Good Friday to you

22 For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, 23 but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, 24 but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.
 28 God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, 29 so that no one may boast before him. 30 It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption.     
 1 Corinthians 1: 22-24, 28-30

Each Good Friday I make a point to read the Gospel accounts of the crucifixion. For me, it’s a small way to consecrate the most significant day in the history of the universe. And inevitably, by God’s grace, as I set my mind of the events of 2,000 years ago, something new surfaces to my attention.

The Bible is so rich with life-impacting meaning. There seems no end to the layers of implication imbedded into what can seem mere words and surface-level story—obviously, and especially, with the crucifixion accounts. This morning what stood out was the depiction of the criminals on the cross, on either side of Jesus, particularly as described in the Gospel of Luke:

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

40 But the other criminal rebuked him. “Don’t you fear God,” he said, “since you are under the same sentence? 41 We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.” 

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

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

Immediately upon reading this passage my mind went to Paul’s word to the Church in Corinth (referenced above). Read it again.

There, in the middle of two justly-sentenced felons, hung Jesus, the King of the Jews, the King of the World—in itself a stark picture of the dividing nature of Christ. And there, on Skull Hill, Jesus separated the sheep from the goats, the wheat from the chaff, just as He has necessarily done with every person who’s ever lived from the beginning of time until now. To the one Jewish criminal, Jesus was a stumbling block, mocked in the hopeless demand for a body-rescuing miracle—this, to his certain condemnation—and to the other offender, who, in humility, recognized his desperate need and begged for the salvation of his soul (not body), Jesus was the literal Way, Truth and Life.

Pretty heavy stuff, huh? Luke uses this aspect of the crucifixion account to depict what are the only two actual outcomes of encountering Christ: salvation through acceptance of His call, or condemnation through rejection, or refusal to answer.

But the world purports there’s a third response, one not so dramatic or drastic in its implications. This encounter is religious laissez faire and promotes/produces simple indifference—absolutely not acknowledgment of Jesus as the only Son of the One True God…and Savior, but not stalwart denial of that possibility either. Here, so long as the person is ‘good’ and lives at least a comparatively upright life, no embrace of Christ’s saving grace is required.

The problem is, bluntly, there wasn’t a fourth cross with a third criminal who hung quietly by the wayside. And there are only two sides to a definite middle—exactly where the cross of Christ was driven into the ground.

The questions are therefore begged: Which criminal are you? Which criminal is your friend? Your family member? Before you answer (and though possibly difficult, take stock and do answer), however, think of the boisterous, insult-hurling criminal as unable to open his mouth, hanging on his cross in sheer apathy—his fate would be no different.

Grace to you this Good Friday, to firmly grasp the schismatic effect of Christ’s cross, and to respond with resulting urgency,

Voice of another