Tag: Easter

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Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

By Amy Spiegel

Years ago, my dad sent me S. M. Lockridge’s famous sermon, It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming. Over time, this has become shorthand between us. Facing hard times? “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming.” Frustrated with seemingly unanswered prayers? “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming.” It always brings a smile to our faces, but also encouragement and solace as we remember the deep well of comfort Lockridge’s words bring.

If you are unfamiliar with this sermon, it paints a picture of the devastating events of the Friday of Jesus’ betrayal, arrest and crucifixion. The disciples’ abandonment, the accusations of the crowd, the beatings of the Romans. In his beautiful preacher’s voice and cadence, Lockridge layers despair upon despair, until you can practically feel the weight of Jesus’ exhaustion and grief. But he ends each layer with the refrain “Sunday’s coming.”

This week, while discussing a difficult situation with my folks and sister, I threw out the well-worn line and then quipped, “What about poor Saturday? Nobody ever talks about poor Saturday.” I was thinking about “poor Saturday” during the Good Friday service I attended today. Friday gets to be good, Sunday gets TWO names (Palm and Resurrection), but poor Saturday. Nothing. The wallflower of Easter; always a bridesmaid, never the bride.

It seems very human to focus on the dramatic events of Friday and Sunday and not give Saturday another thought. We do this with the events of our own lives as well. We want to rush past the middle of the drama and skip to the part where everything works out, we get the job, the test comes back negative, etc.

But just for a moment, let’s think about that Saturday. Jesus was dead, so was Judas. The disciples were terrified and without a leader. Peter, I’m sure, was trying not to buckle under the grief and shame of his denials, the bitter tears still hanging in his beard. The women were preparing for Sunday. Not preparing to celebrate with plastic grass and Cadbury eggs. They were preparing to perform as ancient world morticians. To wash away the blood and sweat, cover the stink of death and decay with spices and ointments. Grief and confusion were hanging in the air.

Sure, there had been miraculous signs: unnatural darkness, an earthquake, split rocks, and the Temple’s torn curtain. These are hardly signs to lighten the mood. Tombs were opened and loved ones brought back to life, but this is cold comfort for those whose Hope has just died, naked and crying out to God. At one time, this Hope, this man, had seemed so favored. Heaven had opened, and the Spirit descended on Him while He was proclaimed to be God’s beloved Son.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes Fridays are easier to navigate than Saturdays. During Fridays, I am on high alert, rallying the troops for prayer, seeking wisdom in Scripture and looking for God’s direction. A season of crisis and drama can put me in “hero mode,” at least of a little while. But when the crisis is prolonged, or worse, when it feels like all hope is lost, the tomb of Hope is sealed and guarded, I have a tendency to retreat to habits of consultation, seeking solace in distraction and a good dose of carbohydrates.

But distraction doesn’t prepare me for Sunday. How can I worship if I’m not waiting for the dawn of God’s glory? The women honored to be the first witnesses of Jesus’ resurrection did so because they spent Saturday preparing. Let us do the same. Let us resist the despair of waiting. Let us refuse distraction and the bitterness of unfulfilled expectations. In the words of musical theologian Elton John, “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting.” So let us fight the good fight on Saturday. After all, Sunday’s coming.

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The Penitent Thief: Why His faith Was Great

By Jim Spiegel

One of the most remarkable passages in the Holy Week Gospel narratives regards the responses to Jesus on the part of the two criminals crucified on either side of him. Luke gives us this account:

One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him: “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”

But the other criminal rebuked him. “Don’t you fear God,” he said, “since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.”

Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

Jesus answered him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” (Lk 23:39-43)

It is clear from Jesus’ response to the second criminal that this man has been forgiven and will not be condemned in the afterlife. Some people might find this disturbing, since this man has demonstrated relatively little faith and repentance, which are crucial to a biblical concept of salvation. But there are several things to note about the faith of this penitent thief on the cross.

For one thing, he declares his faith in Christ publicly, and as Jesus said in one of his earlier discourses, “Whoever acknowledges me before others, I will also acknowledge before my Father in heaven” (Mt. 10:32). Secondly, the thief demonstrates genuine repentance, acknowledging his life of sin when he says “we are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve.” As is clear from Scripture, there is no salvation without repentance (cf. Acts 2:38), so it is crucial that this man demonstrate true penitence. Although his remaining time on earth was very short at this point, he repented to the extent that he was still capable of doing so.

