Reflections

(From John 3, John 7 and John 19)

I’m an old man now. And like old men everywhere, I spend a lot of time reflecting. Reflecting on events that I have witnessed, reflecting on people I have known, and reflecting on my own life and what it all means. I hope my reflections are honest. Yes, I hope that they are honest and not just the product of what I want to see when I look back. You see, I want to look back and view only the truth, even if the truth is not kind to me.

You know me. Yes, you know me from my encounters with Jesus. There were three. Interestingly, these three encounters consume much of my time in reflection. Even now, in reflection, just as when I first encountered Jesus decades ago, I am seeking, searching for something. Whatever it is, it’s just out of my reach, something that I yearn for; in a way, it feels like a kind of hunger. 

I had felt this searching even before I met Jesus, as if I were waiting, waiting on an unfulfilled promise, waiting on the edge of some unspoken truth that was drawing me in. Before I met Jesus, I couldn’t give it a name, but now, today, long after my encounters with Jesus, in reflection, I can. I can at least do that.

As a prominent Pharisee, I thought I knew what I was seeking. In fact, I was certain of it. It was the Messiah! All of us Pharisees were seeking the Messiah, and we knew exactly what to look for. In fact, most Jews of our day were doing the same, searching, waiting expectantly for a leader who would rid us of the hated Romans, and who would restore the throne of King David. As a people, we had searched and waited for literally hundreds of years. Always waiting, forever waiting.

But then there was Jesus, a young rabbi, coming literally out of nowhere. Most of us Pharisees gave him little heed. He didn’t match our profile of the Messiah. To most of us, he was nothing more than a distraction.

Something about Jesus, however, captured my attention. It was true, he didn’t fit our image of a Messiah. Not even close, really. On the other hand, he was a healer and yes, he attracted crowds eager to hear his message about the kingdom of God. He spoke a truth that went to the heart, and he opened himself to the very least members of our culture, the poor, the sick and the forgotten. He was far outside the mold of what we expected of a leader, fitting more the mold of a servant.

It was the crowds, of course, that eventually caught the eye of the other Pharisees and the elders. They were alarmed by the crowds following Jesus. The distraction called Jesus was becoming a nuisance, and as a nuisance, he would eventually have to be dealt with.

For me, however, Jesus meant more than healing and teaching. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was about him that attracted me. But something did. Something about him was special, inviting me to want to get to know him. 

So, I sought him out, seeking a private meeting. At night. I couldn’t be too careful. I had a reputation, you see, that had to be jealously guarded. 

Our visit was a disaster (John 3). I walked in, openly bearing all of my preconceptions, wishing to interrogate Jesus on many points of our faith. He responded to my shallow views with deeper truths, ones that I was not willing to accept or even acknowledge. 

Upon reflection, I now see that my purpose at the time was to impress this rabbi. My pride as a Pharisee blocked out his words from my hearing. And so, I lost the opportunity for a deeper connection with this remarkable man. Not because he rejected me, but because at the time, my sense of self would not tolerate being taught by this uncredentialed rabbi.

But I still followed him, albeit from afar. Something about him had touched me, and in a strange way, my encounter with Jesus only heightened my sense of searching and waiting. But now, I was beginning to wonder if the subject of my searching and waiting might have changed. 

Perhaps I was no longer searching for the king who would displace the hated Romans. You see, after meeting Jesus, I began to ask myself deeper questions. Reflecting on Jesus, I began to consider that I was no longer waiting and searching for a restorer, but instead, a redeemer. A redeemer who was not about returning Israel to glory, but instead, someone who would bridge the gulf between God and me. Not a leader who would command thousands, but a savior, who could somehow speak God’s words of love deeply into my heart of hearts. Someone who could heal not just my bodily infirmities, but a voice whose penetrating words of truth could make my spirit whole.

Perhaps all this time, I had been waiting, searching for the wrong thing. I could admit that to myself, but not to my fellow Pharisees. And as long as Jesus remained in Galilee, they could mostly disregard him. In Galilee, he remained just a nuisance. 

But now, he was on our doorstep (John 7), in Jerusalem, attracting large crowds of people. Jesus had become more than a nuisance. Much more. He had become a threat, one that must be stopped.

I was in the crowds around Jesus in Jerusalem. Hoping that I would not be recognized, I kept to the rear, in the shadows. And I listened. Jesus was speaking truth, but boldly. Very boldly. Dangerously boldly, in my opinion.

Our leaders had sent temple police to arrest Jesus. They were also in the crowd, waiting for the right opportunity. But the police did not arrest Jesus. Like me, they were won over by his message of love and mercy. So, they returned to our leaders, empty-handed. 

