GIVING TESTIMONY – Part 1 of 2

“Jesus said, ‘You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be My witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.’”  (Acts 1:8 NIV)

From the beginning, putting the Christian faith into words out in the everyday arenas of life has been called testimony or witness. These are the strong and good words… Often when witness and testimony are employed in Christian circles, they refer only to autobiographical accounts of how somebody became a Christian …

Witness and testimony are big words, and we need to recover their full range of meaning. They are borrowed from the world of the law court, and in a court of law, something important is being contested, something or someone is "on trial." …

Jesus is the true and faithful witness, and Christians, as a part of God's people, are corroborating witnesses. Our testimony is, in effect, "What Jesus said and did is the truth about God and about human life, and we ourselves can attest in our own lives to the power of this truth."

A friend of mine, Heidi Neumark, served for several years as the pastor of a Lutheran church in the South Bronx, in perhaps the poorest of all poor neighborhoods in America. Her first Sunday as pastor, Heidi understood what kind of church she was serving when she found under the altar a box of rat poison next to the communion wafers. Members of her congregation include former addicts and undocumented aliens, the unemployed and the recently homeless. It is the kind of congregation Paul was talking about when he wrote, "Consider your own call, brothers and sisters: not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise" (I Corinthians 1:26-27).

During Holy Week several years ago, this congregation decided to reenact in a passion play the whole sweep of Holy Week, from Palm Sunday to Easter.  They began by dramatizing Jesus' entry into the city, borrowing a live donkey and, led by an actor playing the part of Jesus, parading in a long procession around the block of the shabby storefronts and run-down apartments shouting, "Hosanna!"  When they got around the block and back to the door of the church, the Palm Sunday procession ran into a street demonstration protesting police brutality. It was fitting, really, as Jesus and the protesters, the congregation and the street crowds, the cries of "Hosanna!" and the cries of social outrage mingled together in a swirl of movement and noise. In fact, someone passing by on the street, seeing the confusion and fearing trouble, even called the police, whose arrival brought a bit of added color and drama. Somehow the processional managed to make it inside the church, where, as the play unfolded, Jesus was tried, condemned, and executed. But then women returned early in the morning of the first day of the week with the amazing word of an empty tomb and the astounding news, "He is risen!"  The actors playing the disciples remained true to their assigned parts, expressing disbelief and confidence that this news from the women was but an "idle tale."

-- Excerpted from “Testimony: Talking Ourselves into Being Christian” by Thomas G. Long

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THE LAST WORD

“Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance.”  (John 20:1 NIV)

Early on the first day of the week, some of those who had loved Jesus the most came to pay Him love’s continuing respect. Especially, there was Mary of Magdala. She had been such a bewildered, mixed-up, self-destructive soul until Jesus came into her life, and He had turned her all around. But now He was gone. She had heard the last word: death. She had heard it right from hell, for hell is always trying to tell us that it has the last word.

When she got to the tomb, she found the body missing. This seemed like the final indignity, cruelty heaped on sorrow, for she felt someone had stolen His body. So she stood there weeping. That’s what you do, if you think the last word is the devil’s word: you weep.

Then a voice asked her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Who is it you are looking for?” Mary was so broken by sorrow that she didn’t even look up, and so dulled by tragedy that she didn’t recognize the voice. “Sir,” she said, “if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have put Him, and I will get Him.” She may have been grief-stricken, but to her credit, she hadn’t stopped loving.

Then Jesus said just one word. “Mary.” He called her by name. It must have been reminiscent of that day, months or years before, when He spoke her name and in doing so, called her out of the darkness and confusion which had so long characterized her life. At any rate, it was all she needed. “Teacher!” she cried. Then she hurried back to the disciples. “I have seen the Lord!” she told them. Which is to say -- death was not the last word. It wasn’t even the next-to-last word. Hell tried to tell her, when they took her Lord from the cross and carried Him off to a tomb, that the last word had been spoken, but it hadn’t. Because the last word is God. And then, the exclamation point.

-- J. Ellsworth Kalas (1923-2015), excerpted from a sermon entitled “In the End, the Exclamation Point”, February 28, 1990 

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“IT IS FINISHED”

“When He had received the drink, Jesus said, ‘It is finished.’ With that, He bowed His head and gave up His spirit.”  (John 19:30)

Good Friday brings us to the foot of the cross, where the final words of Jesus ring out with earth‑shaking power: “It is finished.” In Greek, the word is tetelestai -- a single word that carries the weight of eternity.

In the ancient world, tetelestai was written on receipts to mean “paid in full.” It was spoken by servants reporting a completed task, by artists stepping back from a masterpiece, by priests announcing that a sacrifice had been offered without blemish. It was a word of completion, fulfillment, and victory.