Thirdly, the penitent thief declares his faith in opposition to his fellow thief, who
“hurled insults” at Jesus. Apparently, the penitent thief himself had also verbally abused Jesus, given Matthew’s crucifixion account, where we read that just as the chief priests and teaches of the law mocked Jesus, “in the same way the robbers who were crucified with him also heaped insults on him” (Mt. 27:44). So after initially joining his fellow thief in mocking Jesus, the penitent thief had a change of heart, culminating in his plea to Jesus to remember him in the next world.

Fourthly, the penitent thief declares his faith that Jesus is indeed a king, citing Jesus’ coming “kingdom.” This he does despite Jesus’ extreme humiliation, having been beaten to a bloody pulp, and now writhing on a cross with a sign above his head mocking the very idea regarding which this thief is testifying sincere belief. Perhaps at this time even Jesus’ own disciples, who, with the exception of John, had by this time scrambled into hiding, would have been rather skeptical of Jesus’ messianic kingship. But not this penitent thief. He believed despite all appearances to the contrary. Now that is faith.

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Lent: A Love/Hate Relationship

By Amy Spiegel

Well, here we are again. Lent. As we slip through winter days of snow and ice, with Christmas decorations once again stored safely away, Lent has a way of sneaking up on me every year. When I think of Easter, I imagine shoeless kids running through sun-drenched yards getting grass stains on the knees of their Sunday best; the glow of new life springing up all around us. This, however, is not what I see when I look out the window today. It is grey. Grey sky. Grey snow. Everything is frozen, grey and dead. Or so it would seem. Lurking just beneath the surface, there is life, waiting, holding its breath, waiting.

It amazes me how finely tuned a world our Creator has made. I could watch nature shows for days on end, marveling at the complex web of interdependence which has been spun all around us. And in the season of Lent, this physical world mirrors the invisible yet tangible reality of our spiritual journey. These forty days of self-denying greyness are reflected in the greyness of winter’s dying breath. (Unless you live in some unnatural tropical paradise of course, which just means you aren’t as spiritual as the rest of us. We would move to Hawaii or California but then I don’t want to miss out on all those spiritual insights that snow, ice and frostbite bring.)

When I wake up to chilly floors and fingers that can never quite get warm, my heart whispers “Hold on. Spring is coming. Hold on. The sun is closer today than it was yesterday.” When I stare longingly at the empty places on my phone where for the next several weeks my Netflix and Amazon Video apps will not be, a voice says “Hold on. They will be back.” And yet all this longing and waiting points to a deeper anticipation of joy yet experienced, longing never fulfilled. For spring and summer will pass and bleed into fall and winter and once again we will miss the warmth and green the sun brings. But one day, the Son will return and bring with Him an everlasting life that will never turn cold.

So I will wait. Staring out my window at the grey, holding fast to the promise that it won’t last forever. I sit here wearing the sign of the cross on my forehead, appropriately, in ash grey. This cross is made from the ashes of last year’s palm branches, connecting Palm Sunday’s shouts of “Hosanna” to Good Friday’s cries of “Crucify him!” and looking forward to Easter’s “He is risen.” Like our Savior, today I wear a cross so that one day I can wear a crown.

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This Saturday Life

By Amy Spiegel

Yesterday, our family observed Good Friday. I say, “observed” because it seems a bit inappropriate to say “celebrated.” Though I certainly rejoice in the forgiveness and new life purchased for me at Calvary, one doesn’t want to be cheery about it. “Gee, Jesus, sure glad You died on the cross and all.” Somehow, throwing a birthday party for Jesus on Christmas, though having often struck me as a bit patronizing to the Son of God, seems far more appropriate than celebrating the day of His death.

Anyway, I am afraid that we didn’t do much observing either. Mostly I cleaned the house after a delicious sleep-in (as no one had school) and yelled at the kids to clean up the mess in the basement (“I’m sure Jesus cleaned up His toys when He was done playing with them!”). But after dinner, we did read the story of the crucifixion and talk about how amazing it was that Jesus not only died for us rebel ingrates, but that He also lived a perfect life without sinning once. This part pricked my conscience a bit when looking back on the yelling and all. Hopefully, the kids were thinking about the eye-rolling they had been doing throughout the day.

I also “observed” that it was two days ’til Easter and went hog wild at the grocery, buying everyone those things that they gave up for Lent. I love Easter morning even more than Christmas because, yes, it’s great to partake of whatever we have voluntarily abstained from over the past forty days, but I also feel so happy to remember that, for Jesus, the trial of His earthly existence is over. He carried such a heavy burden for us and now “It is finished.”

But for us that isn’t the case. Though we have hope, we haven’t reached the finish line yet. If we are believers, then we’ve gotten past Friday, with all its earthquakes and dark skies. We have come to the cross, received forgiveness, been freed from the bonds of sin, and been given the promise of things to come. But that promise isn’t reality yet. We are still at Saturday, longing for Sunday morning. And Saturday can be hell.