I was there when the temple police came back to report that they’d never heard anyone speak like Jesus. Secretly, I agreed. And while the Pharisees and elders raged, and threatened serious action against Jesus, I finally had to speak up. It was a big step for me.

Upon reflection, my words were the mildest rebuke possible. I am sorry to say it. But at the time, all my courage allowed me to say in defense of Jesus was to remind the Pharisees and elders that anyone charged with an offense deserved a hearing before being judged.

Of course, my words changed nothing. But at least, I had spoken out and sorry to say, as weak as it was, it took all the strength that I could muster.

I could sense that a day of reckoning was coming. Perhaps I should have sought Jesus out, to warn him that he was not safe in Jerusalem. But I did not. I am again, sorry to say that. Looking back, I can’t say that any warning from me would have dissuaded Jesus anyway. He seemed to be purposefully on a dangerous course, heading toward a destiny that I could foresee, but could not forestall.

And so, it happened, just as I feared. Worse, actually, than I feared. The arrest, mock trial, and the brutal crucifixion were worse than I had feared. There was no mercy given to Jesus. None.

I was ashamed for my fellow Pharisees, elders and other leaders. And I was ashamed at my lack of courage.

This brings us to my third encounter with Jesus (John 19). 

I stayed away from his crucifixion, knowing that if I were there, my fellow Pharisees would expect me to mock him, as they were doing. Mocking this innocent man as he hung in agony on a cross was beyond my strength to do.

Where was I? In the temple, praying. Praying on my knees for my country, my faith, my fellow Pharisees, and for Jesus, this innocent man who even in his dying, was somehow speaking to me.

I remained in the temple for hours. The temple was empty, leaving me in solitude as I prayed. Outside, I could hear thunder and I could feel the ground shaking beneath me. But I kept praying.

As evening approached, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw my friend, Joseph. His face was drawn and somber.

“Come with me,” he beckoned, “come,” and I silently rose and accompanied him down dark and deserted streets, following him outside the city gate, to the hill of execution. The skull, they called it.

Three men were still hanging on crosses. All were dead. Jesus, in the middle, was hanging, lifeless. The other two, one on either side, were also lifeless, their legs broken to hasten their deaths. These two bodies would remain on their crosses for days, with no one caring enough to come for them. Joseph and I, there for Jesus, were alone with the dead.

“I have received permission from Pilate to retrieve the body of Jesus,” Joseph explained. “I thought you might like to help me.” Joseph, you see, was another secret admirer of Jesus.

“Wait here while I go and get something,” I told Joseph. And while he waited, I returned to my home. You see, not knowing why, I had recently purchased one hundred pounds of spices, aloes and myrrh. For whatever reason, it seemed like the thing to do. And now, I knew exactly why.

One of my servants helped me to carry the spices back to the hill of execution. But before retrieving the body of Jesus from the cross, I stood to look at him. For what seemed like a long time, I looked at the body of Jesus. Joseph stood with me. We were in no hurry, disregarding the oncoming sunset and Sabbath. For once, the Sabbath would have to wait.

What was Jesus telling me, as he hung, lifeless on the cross? Was there any meaning to his innocent death? As strange as it sounds, it seemed as if the dead Jesus was speaking to me. Just to me. To me, the proud Pharisee, who had placed tradition and knowledge above loving my fellow man. To me, the half-hearted supporter. To me, the secret admirer.

The silent words that Jesus spoke to me from his cross have stayed with me. I believe he was telling me to keep searching, to keep seeking, and that eventually, I would find what I had been waiting for. He was telling me that my hunger was something that God himself had planted in me, and that it was a good thing, and would never leave me. And that it was all about love, a love that led him to literally sacrifice himself, to be a living example of the extent of God’s love and mercy.

Michelangelo Pieta Firenze

Then, we took him down and next, we laid him in a nearby tomb. And yes, we wrapped him in the linen cloth that Joseph had brought, but only after I lovingly covered him with the spices I provided.

Yes, lovingly. Truly, lovingly.

Later, I heard that his followers claimed that Jesus was alive again, and that he had risen from the tomb we’d laid him in. I don’t know. I ponder that possibility. I would love to believe it, yes, I would.

It’s now decades later. My sense of searching and of waiting have not faded. They are as strong as ever. But as I said at the beginning, I now know what was and is the subject of my search. You see, back in Jerusalem, as Jesus was speaking, he called himself the “light of the world.” The light of the world! Now, in my old age, I have realized that all this time, I have been searching for a light. A light that will shine in the darkness, the darkness of not only my life, but of all lives, the darkness of the entire world. 

And as I reach the end of my own life, I have come to believe that Jesus, the man who claimed that to know him is to know God himself, is that light.   

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