Silence before the cross
When Christ was taken in by his captors, he faced a series of sham courts, complete with false witnesses and trumped-up charges. There he stood, a holy God, a battered man, being accused. And then he did the one act that we would never expect or accept. He got up in front of those vile men, and he said nothing.
In many ways, this act was the first shot fired for the gospel. It was an act that recalled everything Jesus did and foretold everything that Jesus would do. It was the first shot across the bow of death and sin. But I want to ignore it.
If there's anything that I want, it's something to say when the world accuses me. "You've wasted your life," they would say. And I would want to produce a resume, replete with acts of holiness and humility. "You're unloving and prideful," they'd say, and I would produce a wife of character and love, who respected me for who I was. "You're lazy and a waste of potential," they'd say, and I would point to my achievements.
But Christ's silence portends the end of all that. His silence says that God loves us, in a way we don't understand. It says that he loves us not because of what we've done, but because of who we are. Christ's silence means that we have nothing to say before the world anymore. The charges against us are made by a world with no authority.
And that's the hardest part: we have to learn to be silent before the world. That all our ambitions are doomed attempts to gain the respect of a world dying away. Paul said that everything that he'd ever done was all loss before Christ. Loss! That means all of his education, his accomplishments, his hopes, his dreams. Paul was a well-schooled aristocrat toiling away at a series of meager jobs, travelling from city to city, never able to settle down. One early account of Paul describes him this way: "a man little of stature, thin-haired upon the head, crooked in the legs, of good state of body, with eyebrows joining, and nose somewhat hooked, full of grace."
He was a man who was short, fat, bald, with a unibrow, empty of himself, but full of the grace of Christ.
In many ways, this act was the first shot fired for the gospel. It was an act that recalled everything Jesus did and foretold everything that Jesus would do. It was the first shot across the bow of death and sin. But I want to ignore it.
If there's anything that I want, it's something to say when the world accuses me. "You've wasted your life," they would say. And I would want to produce a resume, replete with acts of holiness and humility. "You're unloving and prideful," they'd say, and I would produce a wife of character and love, who respected me for who I was. "You're lazy and a waste of potential," they'd say, and I would point to my achievements.
But Christ's silence portends the end of all that. His silence says that God loves us, in a way we don't understand. It says that he loves us not because of what we've done, but because of who we are. Christ's silence means that we have nothing to say before the world anymore. The charges against us are made by a world with no authority.
And that's the hardest part: we have to learn to be silent before the world. That all our ambitions are doomed attempts to gain the respect of a world dying away. Paul said that everything that he'd ever done was all loss before Christ. Loss! That means all of his education, his accomplishments, his hopes, his dreams. Paul was a well-schooled aristocrat toiling away at a series of meager jobs, travelling from city to city, never able to settle down. One early account of Paul describes him this way: "a man little of stature, thin-haired upon the head, crooked in the legs, of good state of body, with eyebrows joining, and nose somewhat hooked, full of grace."
He was a man who was short, fat, bald, with a unibrow, empty of himself, but full of the grace of Christ.
posted by Tim Dees at 12:29 AM
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