Becoming Sin

I used to think the battle for our souls was waged the three days in the tomb. You've probably heard some creative orators imagine the battle that took place in time, space, and history during those three days Jesus lay buried in the tomb, postulating the possible stories of death's defeat and life's victory celebrated for all time and history in His resurrection.

But as I study the crucifixion of Christ this week before Easter Sunday, I feel my eyes have been opened, and I am astounded and humbled. 

Every step of Christ's ministry here on earth, He raged a war against the devil, the world, and our sinful flesh. The battle began as soon as His heart beat miraculously inside the womb of a virgin girl who thirty something years later would weep at the foot of her child's cross.

Jesus came to earth to do exactly what His people, the Jews, wanted Him to come and do--overthrow an evil, oppressive kingdom. It just wasn't Rome. It was bigger than Rome. So much bigger. No, He came to wage war and defeat the principalities, the powers, the rulers of darkness, and spiritual wickedness of this world. (Ephesians 6:12) He came to destroy everything and anything separating His people from eternity in His Father's presence.

So He became sin (2 Corinthians 5:21). In His human form, God the Son became the very disease that plagued His creation and slaughtered it once and for all--for all mankind, for all eternity.

What does it look like to become sin?

It looks like an innocent man who lived a life of peace and miraculous provision, freedom, and healing for all who encountered Him to be accused falsely. For this man to be treated to one of the most unjust trials in the history of trials only to be condemned by not just Jews who were suppose to know Him, who should have been studying for His arrival and known the signs of prophecy He fulfilled, but to also be condemned by the indifference and cruel apathy of the Gentiles under Pilate's cowardly sentence. Becoming sin looks like suffering injustice, indifference, apathy, having a blind eye turned, and cold hearts in charge.

How the Jews must have hated him! In their self-righteous hypocrisy, they schemed for the murder of an innocent man choosing to release a known criminal instead. To become sin, Jesus bore their hatred, vehemence, murderous hearts, their jealousy, ignorance, fear, and pride. His battle looked like bearing suffering with dignity and self-control. Always speaking truth. 

Even when they stripped His dignity. Skin ravaged, probably hanging in strips from His flogging, He endured the shameful mocking of bored Roman soldiers who treated Him like their afternoon entertainment. They did not know Him. They didn't care to. Their hearts were foreign to the words of God, unlike the Jews steeped in them. They fashioned a crown of thorns to shove on His head for fun. To make fun. The mocking robe of purple they threw across His beaten back must have felt like sand paper on His open wounds. Only for a rough piece of heavy lumber to be strapped to His back. Only for it all to be ripped off His body again. I'm sure some of the blood from His wounds at started clotting around the cloth pressed into His back only to be ripped off once again. Agony! Torture! To become sin, Jesus carried the weight of humiliation, cruelty, the depths of the depravity of a human mind and heart to the hill of Golgatha, the place of death.

Take note of every detail friends, we are watching the Creator of the Universe battle our greatest enemy for us, in front of us.

Naked. Completely exposed. Blood dripping over every sinew of His form. Nailed with scientific precision to be lifted up between two known criminals, yet Jesus takes center stage. There in utter torture He would suffocate in front of a watching world on a hill near the entrance of Jerusalem where all coming to celebrate Passover would be sure to see Him. King of the Jews. Innocent. Not giving up His Spirit one second before every prophecy was fulfilled concerning His death. Not one prophecy went unfulfilled. He didn't give up His Spirit until He had fully become sin, right there on the cross for all to see, for all history to re-read.

As sin, Jesus was mangled beyond recognition. Scripture says He was so disgusting in form, many could not even look at Him (Isaiah 53:3). As sin, the sky darkened over all the land as He drank the full cup of the Father's wrath and for the first time in all of time, the Son was physically, emotionally, spiritually severed from the Father's presence. Forsaken. If you read the details, every Gospel account together, and if you ask the Spirit to open your eyes and open your heart, you see Jesus become sin, what sin looks like, what sin smells like, what sin feels like, what consequences sin ravages on our souls. What we always complain is so hard to see and understand because it exists in a spiritual realm is right there in front of you, on display, for all the world to see on a perfect, innocent, spotless human. 