And Jesus chose that word. Not “I am finished,” as if His life were slipping away. But “It is finished” -- a declaration, not of defeat, but of triumph.

At that moment: The debt of sin was paid in full. The long‑awaited sacrifice was complete. The work the Father gave Him to do was accomplished. The barrier between God and humanity cause by our sin was torn down. The serpent’s claim on humanity was shattered. What began in a garden with a forbidden tree ends on a hill with a rugged cross. What sin broke, Christ restored. What we could never do, He did perfectly. And He did it willingly.

When Jesus cried tetelestai, He wasn’t whispering resignation, He was proclaiming redemption. The Lamb of God was not overcome by death, He was offering Himself in love. The cross was not a tragedy to endure but a mission to complete.

Good Friday reminds us that our salvation does not rest on our striving, our goodness, or our spiritual performance. It rests entirely on the finished work of Christ. We don’t add to it. We don’t improve it. We simply receive it.

Because of tetelestai, you can rest.  The work that saves you is done. The grace that holds you is secure. The love that claimed you is complete. It is finished! 

-- SOUND BITES Ministry™

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THE STORY OF BETRAYAL

“On the first day of the Festival of Unleavened Bread, the disciples came to Jesus and asked, ‘Where do you want us to make preparations for you to eat the Passover?’ He replied, ‘Go into the city to a certain man and tell him, “The Teacher says: My appointed time is near. I am going to celebrate the Passover with My disciples at your house.”’ So the disciples did as Jesus had directed them and prepared the Passover. When evening came, Jesus was reclining at the table with the Twelve.”  (Matthew 26:17-20 NIV)

The Passover is meant to be a festive and celebratory time, filled with joy as participants remember that those who were slaves were now set free, at last becoming one people, the people of God. If indeed the Last Supper began with such a tone, it changed during the course of the evening. Even beyond Jesus' foreknowledge of events, there was great apprehension in the room. Everyone was conscious of the heightened tension between Jesus and the religious leaders. They all wondered what was going to happen to Jesus -- and to them. Would there be repercussions from His action in the Temple? Might He finally proclaim Himself Messiah?

Jesus cut through the uncertainty with a statement so electric it still echoes across the centuries. "One of you," He said, looking at them in the sudden stillness of the Seder celebration, "will betray Me." (Mark 14:18)

He knew which one it was, but He did not say. "Surely, not I?" the disciples asked. (Mark 14:19) "It is one of the twelve, one who is dipping bread into the bowl with Me" (Mark 14:20), Jesus said, probably referring to the bowl of charoset before them.

The story of betrayal winds its way through the rest of the Gospel accounts of the final twenty-four hours of Jesus' life. Before the night was through, Judas would betray Jesus; Peter would deny Him; and the disciples would desert Him, leaving Jesus utterly alone as He faced trial at the hands of His enemies.

The echoes of Jesus' prediction and of the acts of betrayal by those closest to Him are still discomfiting. In our own age,… we realize that such betrayals are commonplace. Jesus might well have said, "All of you will betray Me;" and with that realization, we must look finally at ourselves. 

-- Adam Hamilton in “24 Hours That Changed the World” 

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REALLY, LORD?

“Christ suffered for our sins once for all time. He never sinned, but He died for sinners to bring you safely home to God. He suffered physical death, but He was raised to life in the Spirit.”  (1 Peter 3:18 NLT)

Really now, Lord Jesus, is our sin so serious as to necessitate the sort of ugly drama we are forced to behold on Good Friday? Why should the noon sky turn toward midnight and the earth heave and the heavens be rent for our mere peccadilloes? To be sure, we’ve made our mistakes. Things didn’t turn out as we intended. There were unforeseen complications, factors beyond our control. But we meant well. We didn’t intend for anyone to get hurt. We’re only human, and is that so wrong?

Really now, Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, we may not be the very best people who ever lived, but surely we are not the worst. Others have committed more serious wrong. Ought we to be held responsible for the ignorance of our grandparents? They, like we, were doing the best they could, within the parameters of their time and place. We’ve always been forced to work with limited information. There’s always been a huge gap between our intentions and our results.

Please, Lord Jesus, die for someone else, someone whose sin is more spectacular, more deserving of such supreme sacrifice. We don’t want the responsibility. Really, Lord, is our unrighteousness so very serious? Are we such sinners that You should need to die for us?

Really, if You look at the larger picture, our sin, at least my sin, is so inconsequential. You are making too big a deal out of such meager rebellion. We don’t want Your blood on our hands. We don’t want our lives in any way to bear the burden of Your death. Really. Amen. 

-- Will Willimon in “The Best of Will Willimon”

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