A Really Bad Dream

From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land (Mt.  27:45)

Preface:  You know that feeling--when you've had a really bad dream and you wake up suddenly, then are so relieved to realize it was just a dream.... The morning after Jesus had been arrested, Claudia Procula, Pontius Pilate's wife, woke up from a nightmare.  But her really bad dream didn't go away.  There are no  details about the dream, we only know it was about Jesus and it disturbed and frightened her.  Who was this highly-placed Roman lady and why was she concerned about a poor Galilean carpenter named Jesus?

Claudia's childhood plays out like a soap opera.  She was the granddaughter of Roman Emperor Julius Caesar.  Her mother, Julia, is described as being so promiscuous, she was banished from Rome because of her shameful conduct.  During this exile, she had an affair with a Roman soldier and illegitimately gave birth to Claudia. Julia's third husband, Tiberius, became emperor after the death of Julius Caesar, so Claudia grew up  in the palatial surroundings of the Roman residence of Tiberius.  Married at 18 to Pontius Pilate, their wedding present was the governorship of Judea.  Pilate was an inexperienced ruler and made many blunders, embittering the Jews and fostering numerous Jewish insurrections against the Roman occupation.

Claudia was in Jerusalem when Jesus was arrested and brought to trial.  She and Pilate habitually took up temporary residence there to maintain peace and order during the Jewish festivals. Did Claudia know of Jesus by reputation or observation?  Had she seen Jesus while she was on an excursion through the streets of Jerusalem seated on a magnificent sedan chair, lifted high and carried by slaves? Maybe she actually witnessed a miraculous healing.  Or was it by word of mouth from her servant girls who could more easily venture outside of the luxurious fortress palace that housed visiting Roman dignitaries.

For some reason, Jesus was of importance to Claudia and, as someone of the ruling class, she tried to save his life.  The fact that she defended Jesus' innocence while he was being falsely accused is significantly immortalized in scripture.  This must have deeply touched Jesus and encouraged his heavy heart since many of his disciples and friends had completely deserted him and the once-adoring crowds had turned vicious. 

It is intriguing to note that tradition indicates Pilate's wife, Claudia, eventually became a Christian.

Claudia describes the circumstances of her dream:

"I woke up with a jolt, shaking, my heart racing.  I was afraid to move and stared at the ridiculously opulent inlaid gold ceiling towering above me.  Then I felt momentarily relieved, thinking my nightmare about Jesus was only a dream.  But angry voices coming through the windows of our residence brought me back to reality.     

"The palace was perched high above the city and from my window I could see throngs of restless, agitated people screaming "Crucify him!"  When I realized this was all about Jesus, I felt sick.  The haunting nightmare was still vivid in my mind.  I had been deeply disturbed by the news of Jesus' arrest as I retired for the evening.  I didn't know why he had been taken and accused of crimes that could cost his life.  He was immensely popular and showed extraordinary kindness to those in dire need.  He was a just and innocent man.  His goodness had profoundly affected me.

"For the Jewish leaders to bring him before my husband a second time only meant one thing.  They wanted permission from Pilate to execute him. I was amazed Pilate had not immediately agreed to the death penalty to save face as a politician and appease the hysterical mob that had been enraged by wild accusations from the jealous chief priests and elders.  Many in the crowd were the same people who had only days before been Jesus' biggest fans.  It was so unlike Pilate to balk at settling this issue instantly.  He was a military man and had no qualms about shedding innocent blood to stifle a rebellion and stay out of trouble with Rome.

"Now Jesus stood there, alone.  Up all night and exhausted, he had been ridiculed and spat upon.  He was covered with bruises and wounds from being slapped and struck by fists of furious religious leaders and temple guards.  For hours he had been hounded with false accusations and verbal abuse.  He was not a criminal.  I knew that and somehow Pilate knew that, but things were totally out of control.

