It doesn't begin where you think (Revolution of Jesus, Part 2)

"Look how the whole world has gone after Him!"

The Pharisees fumed in their fear while the people flocked after Jesus, thirsty for a sign. They wanted to be fed. They wanted to be healed. They wanted to be free. 

And here was Jesus, doing the impossible. Raising the dead. Clearing the temple. Saying these preposterous things that made people want to hope. 

Revolution. 

But then. 

A sacred night. A quiet upper room. These friends who thought they knew their Jesus, who thought they were ready to follow Him into death. 

That night it really began. That night Jesus started the revolution that would one day catch fire across the world. 

He knelt at the feet of His friends. His followers. These beloved yet frail and faltering feet. And one by one, He washed them. Touched them in the place of greatest outward shame. Held the mess of them, the flesh stinking with the filth and grime and weariness of earth. 

One by one. Purposefully cleansing. Looking into their eyes. I see you.

And then Peter, the one who had confessed his teacher as Lord, the one who knew he was serving his Messiah. Peter, whose heart burned with righteous fire, who above all things wanted to do. To act.

"You shall never wash my feet." 

Did he say this because he knew it was very God about to do this thing? Did he say this from deep humility? Or was it something else?

"Unless I wash you, you have no part of Me."

Jesus knew that place of deepest pride, the place so hard to reach because it looks like humility. The place that says, I will gladly serve, but I will never be served. I will give all, but I will never receive. 

We focus, rightly, of course, on the selfless act of Jesus in the most humble act of service. We hear His words, "Do as I have done for you." 

Maybe this is where revolution begins. 

But maybe, for some of us, it begins in Peter's place. It begins when someone kneels before us and enters our mess, takes our grime in their hands and says, "Let me help. Let me love you."

Aren't we Jesus-followers often so good at giving? So intent on serving? But can we receive? Can we be served in return?

"Wash one another's feet," He said. "Unless I wash you, you have no part of Me."

You, Peter, so ready to go, to do, to lead the way for Me, you will not know the way until you sit here and lift up your mess. Until know your need to be touched, served, cleansed, and until you allow others in, You will have no part of Me.

This revolution began not with going, conquering, demanding, taking, but with sitting, kneeling, serving and being served. 

This Jesus, he knelt and served. But only a few moments later, He opened His own soul, full of agony, fear, and despair, to His dearest friends. "Pray with Me," he begged them. He invited them into His struggle. He asked them to serve Him. He allowed Himself to need. Even when they kept falling asleep, He kept asking. Be with Me.

I would rather wash a thousand feet and keep my own twisted toes safely tucked inside my shoes. But  when I sit and let someone kneel before me, touching me in a place of great need, I feel my soul open. I see my shame and my sorrow. I am exposed. But here is where hope and grace can enter in. Here, at the place of giving and receiving, is where revolution begins.

What this spring should really be about (Revolution of Jesus, Part 1)

These days I cringe when I open my front door. I’m waiting for that icy blast of

wind that has kept us captive inside for far too many months. Is it just me, or has this winter has seemed harsher, colder, and longer than most?

I’m ready for summer. And for windless days. But for now there is the sunshine flooding the window with light. There are the fuzzy buds blowing around on the branches outside, and there is this green grass poking up stubbornly through the snow that keeps falling on it.

Spring is a patient but demanding master. It always comes. Life keeps springing up out of the dead things.  Each year the world undergoes a mini-mutiny as it throws off winter’s grip and claims the sunshine.

As Easter approaches, I’m contemplating this life of Jesus, particularly in His final days before His death. And to my surprise, one word keeps coming to my mind.

Revolution.

It’s easy to see why the Jewish leaders were afraid of revolution. Jesus was a common man who became a great leader and teacher. He stirred the crowds with His humility, compassion, and fearless stand against the religious oppressors. He came to a people downcast, captive, and trodden upon.

And on top of that, He healed diseases. He opened blind eyes and deaf ears. He fed thousands. He raised the dead. He met the people at their most basic needs, needs long overlooked by their spiritual and political rulers.

He gave people hope.

And hope makes a people bold. It awakens them, like a world thawing into spring. It stirs them to act.

While the Romans and the Jewish leaders controlled them with rules and force of law, Jesus saw them. Heard them.

When He stood before that tomb of his friend and wept with sorrow, He was one of them. When He called the dead man out and restored him to his sisters, He was God.

Here was God come down into the captivity of His people, walking in it and even grieving it with them—and showing them a way out.

And suddenly life was stirring in the hearts of these people long used to facing death. And they began to think their days could be about more than survival.

The religious rulers were happy with what they had. They loved what they had. They were perfectly comfortable in their captivity. “If we let Him go on like this,” they said, “everyone will believe in Him, and then the Romans will come and take away both our temple and our nation” (John 11:48). The religious leaders were furious because they were afraid.

They were right to fear a revolution. They were wrong to think that they could silence it. For although no one yet understood what it was, Jesus was about to instigate an uprising. This revolt would have nothing to do with overthrowing a government or political system. It would have everything to do with overthrowing the heart.

And when the human heart is overthrown, death only opens the door to life.

Jesus awakened people by loving them. He showed that real revolution begins not by demanding our rights but by letting go of them for the sake of others. He led the way not in taking up arms, but in laying down His life.

After all, the only way to get to spring is to go through winter. And the only way to find out who we really are is to lay down everything we thought we were. Our true life will come from our dead things, just as revolution comes when we allow hope into our deepest need.

During these next few weeks I hope to explore this revolution of Jesus. And I hope it will catch fire in my own heart.