You want to know what sin looks like? What it does to the heart and soul of a man or woman? Look to the cross. Don't pretend it's not real. Don't turn away and believe the lie it's not that big of a deal. Don't be indifferent. Let your eyes gaze upon the picture of sin, the very real proof and evidence, the unseen we're always asking to see. Gaze upon Christ on the cross, and let the nausea, repulsion, and anger be turned back upon yourself because my sin put Him there.

My sin put Him there. My rebellion. My need for control. My selfishness and self-righteousness. My pride. My greed. My jealousy. All of them. All the sins. They are mine, and He took them and became the picture of them, so I would understand their cost. A cost I am incapable of paying despite all my good intentions and positive thoughts and right motivations. In the eyes of God, my life looks like the ravaged form of Christ hanging on the cross. That is what sin does. That is what sin looks like.

And until a perfect sacrifice was made we were condemned to that fate, that gruesome fate, eternally severed from connection with God. Living tortured, broken, scarred, shame-filled lives, marred inside if not also out.

But the more I study the crucifixion, the details, the intention of Christ, the more I believe we are watching the battle for eternity be fought in front of our very eyes. Satan threw his absolute worst at Jesus, tempting Him to give up His mission with every excruciating breath. Yet, we watch Jesus stay the course. Fulfilling every prophecy to the last detail. What the crucifixion of Christ shows is the innocent Son of God, human in every way we are human, yet also one with God the Father and God the Spirit--we watch Him become sin before our very eyes.

And in willingly and purposefully giving up His Spirit at the exact perfect time in history, we watch our innocent, perfect, omnipotent, obedient Lord defeat sin. He became sin and crucified it on the cross.

He became sin and crucified it on the cross.

No other human in history could have done this. Born of the seed of Adam, we are all born with sin (Romans 3:23). That ugliness already exists within us from our first heartbeat. It's in our DNA. Only God Himself in His perfection could have planned a way to save us. So now, once again, as in the Garden of Eden at the beginning of all mankind, we have a choice. Because there can be no true love without free will, so there must always be a choice.

At the fall of Adam and Eve, Satan thought he had stolen our choice, and for God to make a way for another one once again for all time, He had to provide a better choice, one we could better see and understand the consequences, counting the cost of our choice. The choice not to eat the fruit of a physical tree or not, but the choice to eat of the Body of Christ or not, to be one with Him in the Body of Christ by the body of Christ or to be separated from God belonging only to sin. There only ever has been and only ever will be two choices.

Christ willingly bathed Himself in the blood of our sins, so we could choose to be cleansed by that same blood, wrapping our sinful lives in the righteousness of Christ's sacrifice, the innocence of His sacrifice. We can now choose sin's guilty rags or Christ's innocent robes. We can choose to live in an eternity of filth or in an eternity of the cleansing, bathing Light of Christ. We can choose separation from God or unity with Him forever. We can choose death or life.

I cannot help but love my Jesus for the hurt and unimaginable pain He willing endured both emotionally, psychologically, and physically on my behalf, in my place, for my sin, choosing to do something I could not do even if I had wanted to. I LOVE Him for that choice He made. I am moved to a deep realization of gratefulness I too often forget. Satan, this world, this flesh, too often distracts me from the love, devotion, and gratefulness I have for my Jesus.

May we all take the time to truly appreciate the cost of having a choice, and the Love it takes to be able to willingly give that choice to children who despise their Father, their Creator, in their ignorance. Because sin breaks, bruises, mars, ravages, and fatally wounds every aspect of our senses, yet God loved us enough to send His only Son to not just die, but suffer, becoming sin, in our place, just so we could have the CHOICE to choose Him again.

Whatever you think you know of God, whatever false image of judgement, wrath, suffering, indifference, etc. that may be stamped on your heart or mind of who He is, I pray the scales of blindness and the walls of false, self-preservation will fall this Easter season in light of the reality of what God orchestrated just to give us the opportunity to choose Him again. Knowing too many still wouldn't choose Him, God the Father sacrificed His only Son to give us all the same chance anyway. The same choice. The same chance. Equal opportunity.

WHO DOES THAT?!?!? Who do you know who would willingly, intentionally do what Jesus did? Because whoever that person is, they deserve my whole heart for my whole life.