"It irritated me that not one person tried to defend him, especially when Pilate himself insisted Jesus was innocent.   I grabbed a servant by the arm and ordered him to go immediately to my husband and tell him I was upset and tormented by a dream I just had about Jesus and to urge him not to have anything further to do with the proceedings.  But it didn't work.  Watching from my window, I saw my husband give in to their lies and demands.  In a cowardly attempt to rid himself of any responsibility, he washed his hands in front of the crowd, declaring he was innocent of Jesus' blood.  Jesus was taken to be flogged and brutally crucified.  I moved from the window and slumped to the floor weeping.  My soul ached for this compassionate, humble man known everywhere for healing and delivering the oppressed.

"As Jesus hung on the cross, the brilliant afternoon sun gave way to an ominous darkness that lasted over 3 hours.  Then, as he gasped his last breath, the earth convulsed with a massive earthquake, splitting rocks and leveling structures.  Tombs broke open, releasing dead people who came back to life.  All of Jerusalem had been brought to its knees.  But not for long.  These terrifying events weren't enough to stop the brazen chief priests and elders.  They scrambled through the rubble to Pilate and foolishly conspired with him to secure Jesus' grave so his disciples could not steal his body and claim he rose from the dead.  Unbelievable!

"Three days have now passed and Jesus' followers are indeed proclaiming he is alive!  They insist they have seen him.  Those who rose from their graves when Jesus died now walk the streets of Jerusalem!  I am mystified, but at the same time exhilarated.  If Jesus is truly divinity, he does not remotely resemble any of the gods I have known and worshipped since childhood.  And I will not rest until I learn more about this god-like man who has defied death and promises eternal life."

Matthew 27:11-66

(c) Joyce Catherwood 2011

Angel Tears

 

    Do angels cry?  I really don't know.  I had never thought about it before.  But a few years ago, I was assisting my eldest daughter as she and her husband were preparing for a local move.  As empty-nesters, they were going to try downsizing, with no yard to worry about, and see how they like it.  She asked me if I would take her little weeping-angel garden ornament and keep it for her.  She had become attached to it because in difficult moments she said she would look at her little angel and think, "Yeah that's how I feel today too."  The minute she said that, I felt a sudden twinge of heartache.  Do you know what I mean?  It was a literal momentary ache that I felt deep inside.  I know everyone has good days and bad days.  But somehow, I did not want my daughter to hurt, not at all, not in the least, not ever.

    So the little angel came home with me and now sits against a tree in a special spot in my backyard landscape.  And every time I look at it, it reminds me of my daughter and her tears on her bad days.  Most of us as moms can easily identify.  We don't want our children to suffer, no matter what age they are.  Even as adults, they never stop being our children.

    As I thought about it, I wondered, if I can react with such emotion to the mere thought of one of my children being unhappy, how much more must our God of Compassion respond to each of us in our struggles and trials.  Metaphorically speaking, I believe his heart aches for us when we suffer adversity.  And the heart of God ached for real in the person of Jesus as he delivered and lifted up humanity from oppression and sorrow during his ministry on earth.

    God figuratively catches our tears in his tear bottle and records them in his book according to King David in Ps. 56:8.  So our tender, loving God "catches our tears" but doesn't always prevent them.  As we journey through life, we will not be able to completely escape circumstances that bring us to tears.

    For many years, I felt as though my heart was made of stone.  It did not ache very easily.  My experience from childhood in a rigid, legalistic religious environment shut my emotions down.  I grew up thinking my pain, my sorrows and my tears were not valid because somehow I must have done something to bring my troubles on myself and the ensuing heartache was what I deserved.

    The grace and forgiveness of our Lord Jesus have since allowed me to realize my tears do have value, whether pain comes from my own mistakes or not.  In his book, Soul Making, by Alan Jones, he talks about the gift of tears and writes:  "Real unhappiness is for those with dry eyes and a cold heart.... Weeping...softens the hardened and dried-out soul, making it receptive and alive.  It clears the mind....  Tears falling on the soul will being it back to life."

