I sit, pen in hand, trying to write what my heart knows to be true.
rachaelyjones 