There came a day, even a moment, when being a Christian took on new urgency joined with empowering freshness. Perhaps it occurred progressively, which is likely, for the Spirit’s witness to Jesus, his communication of the Prince of life as our food and drink usually unfolds and possesses each soul little by little. No new revelation came beaming from heaven; nothing beyond the same old Bible, the same Bible new. Obligatory discipleship, necessary duty became a “you have come to Mount Zion,” the delight of the soul, a straight and level path, a light burden. Sin was still present, to be sure. So were the circumstances and pressures of life. There is no Jesus without the cross. Yet, Jesus Christ a real person, a living and breathing reality, transcendently glorious, joyfully near, unspeakably satisfying. No greater pleasure was sought or needed than to enjoy his promised presence, his covenant surety before the throne of God inviting us to enjoy his redemption and reconciliation, securing each day’s mercy and faithfulness, his headship more than a idea but fullness received by faith, grace upon grace.
Then came the reading in John’s Gospel: “If you love me, keep my commandments.” Blindness too often focused upon the second half of this line. Yes, to keep his commandments is my duty. Can I? I tried often. Or had I? Can the second half ever be without the first? Perhaps for a while there may be an attempt to keep some or all. But there is not much joy in it. There is less power and virtually no consistency. The sirens of the not yet perfected soul return, calling out not to take things too seriously. Obey maybe in a few things. Keep some areas for yourself, some thoughts, a few hours, some seemingly trifling indulgences for self. Then, the predicted fall occurs. There is pride again. Lust rears its ugly head. Self fights to dethrone the Crucified. What a bloody sword is my tongue! The guilt follows. Another sermon on some neglected duty. I am tired and frustrated now, again.
What did the first half say: “If you love me.” Wait. Is Jesus putting obedience on an entirely different plane? He is not calling me to performance piety. There is nothing here about tradition, or merit, or karma. Love. Love for him. Love is personal. It suggests a relationship, a commitment, a whole-soul, emotional, warm movement toward him as a person, The Person, the one who loved me first. O, the cross! The realization dawns that obedience is personal, to a person, to the Savior whose every word and action drips love and sacrifice, submission to the Father because he loves the Father, as a Son should his father, as only The Son does. I return to the cross.
It is easy to sentimentalize the cross, to turn it into a spectacle of piety. I think of the gore. It was there aplenty. The misery and pain are unspeakable. Scripture is comparatively silent on these, not at all like cinema depictions, for we require not the sight but the word, not dazzled eyes but believing hearts. Leading up to that bloody hill, there is the horrible night in the garden, the most horrible night in the history of the world. Will he take the cup? He prays, if possible, for it to pass. The cup is not the cross itself but the poison draught that once accepted seals its agony. The thought of the cup is perfect holiness and pure love unhinged before the thought of sin and its curse. All its horrors are presented. Not the horrors of hell, mind you – how could the Creator of hell be afraid of hell? Fire: I made it. Death: do you not remember Lazarus? Death obeys me, not I it. No, the horrors of something far worse than hell commonly considered, that which makes hell more than a place of physical torment; the cup is the apprehension of divine justice poised to exact its full toll. It is the sword being drawn, ready to strike me down, I, who am holiness and love itself in word and deed.
Two loves drained the cup that night. Two loves bore the cursed cross. The first was his love for his Father. “I always do those things that please him.” “My meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his will.” Why? I and my Father are one – in existence, will, and love. Before there was anything, anything against which to speak of nothing, I was daily his delight, rejoicing always before him. The Father loves me; he has committed everything into my hand. I love him. I came because I loved him, willingly submitted to his will in my agreed upon work as Mediator. Yes, I learned obedience through the things I suffered, but it was love for the Father that sanctified the suffering. It was love that taught me, in the days of my flesh, to pray, even in the garden: “Thy will be done.” This is not a declaration of fatalistic acquiescence but of love and devotion uniting in a holy fervor and active pursuit of the Father’s will – the cross. It is my ultimate expression of absolute devotion to my Father, of my oneness with him, love for him, and submission to him.
And the other love? For us, this is something uncomfortably amazing to contemplate, for no one has or can love us like this. At God’s appointment, “love” is the human word used, but great care must be exercised when we use it. On peril of blasphemy and the basest ingratitude punished in the lowest depths of hell, we best not say or act in any way, in any relationship, that trivializes a word defined by the sacrifice of the Son of God. He loves us. Even in the garden, he commanded, commanded, mind you, the malevolent soldiers to “let these go.” Of all whom the Father has given me, I will lose none; not even in this Satan’s hour, never. When my love is set, it never fails of its purpose. I love you. My love will accomplish its goal. I will die for you. I will take this sword into my own holy heart. I will be the appointed substitute, surety, propitiation, and curse. I will be the sacrifice, the priest, and the altar. I will drink this cup for my sheep, for I know them by name, and each bitter drop is for them. They are all written in my book. If I must stare at all my bones, if I must be forsaken, if I must become the burnt offering, I will love you. I will save you.
Now, if you love me. Do you? How often have you returned to these scenes of love, lingering for just an hour with me in prayer, even for your own soul? Have you thought recently upon my sacrifice? Have you considered me? Do the chords of your redeemed heart no longer tremble when they think on Calvary, where love and mercy kissed and satisfied justice and wrath? Do you ever think that I am now at the Father’s right hand – yes, removed from you physically, I know, but I will soon be restored to you, my beloved – interceding for you, continuing to open heaven’s portals to you by my sacrifice of love, by the merit of my love, by the righteousness of my love? What would-be loves are weakening your love for me? Judas may have hung himself, but his kiss of treachery lingers on in every word, action, and relationship that hides my love behind the cloud of self, willfulness, and forgetfulness. Here I am. Love me. Pray, as I did, not to enter into any temptation that will diminish my love, make it common, or just another love among the world’s many attempt to fill the miserable void left by its treachery. Will you not watch with me? Just one hour. I wrote to you to “look unto Jesus, the author and finisher of your faith.” I invite you to revel, tremble, rejoice, and triumph in my love.
What will you not give up to love me? I have done all for you. Do your taste buds need changing, so that you will lose your appetite for sin? Do you still find that the world’s worries and pressures are so burdensome that you often feel like collapsing in a heap of despair? Do you fill your life with a swirl of constant activity, so much so that I am an afterthought? Where are you bleating in the darkness, my sheep? Here I am. I love you. I am your light, your bread, your water, your resurrection, your door, your way, truth, and life. I am all you have been created and recreated to enjoy. Love me. Do you? You are my friends, yes, friends, for all things that the Father has told me I have made known to you, if you do what I say – because you love me. I am preparing a place where we can love, rejoice, and laugh together. Will you give yourself to me? Whatever your past, I make all things new. Whatever your sins, my blood has satisfied the claims of my Father, and your Father. Whatever your present temptations, I am with you. Be of good cheer; I love you. Resist the devil, because you love me, and he will flee from you. You see, my love saved the world. It destroyed the evil one and cast him out of heaven. It saved you. It saves you. It will save you. If you love me, then, keep my commandments. My word, which is the will of my Father, will be your delight and meat as it is mine. Obedience will be your privilege as a son. It will be your delight. Are you weak? I will strengthen you. Are you weary? I will carry you? Are you fearful? Distracted? Divided? Behold my hands and side. Let no other love intrude.