    Hardness of the human heart affects the lives of our families, neighbors, communities and nations.  As difficult as it may seem at the time, there may be a need for the occasional thunderbolt, an event totally beyond our control that gives us the gift of tears to soften that hardness.

    The little angel ornament shedding tears remains in place in my garden.  And I know there will be moments when I also will look at it and think "Yeah, that's how I feel today too," as my daughter did.  But that's OK.  Tears keep us soft and supple in the hands of a loving God.  And some day, when all is said and done, the Lamb at the center of the throne will wipe away every tear from our eyes forever (Rev. &:17).

Are We Having Fun Yet?

The other day, I was talking to my Lady Banks.... No, not a character out of a romantic period novel, but my Lady Bank Roses.  I'm always telling them how beautiful they are as they come into their full glory in the springtime.  And by the way, yes, I not only talk to myself, I talk to my flowers and my butterflies, my squirrels and my birds.  But this is good, really it it.  And I'll tell you why.

I'm am discovering living in the present.  Finally!  After all these years. Wouldn't you think the joy that can come from living in the moment should come naturally?  And why has it taken so long for me to get how important this is?  Maybe it is because of my stage in life.  I'm thinking it is probably not uncommon for people who finally reach retirement and beyond to be able to stop at some point, take a deep breath and be more attentive to what is around them.  And it's true. Like most people, my life was crazy busy with family, work, caregiving for my parents. Yet I see all kinds of people, even young people, who seem to seize the moment.  How did the ability to do that escape me?

It's easy to get caught up in "life" and forget to pause and savor the moments. We've all heard the saying "Are we having fun yet?"  This is actually a good question to ask, because if not, why not?  Have you ever looked back on a period of time in your life when you realized, wait, you know what?  Those were actually good times, but for what ever reason you didn't recognize it as such then?

While there are many reasons why life may escape us, I'm currently making a conscious effort to try to figure out what my deal was.  I remember it being hard for me to get excited about anything.  If I did have "fun" I felt guilty.  I didn't stop to smell any roses of any kind.  My focus was work and family responsibilities and very little in between.  And this mentality goes back many years.  In fact, my husband and I didn't ever take time to have a honeymoon because we thought we had to get back to work.

As I reflect on it now, my no-nonsense,  duty-bound view on life was self-imposed.  Admittedly, a nose-to-the-grindstone philosophy was clearly reinforced in my belief system, but my application went way above and beyond.  Maybe I am by nature predisposed to being dutiful.  I remember when I was a teenager, even my mom telling me to lighten up...Can you believe that?  Somehow, spirituality turned into diligence, obligation, abstinence and reticence.  I concluded this life was temporary anyway.  It was not the real thing.  The world to come was what counted.  So life passed me by. Or did it? No, it was there all around me.  I just didn't slow down long enough to pay attention and then experience the pleasure and joy the little things that happen momentarily can bring.  And to say this life was not the real thing.....nothing could be further from the truth.  I'm not saying I never picked up on anything.  But certainly not the way I wish I had.

Several years ago,  I put a 50th birthday photo book together of the first 8 years of my firstborn daughter.  During that time, her twin sisters were born.  And for most of those years, we moved numerous times and lived in Canada and France. The memories were somewhat blurred and negative as a result of all the changes, learning a new language, adapting to new cultures.  And because we lived so far away, I became very homesick and lonely. So I wrote pages and pages of letters to my parents.  Of course, my dear mom kept every single one. So, I re-read the letters, thinking they might reveal a few memories I could add to the photo book.

And guess what?  In spite of myself, I had captured dozens of precious moments of life. And I had to admit, we actually had some fun times.  It was quite a family adventure and not all that bad.