Confessions of Lifelong Christian

The Christian life is not for the faint of heart, but then again that's also exactly who it's for. It's not easy or idyllic, but it is fulfilling and rewarding. I'm sorry folks, but you don't get to have your cake and eat it too this side of heaven. It's just not going to happen. Christian or non-Christian, this life is going to take its toll and throw plenty of punches, you better have a sure-fire way for experiencing deep, soul joy this side of heaven, or you're just going to burn out.

I found myself recently in a state of utter depletion. It's been a heck of a nine months so far; heck, it's been a roller coaster of emotions for quite some time. If you were to judge my life based solely on what you saw outwardly, our life is pretty idyllic. No arguments. Praise Jesus, my marriage is rooted in Him, my children love Him, and the company my husband works for seeks to glorify God in all they do. That's pretty idyllic, and we take very seriously the job of being good stewards of all the blessings entrusted to us.

But for me, that's always the outward representation of my life, for which I'm deeply grateful, but often feel deeply alone in people understanding the inward, unseen battles that weigh on my heart and mind most days.

Recently, I've fallen off the path a bit. There are no real excuses for why I stopped reading my Bible over  the past three months or so. Nothing that holds water at least. Yes, I'm busy. Serving. Someone. All the time. Yes, I'd rather sleep than wake up early to meet with Jesus. Yes, I have pockets of 10-20 minutes in my day where I could open my Bible, but I'd rather numb out scrolling my phone. Yes, sometimes I have just a few quiet moments in the evening right after the kids have gone to bed, but again, I just want to stare at a screen and let my mind go blank. These are real choices that I choose to make. No excuses.

And since I'm being super honest, I know what I'm choosing not to intake. I know Scripture pierces the heart. Time in God's word often provides insights, enlightenment, and understanding to life. Such knowledge often has a piece to it that requires response or change. I'm tired. All the time. I don't want to change, to respond, to be taught, or to be responsible for whatever information I may intake. So I choose not to take the small moments of time in a day I might be afforded to connect with the Lord. I make that choice.

But I'm also not happy. I feel blah and dead inside. I confess my sins in small prayers throughout the day, praying God will pour more grace and help me. The Spirit is still alive and well inside because I feel deeply convicted all the time for not stopping to spend time with my Jesus. I'm a walking guilt zombie, self-inflicted. It's that feeling of purposely choosing not to take that phone call or answer that text because you think you know how the other person is going to respond. I also have stashed away enough scripture in the recesses of my brain that I can call it to mind as needed, in moments of parenting or downward spiraling when I need a life preserver back to the surface. I listen to nothing but Christian music in hopes it will sustain my mind just enough to keep me moving forward. 

If this sounds like a deeply depressing way to live, it is.  It's miserable. Why don't I just pick up my Bible and spend time with Jesus, you ask? I. Don't. Know. I just don't. Maybe because the few times I have managed to open the pages, the words fell flat or it felt forced or I actually fell asleep in the middle of my Bible! Maybe because when I close my eyes to pray, my mind is bombarded by everything I could be doing instead of this, and I can't switch my brain off, so the frustration of silencing the voices in my head becomes too overwhelming, so I give up, get up, and get moving again.

Don't get me wrong. I love Jesus, and I love my Bible, but I realize how hypocritical that statement sounds when I'm not actually living like I love Jesus and my Bible. What does a person do when you're keenly aware of everything you're doing right and wrong? When you know you are making the wrong choices? When you make the right choices, but feel and experience nothing? What do you do?

Me? I have to confess my sins and ask for help. It's an anti-pride thing that is incredibly humbling, which is probably why it takes so long to break the cycle. Asking for help and support is So. Terribly. Humbling. Embarrassingly humbling. Letting the people I serve on a daily basis know I'm struggling feels very wrong. Why would they let me continue to serve if they knew how deeply I was depleted? If I lose their trust and respect and the blessing of serving them, then what do I have left? I have to be ok. I have to present like I'm ok. Fake it, til you make it, right? 

Jesus says, "Wrong." Not to mention, I'm not fooling anyone, least of all myself. I might can fake out others for a while, but eventually my own knowledge of how I'm doing keeps me ensnared, and confession truly is good for the soul. So in small bits and pieces, I've let the cat out of the bag. I've mentioned my struggles to a friend here or there, finally admitted my negligence to my husband, and if I'm not honest with my small group of high school students when given the chance, they smell a fake from a mile away. Most importantly, I have to take time to confess to my Jesus, and sit in His presence and let Him restore my soul.

