The most attractive thing about Jesus to me, is that he really knows what hurts me. Brennan Manning tells the story about two drunks in a bar. Blurry-Eyed one says to the other, "Do you know what hurts me?" and the other responded, "How do I know what hurts you?" The friend's sunken reply, "How can you say you love me if you don't know what hurts me?" Brennan tells this story when referencing how a particular priest (who witnessed the scene) learned what true love was.I used to be very familiar with the Christianese saying that goes something like, "God wouldn't want you to hurt...so it must not be his will." Whether that statement was spoken as encouragement or advice, I'm not sure, but it's not a true statement. The "sark" (Greek) or "flesh" as we call it, is the part of us that always takes the road called, "No Pain Drive." Dodging every thorny bush and bump in the road along the way, our flesh is the part of us that looks out for numero uno and doesn't want to get hurt. Who does? I don't. But it happens. I hurt. I hurt really, really bad sometimes. There are darkened days full of self loathing, ill disposition, selfish lust, jealousy, and feelings of loneliness, frustration, depression, and the sadness of the deepest hues of blue. If God loves me so much, then why does he allow me to feel these awful things? Can we just chalk it up to the fall? Is that the answer? Or is God used to pain? Is he...okay...with it? Or what is more daring (and I believe more truthful), does he intend it? Now, I'd rather avoid a theological debate here, and keep to my point: Following God, doesn't mean that it won't hurt! And that statement is not just for missionaries. It's for each one of us that gets so frustrated at our own lack of devotion, our lazy prayer or prayerlessness, or any Joe Shmoe who is living but has a hard time breathing - this is for all of us.
Did Jesus really ever hurt? Deeply? He was God wasn't he? Surely he went towards the cross for the joy set before him right? Wrong. He was in the horrific bloody mess of scraping through the tundra of the sin of man within his sacrificial tenderness. I am not so sure he saw a bright light at the end of the tunnel. Why else would he have cried out, "My God, my God, Why have you forsaken me!?" It was bad. Really, unimaginable pain. Lets back up a bit...
So Simon is carrying the cross because Jesus is so severely torn. As he walks, he sees the women of Jerusalem and says this: "Don't cry for me, cry for yourselves and your children. Look, if they do this to a healthy tree, just think of what they'll do to a tree that is already dying or dead." Or in other words, "If you think this is bad, it's going to get a lot worse." If you're like myself, you probably blase past that passage thinking Jesus is saying some profoundly encouraging words in the middle of bad times. Nope. He's saying, yeah ladies, it's bad, but even worse than you can imagine. This passage helped me realize how much pain Jesus was in, not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. Can I say that? Of course I can, Jesus was in spiritual turmoil and an emotional wreck. I believe, that Jesus connected with them in a profound way that is beyond our silly tendencies to say things like, "Turn that frown upside down, Mr." They were hurting, and he was hurting, and he entered their pain, and deep called to deep out of the roar of his waterfall. I do believe that they felt comfort in that. Wouldn't you rather have someone identify with your pain and be present in it with you rather than be quick to tell you what you should or shouldn't do in order to not feel pain? That would be like telling the leaf in the picture above, "Hey, hold yourself up, straighten yourself out, you're about to fall, so lift yourself up and cover up those holes of yours!" Silly isn't it...and yet, I've been guilty of this, and I know that others have as well.
So what is the good news?
Jesus went through the bloody horror of Calvary not to make men and women with better morals. He didn't face that darkness so that we could have a "model" of perfectness to achieve...you know, "be like Jesus." He didn't do it so we could simply live forever. He ripped himself wide open for one purpose and one alone: love for us. So why do we enter the foolishness of comparing our incomplete and fragile love with his that is so infinitely rich and strong? Why is it so hard to love ourselves? Could it be that we aren't allowing his love through? Could it be that we haven't accepted, or feel as if we can not accept his free and powerful love; his love that loves us just as we are, not as we should be or are supposed to be. Doesn't it sound good? Someone that loves us without any strings attached? I invite you, within the bright darkness of faith, to accept his love for the first time. He knows what hurts within you. He has felt the deeper pain and loss, and is ready and willing to enter into yours and sit, hold your hand, and just be with you because he truly knows what hurts us.