It's not that there aren't enough memorable moments happening all around us. Many of us simply don't put on the brakes and take note. We forfeit the emotional and spiritual impact of the moments. As we rush through life, we may miss the little tear in the corner of someone's eye, a smile, a timid child  needing a little encouragement, a friend masking heartache, a teenager hungering for praise, the beauty of a yellow rose or sunset,   

As humans, we are hard-wired for connection, bestowed on us by our Creator. To pause and savor the moment gives it relevance and significance and connects us to those around us, especially those we love the most. 💖 

Remember

When I think I fail to live up to whatever standard I, or someone else, happens to have set for me, my opinion of myself ranges anywhere from impatience and disappointment to anger, disgust or depression.

That's pretty dramatic, you say.  Well, yes, it is.  I do tend to be rather hard on myself.  And in all the drama, I assume God feels the same way.  In spite of the fact that I intellectually know better, I too often forget that Jesus see us all through the eyes of compassion.  I forget that the making of a soul takes a lifetime.  As humans, we tend to view the soul as a finished product, especially as we grow older.  And on this presumed "finished" product, we may place unreasonable demands and terrible burdens. We think somehow we should know better, do better, feel better.  And maybe we should, but at the same time there is a need to remind ourselves there is an unfinished quality about humanity that will remain so until we take our last breath.

When Jesus sees us, he doesn't see someone who messed up again or someone who ought to know better.  He sees someone, deeply beloved, for whom he died.

Did you know crucifixion was reserved for those who did not matter, for those who had lost all status? This manner of execution was viewed as highly offensive and vile and it was not customary to write of it or speak of it publicly. In fact, the Bible narratives contain the longest and most detailed accounts of a crucifixion that exist in ancient literature. The intention for those crucified was that they be forgotten.  They were considered not worthy of remembrance. Interesting, when Jesus inaugurated the communion ceremony which was to symbolize his death, he said, "Do this in remembrance of me."

The victims of crucifixion suffered mockery, taunting, betrayal, humiliation, helplessness, rejection, bleakness, desolation, abandonment, brutality, gruesome torture.  It was an excruciatingly slow death of exposure and asphyxiation, with the last vestiges of dignity cruelly stripped away.

Jesus sees us, not as someone who just can't seem to get it right, but as someone for whom he died such a death. He told us his crucifixion was to be remembered. The biblical account has been preserved throughout the centuries for that very reason. We often view his words "Do this in remembrance of me" as a command.  And certainly it is.  But in the context, at his last supper surrounded by his cherished companions, Jesus knew he was about to face abandonment by most of them and a death with horrific consequences. Those words were not lacking in emotion, but spoken from deep within. It was a heartfelt plea to them, and to us centuries later, to remember him. To remember the enormity of the price he paid because his love for us is profound beyond measure.

That evening, he saw each of his disciples as he sees each of us, as someone for whom he died.  It was at the cross, the fullness of his love was revealed.

The Eyes of my Heart

Within the past few months, I experienced a complicated, serious, infectious illness that backed me into a corner where surrender to God's sovereign will became my only option.  As I struggled to process and accept my dilemma, I fervently asked God to open the eyes of my heart so I could see Him more clearly.  Little did I know, His presence would be magnified through His beautiful children--family, friends, neighbors and strangers.

While feeling especially alone during one of my bad days, I came across this story in a book authored by Sue Monk Kidd, God's Joyful Surprise. She writes:

"One of my favorite sermon stories is about a little girl who went to play with her friend Marcy.  She was late returning home and her mother met her at the door.  'Why are you late?' she asked.  'Marcy's puppy got lost,' the little girl replied.  'Did you stay to help her find it?' the mother asked.  'Oh, no,' she said.  'I stayed to help her cry.'"

So with a desperate need for additional support, maybe even someone "to help me cry," I did something I would not normally do because I don't particularly like to be transparent in a public format.  I posted a brief, rather timid message on my Facebook Timeline requesting prayer.

I was not expecting to be overwhelmed, but that is exactly what happened.  The generosity of heart, the immediate willingness to pray for me, the sincere concern for my well being from my dear Facebook friends brought a burst of tears to my eyes.