And He meets me right where I am every time. He draws close and the Spring of Living Water He offers begins to fill my empty well once again. Why, why, why do I wait so long to confess? Because pride is a powerful force, more powerful and convincing than most of us are prepared to admit and face.  Don't we all try to hide the imperfect, the ugly, the not-good-enough parts of ourselves? And pride looks like all those things; it's the shameful thoughts, attitudes, and choices we knowingly make that we don't want anyone to see or know about us, which means pride inevitably is the true source of what makes us fake, insincere, and unrelatable.

Oh how confession sweeps away pride! I think we don't confess our sinful thoughts to those closest to us because it means showing our vulnerable and often unpleasing, soft underbelly to a could-be wolf. We all know the sting of rejection, the betrayal of our vulnerable self by the voiced disapproval of those closest to us. To confess is to face fear head on, to open up your true self to someone and say, "Will you love me anyway? Will you support me? Forgive me? Encourage me? Take me just as I am?" That's a scary place to stand, even with your most dearest people, maybe especially with your dearest people because their rejection will most definitely devastate the most.

But Jesus never rejects. He always forgives an honest heart and true confession. He draws close where others pull away. He fills what others drain. He gives where others take. He disciplines your actions without piling on disapproval of you as a person. As soon as you confess and repent and turn around to head back to the path, He's already there. He draws close and it's like no time has passed and no distance lost on your journey.

Nothing about the circumstances in my life magically changed when I confessed my sin, when I stopped to actually include my Jesus in my conversations with Him instead of just talking at Him. Literally nothing changed except my perspective and a sense of cleanliness on the inside. The guilt lifted, the unhappiness faded, the misery dissipated. Just like that.

And the dearest people in my life? I took a chance confessing small pieces to them too, and they all responded with support, encouragement, and understanding.  That's how I know they're my dearest people. They nodded heads in understanding and laughed at my brutal honestly (in a good way.) They offered to come along side me and help hold me accountable.  If your people aren't doing that, they may be good friends, but they're not your dearest people. To be able to show your true self to the ones you hold most dear is a treasure, but for me it has required risk, trial and error, and a willingness to be vulnerable and honest, airing my needs and shortcomings even when I'm unsure of how others might respond. The people who need to be your dearest people show their true colors in those moments. 

The hard lesson to learn is that how a person responds to you is not always a personal reflection of you; it is more likely a reflection of that person's own heart and motives in the moment. Jesus' response to my confession is always perfect--perfectly tailored to my needs in the moment, laced with the exact balance of grace and truth and love.

Today I finally gave in. God created a space for me in my busyness to connect with Him alone--no kids, no husband, no plans. I had no more excuses, so I sat with my Bible in front of me in irritation and desperation and asked the question out loud, "Lord, why don't I want to read Your Word?" It's the first time in months I'd actually asked Him a question expecting a response. Nothing. So I took a deep breath and I confessed and let go. I confessed all the wrong thoughts and actions, all the poor, purposeful choices. I just confessed all the ways I know I had screwed up, and I was sorry. Somewhere in the middle of that confession the tears had begun to pour down my face. I picked up my devotion, opened my Bible, and began journaling some answers to questions.

And it felt good. Nothing life shattering was learned or revealed, but I simply enjoyed the act of reading God's Word once again, and when I put the pen down and closed my Bible, it's like all was right with the world again. My empty cup was overflowing once again. Suddenly, I looked forward to tomorrow's devotion. I've been a Christian long enough to know this would happen, but pride doesn't go away with longevity. One might even argue it only increases with age (that's a blog for another day;) Pride and Fear are the root of almost all evils, I'm convinced, and the longer you are a Christian, the stronger you become in the Lord, the harder the Enemy fights using those two minions, He sends stronger waves of Pride and Fear your direction to keep you immobilized.

Three months is a long time to be immobilized, but maybe next time it will only be two ;) Because there will be a next time, but I'm grateful I'm in a relationship with a God who forgives seventy times seven and beyond. He will always be right there when I turn to come back because He never left my side in the dark to begin with.