Good Friday and the Reason Why I Am a Christian

It seems fitting to write something about the death of Jesus on this Good Friday.

Two thousand years ago a man from Palestine hit the scene in the Roman Empire and made a mark unlike anything humanity has encountered before or since. Today is the day we remember that he was crucified in a terrible death. His friend, Judas, betrayed him, and after a grueling trial, he carried his own cross down the streets of Jerusalem and was nailed onto that cross and died a criminal’s death.

In the three years that Jesus worked in public ministry, the most unlikely people came around him. One woman who was mentally tortured, haunted and persecuted by unseen spirits, regained her sanity when he prayed for her. Another man who lived in caves and cut himself at night, screaming and crying in the catacombs, unexpectedly came across Jesus at the edge of the sea. Jesus spoke a few words to him and restored the crazy man to sanity. To himself.

I’ve been hearing about Jesus now for most of my thirty-eight years of life. I chose to follow him when I was sixteen years old. It was on bended knee after a terrible night of drunken stupidity. I realized that while he may not be the easiest one to imitate, he might be the most honorable and for me, he was the one I was most attracted to. It was an intentional decision to turn the rudder of my life in a completely different direction. I’ve loved him ever since.

Each time I read the biographies about the life and death and miraculous resurrection of Jesus, I’m astonished again at a few things. First, I’m surprised at his kindness. He was a gentle man, who was gracious to little old ladies and lovingly honest to short, mean tax collectors. He was kind to women of every class, even the prostitutes, and he was considerate of children. He saw whomever was in front of him and extended a sort of honor to them that ultimately changed people’s lives. People long to be seen and heard, to know their lives have significance and weight in the grand scheme of things, and finally someone had came along who understood this.

I’m also always astonished anew at his power. He turned water into wine. He touched lepers and they were healed. He prayed over bread and fish and they multiplied. One old widow lost her only son and during the burial procession, Jesus reached over and brought the kid back to life. Just for her. He calmed storms, reduced fevers, made lame men walk, restored sight to beggars, and touched little girls and brought them back to life. He healed people. Inside and out.

I’m always significantly overwhelmed by how grounded Jesus was. He knew exactly what he was doing and for whom he was doing it. On the night he was betrayed they brought him before Pontius Pilate, a Roman procurator. He had the power to release Jesus or send him to his execution. Jesus, knowing full well the man would send him to his death, assured Pilate that he was not the one in command. There was One more powerful than Pilate and it was to Him Jesus rendered his allegiance. This baffled Pilate immensely. So much so that when he turned him over to be crucified, he washed his hands of him and said he wanted no dealings with him. His wife even had a bad dream about him.

Jesus was then scourged and crucified. Brutally. That happened on a Friday.

The multiple accounts we have of these events say that on Sunday morning, Jesus came back to life. His friend Mary, the one who had been mentally tortured by spirits, saw him in the garden near his tomb. Others saw him on the road to Emmaus, walking out of town. And then later, his friends saw him in an upper room. They touched his side, his nail pierced hands, and recognized his physical presence. He was unmistakable.

Now, among his followers He’s called the firstborn of all creation. The one who lives. The Alpha and Omega. The beginning and the end …  For He conquered death and holds the keys to life.

I’ve called Jesus many things. I’ve called him Lord. I’ve called him Friend. I’ve called him Frustrating and Baffling. I’ve called him Mysterious. Mainly, for most of my life now, I’ve found different ways to kneel afresh and simply call him mine. It’s not because some church taught me to follow Jesus, or because I heard a great speaker on television preach about him. Nor is it because by following him things have miraculously gotten easier. There’s a cost to following Jesus. No, it’s something different…

Earlier this week, terrorists attacked Brussels and left the world screaming in rage and fear. People are afraid.

Currently, the United States is in the middle of a presidential campaign. One of the scariest campaigns I’ve lived through yet. We have one person in particular running for president who has no right to lead this country. He has fame and fortune, charisma and a public persona and because he deems himself worthy, we’ve given him a platform. He’s making a mockery of what it means to be a leader.

This world has seen a great many leaders come and go. They rise and fall. We’ve watched presidential candidates come onto the stage. We’ve seen evil people trick the masses into following them with horrible and devastating consequences. We’ve seen beautiful men and women create followings and then eventually die off …

I am a Christian because no matter where I go, and I’ve walked this earth a bit, there’s no one – not one single person – who holds a candle to Jesus Christ. I have found him sufficient. He is the one in whom my soul has found its rest. I seek no other.