The eyes of my heart were opened wide and I saw and encountered God through others.  As they entered His presence through prayer on my behalf, they brought me into His presence as well.  Their prayers became my prayers.  Intercessory prayer is loving cooperation with what Jesus, who will never leave us or forsake us, is already doing in a person's life.  It is meant to expand and intensify His presence in the mind and heart of those who pray and the individual on the receiving end.  I truly was comforted by their concern and lifted up by their prayers.

To be the recipient of a chorus of prayers is both unique and humbling. The effect is profound and long-lasting.  Usually this sort of intercession is an infrequent occurrence since it's prompted by a serious and traumatic event in someone's life.  More often than not, there aren't a lot of details provided when the urgent call for prayer goes out.  Having all the facts isn't necessary because the pivotal purpose of the prayer being offered is not to fix something.  It's simply enough to know someone is hurting and to express heartfelt compassion and empathy, to be with a fellow human being in spirit, "to stay and help them cry."

What a fascinating, miraculous dynamic!  With this form of prayer, we "experience God in spontaneous community," to again quote Sue Monk Kidd.  She goes on to say, "Every prayer is important, primarily to the one for whom we pray, but it's important for us too.  For in intercession we yield ourselves to God, sharing in His compassion and opening ourselves to His presence."

They Fell Asleep...

The road to Calvary speaks volumes of the unconditional love of Jesus, clearly revealed his final hours on earth.

From a human perspective, as the Son of  Man, it literally took blood, sweat and tears for Jesus to resolve to face the cruelty, rejection, degradation and violence of an execution by crucifixion.  He was destined to choose the Father's will over his own pain, but it was not without a desperate struggle.  Let's reflect for a moment on the emotional agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, where just prior to his arrest, with loud crying and tears, Jesus pleaded for strength and help.

The peaceful garden, thick with twisted-trunk olive trees, where they often went was familiar to Jesus and the disciples.  But this time something was different.  The disciples had never seen their master like this, severely distressed and troubled.  They glanced at each other, wondering what to expect.  As they entered through the gate, Jesus asked the group to sit down and wait for him there, with the exception of Peter, James and John.  Then as the full moon illuminated their way, the selected three followed Jesus deeper into the recesses of the garden.

Finally, unable to contain the crushing sorrow any longer, he uttered, "My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death.  Stay here and keep watch."  Wait.  Did you catch that?  Grieved to the point of death? These are words laden with mental anguish and affliction of the soul. Then Jesus turned from his three companions and went a short distance. Tears streaming down his face, he fell to the ground, crying out to the Father as he began to wrestle with the preordained plan to redeem humankind.  His voice echoed in the dark night, heart-wrenching pleas from the pit of his being.  Could there be another way?

An hour passes.  In the moonlight, he saw Peter, James and John across the way and approached them.  Did he hope to be comforted? Did he expect a show of concern and support?  He had asked so little of them.  He simply wanted them to be there for him in his hour of great need.  But what did his best friends in the whole world do?  They fell asleep.

Jesus leaves them and the battle in the garden continues, waves of emotion threatening to drown him with their force.  An angel appears to strengthen him.  The fervency and agony was so intense, his sweat mixed with blood.  Again he reached out to his slumbering friends. They looked up at him through drowsy eyes.  He searched for a glimmer of reassurance.  But they didn't know what to say to him. With a disheartened sigh, he said to them "It's OK...go back to sleep."

Exhausted, Jesus returned to his special spot.  After a final episode of ardent, earnest prayer, the saga of blood, sweat and tears was unequivocally over.  He went to fetch his friends, finding all three sound asleep again, totally oblivious to his grievous personal struggle. As he studied their faces, remembering the camaraderie, his heart filled with compassion.  His love for them had not lessened. He awakened them with renewed determination in his voice.  Startled, they looked around, confused. For the past few hours, through groggy sleep, they'd heard him sob uncontrollably.  Now they stumbled along after him, trying to match his rapid pace as he headed back to the garden entrance to meet his betrayer face to face.