In our Saturday existence, we do things that leave us full of regret, like, I don’t know, let’s say, yelling at our kids. Or forgetting to pray for that person who so desperately needs our prayers. On Saturday, Friday seems like a lifetime ago and Sunday seems as though it will never dawn. I’m not quite sure what to do with Saturday. I was full of sadness and gratitude on Friday; I know I will be full of joy and praise on Sunday. But Saturday? It feels like an oversight, something to be skipped and gotten over with.

It makes you wonder, what was Jesus doing on Saturday? No longer on earth but not yet in heaven. No longer bound by death but not yet seated in glory. I suppose that latter part describes me pretty well too, though I am quite sure my estate will be far less glorious than His. For now I am called to live a life not bound by sin and death, not afraid of what is to come. With tears still wet on my cheeks but with the knowledge that chocolate bunnies and Diet Coke are just around the bend. I suppose, if nothing else, this Saturday life makes our mouths water for Sunday morning, when we, like Mary, will see our Savior in the garden, only this time it will be forever.

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A Lifetime of Lent

By Amy Spiegel

Approximately three days into the Lenten season this year, I began my sad dance with legalism. Like troops circling the enemy, I have poked around my commitment’s defenses to see where there might be a weak point. I have chosen to give up something somewhat vague for Lent and so there is a little wiggle room as to what qualifies as prohibited and what is permissible. I didn’t intentionally choose something ambiguous; I am actually much more of a black and white gal. In fact, I often feel that my Lenten “sacrifice” chooses me rather than the other way around. A few weeks before Ash Wednesday, I start taking stock of my crutches—those little luxuries that pop into my head at times of stress and seem to say “Don’t worry. I will make it all better.” It is terrifically pathetic how much comfort and satisfaction I can get from such a fleeting snack food or how inconsequential life’s problems become at the end of a good Masterpiece Theater presentation of Jane Austen and the like (and frankly it doesn’t even have to be that good). What is even more pathetic is how slow I am to consider going to our true source of comfort and satisfaction? Why would I want to pray or read the Bible when I can eat a Reese’s Cup or watch Persuasion for the hundredth time? Why cry out to the Lord of heaven and earth when you can tear into all that peanutty goodness hidden in a wondrous chocolate shell?

A few thoughts have struck me afresh this Eastertide as I have pondered the triviality of what I have sworn to forgo for the next 4 weeks (4 weeks and 2 days to be precise but who’s counting?…other than me, that is). One is the ridiculous amounts of freedom we are granted as Christians. Many, both inside and out of the church, would like to reduce our faith to a bunch of restrictive “dos” and “don’ts” to be obeyed. But my desire to wiggle out from underneath my self-imposed restrictions only goes to show how rebellious my heart truly is. I have a refrigerator full of food and drink that I am free to eat—surprised that I gave up something food related?—and yet all I can focus on are the things that I can’t have. My kids are often amazed, and not a little angry, at Adam and Eve’s choice to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil when they had all the other trees to pick from. And yet our ancestors’ attitude is reflected in our own ingratitude for our many blessings and that hankering we all feel for just a little of the grass on the other side of the fence. In Christ, we find true freedom and yet complain that becoming what we were created to be is too restrictive.

Along with pondering the insignificance of our sacrifices, I have been thunderstruck anew with the enormity of Christ’s sacrifice for our sake. Over the last week, I have been thinking about his life on earth and its implications. In thinking of Jesus’ life as a sort of 33-year Lent, his human experience has taken on a different meaning for me. I think I am self-disciplined indeed when I swear off Diet Coke for 40 days and yet Jesus left the banquet halls of heaven to eat among fishermen and carpenters. I complain when my knees feel a bit achy and yet the Son left a glorious existence to inhabit an earthly body that must have felt torturously confining and frail. Each day of His life was a fast from close fellowship with the Father and Spirit. The enduring of each insult or failure to show Him proper respect an act of humility that we cannot begin to comprehend. Of all the paradoxes of the Bible, this servant King must surely take the prize.

Now Christ is in heaven, receiving all the glory and honor that is due Him. And soon we here left behind will honor Him through the celebration of Easter. I hope, however, that I can find increasing freedom in obedience and that I can honor Him with my heart not just my actions. Too often I fear I care more about the outer trappings than the inner temple. Like a defective Reese’s Cup, I hide my hollow center with an attractive wrapper and chocolate shell. But I want to be the real thing and by God’s grace, someday I will be. Until then, I will keep plodding along in my own lifetime of Lent, awaiting my own day of resurrection Celebration.