So here's the question that deserves an answer.  If Jesus' closest companions, his friends who were literally there in his very presence, feel asleep in the midst of all that transpired, how much easier is it for me to miss the point as well?  Is there a tendency to gloss over the words of the story--words heavy with raw emotion and feeling?

To stop, reflect and unpack events described in the Gospel accounts leading up to and including Jesus' ultimate sacrifice is to measure the length and width, height and depth of his amazing, unconditional love. It is meant to be taken personally.  It is intended to touch our hearts. In the final analysis, it is an invitation to respond.

"Only one act of pure love, unsullied by any taint of ulterior motive has ever been performed in the history of the world, namely the self-giving of God in Christ on the cross of undeserving sinners. That is why, if we are looking for a definition of love, we should look not in a dictionary, but at Calvary."  (quote by John R. Stott, The Cross of Christ)

One Small Child

This sweet photo of my grandson, Chris, soon after birth , captures the essence of the vulnerability and helplessness of a newborn child. 

Hearing a newborn cry out for the very first time is emotional to the core.  Especially if, for a few heart-pounding moments,  that cry is delayed due to complications at birth.  This happened with one of our daughters who was not breathing immediately after delivery and had to be stirred to life. When she finally cried out, that soulful, unmistakable sound was music to our ears.  The cry of a tiny infant resembles no other.

When Jesus was born and took his first breath, I like to think his poignant, emotive newborn cry resounded throughout the vastness of the entire universe. Why?  Because suddenly heaven erupted into euphoric, jubilant rejoicing and praise. A tear in the fabric of the firmament revealed a glimpse of the celebration of a great company of herald angels who knew earth had finally received her king.

The birth of Jesus as a tiny, helpless and vulnerable baby is unlike any other event in human history. There is such richness to be gained by honoring and worshiping the babe in the manger.  Not the least of which is the recognition of the astonishing humility of the Creator of all that is.  He "made himself nothing" (Phil.2:7) and miraculously became a part of his own creation.  It is nigh unto impossible to find words to adequately convey exactly what that represented.  In her book Bright Evening Star, Madeleine L'Engle, using her poetic literary style, comes close.  She writes:

"Power. Greater power than we can imagine, abandoned, as the Word knew the powerlessness of the unborn child, still unformed, taking up almost no space in the great ocean of amniotic fluid, unseeing, unhearing, unknowing.  Slowly growing, as any human embryo grows, arms and legs and a head, eyes, mouth, nose, slowly swimming into life until the ocean in the womb is no longer large enough, and it is time for birth....  Christ, the Second Person of the Trinity, Christ, the Maker of the universe...willingly and lovingly leaving all that power and coming to this poor, sin-filled planet to live with us for a few years to show us what we out to be and could be...."

And so it was, the Holy One, out of the depths of eternity, broke into the limitations of time and space for you and for me.  Fully human and fully God, this was divine love incarnate in a baby.  A real baby with a little wrinkled brow, wispy, raven-colored hair and enormous questioning eyes that stared into the eyes of his young mother, Mary. She wrapped him snugly with swaddling clothes and held him tightly so he would feel secure. I'm sure her heart melted with each soft gurgle that came from his mouth.  And as she cuddled and nuzzled her beloved new son, did tears of joy trickle down her cheeks and fall tenderly onto his? That's easy to imagine.  When she kissed her little baby, as she surely must have, she kissed the face of God.

The incarnation, in it's entirety, from Jesus' conception and birth to his death and resurrection, was planned from the foundation of the world. The instant he was born, he was the Son of God, the Son of Man and the Savior of the world. It is significant that almost half of his 33 years on planet earth were spent either as an infant,or as a child or as an adolescent.  He didn't skip over those years, rushing to achieve manhood.  Every minute of his life carried profound meaning. The wonder of Jesus' nativity is more than worthy of thoughtful reflection, grateful worship and highest praise.

"One small Child in a land of a thousand

One small dream of a Savior tonight

One small hand reaching out to the starlight

One small Savior of life."*

*Words from song One Small Child by David Meece