It is finished








I am thirsty

Taste has a way of taking us back.  A bite of home cooked bread, or the first sip of our favorite drink has a way of awakening a pool of memories and thoughts.  Within my family, occasions like New Years are remembered by the taste of smoked salmon and cheese fondue.  I can tell you whose birthday party I’m at by what kind of birthday cake is being served.  I even remember when my sisters and I were kids, the first time I ever had skim milk was at my grandmother’s house splashed over a bowl of Frosted Flakes.  I knew what my cereal was supposed to taste like and it wasn’t whatever was swimming around in my bowl.  To this day, I cannot stand the taste (or lack thereof) of skim milk, but I always remember that moment whenever I see a carton.  Taste has a way of tying us into our memories in a unique and powerful way.  In light of Holy Week and especially Maundy Thursday and the last supper, it’s fascinating what role and position taste plays in the story.  Let’s talk about the two last things Jesus tasted before he died.

In the gospel of John, the last request and the last sensation that Jesus has other than pain is taste.  His last statement of need or want is contained in John 19:28, “I am thirsty.”  When we look at the words in light of the last taste and the last cup that Jesus took for himself before this moment, they take on a significant position in the passion story.  It was presumably around the table with his disciples the night before, during the meal where Jesus shared broken bread and a cup of shared wine that Jesus experienced his last taste before the cross.   The wine at the table, he was surrounded by those he loved and cherished.  The sour wine at the cross soaked into a sponge suspended on a stick of hyssop, he was surrounded by guards and those filled with hate.

These two last drinks of wine bookend what the gospel of John calls Jesus’ final hour.  On the front end, the scriptures beginning in John 13 say, “Before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father.”  On the back end in 19:28, on the cross, when he asks for his last drink, it says, “When Jesus knew that all was now finished, he said, ‘I am thirsty.’”  What lies between the wine at the table and the wine on the cross is the final lesson, the final commandment that Jesus left for his followers, and I believe left for us.  “Love one another.”  Love each other like I loved you.  This is how others will know that you are my disciples, by the way you love each other (John 13:31-35).

Jesus demonstrated most fully what this love looked like when during that final meal and around their last cup together, Jesus rose and took off his outer robe.  He tied a towel around his waist and began to wash his disciples’ feet.  After he finished, he put his robe back on, returned to the meal and told them, “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.  For I have set an example that you should also do as I have done to you (John 13:14-15).

With this last commandment and this last example of a love that is humble and deep, Jesus finalizes his preparation for the church.  Then, he gives it away.  He gives away the church to us.  He asks for us only to kneel, wrap a towel around our waist and serve each other out of the love that he has for us.  He asks us to love in such a way that when others who are searching and hurting say, “I am thirty”, rather than sour wine, they can find the source of living water and the cup that runs over with God’s grace.  It says they will know where to look by the way we love each other.

And so I wonder, as that sour wine, suspended on the stick of hyssop, as it wet his mouth, did the taste and wetness stir his memories as we know that taste does with ours?  Did scenes flash of his last drink with his friends?  Did the taste bring back through the pain and through the exhaustion a memory of the first moments of his ministry when he turned water into wine?  Wine to wine, a sense of completion through the agony.  One last, painful, futile, sour taste and human comfort before the end.  All was complete.  What he loved, the people, the church, are cared for and in another’s hands now.  Our hands. We continue the ministry and the life of God when we cannot see him and cannot find him with the help of the Holy Spirit and the help of each other.  We hold the kingdom in trust together, gathering around a table to remember and taste what God has done for us.  We break the bread of community and sacrifice and share the cup of salvation so that others may come and taste that the Lord is good.

feature picture from:

Christian worship that hasn’t happened yet.








The Good Idea Fairy







Go therefore…



 20bucks2-1023x477dollar evangelism

dollarPrepare To Meet God Money Tract






I’m constantly amazed at how people measure their tasks and achievements differently.  When talking with soldiers about their PT routines, I might hear them describe the distance that they ran on a particular morning.  Others might talk about how much weight they lifted or even how long their workout session lasted.  Time, distance, weight, and change in appearance all seem to be measures of success, but they only tell a small portion of the story.  A focused view on success neglects the passion, the purpose, and the limits that so often define a larger commitment to wellness, capability, and faithfulness to God and ourselves.  Take some of Jesus’ disciples, Simon, Andrew, James, and John for instance.  Fisherman who seem to be quite successful in their family fishing businesses suddenly dropping their nets to follow a Rabbi down the beach.  As of that morning, these fishermen might have measured their success in a day or a year upon how many fish they caught, how many men it took to haul up a particularly heavy load, or maybe the size of the largest fish caught, knowing it would catch the highest price.  Their success was tied directly to what they could pull in with their nets and their hands.  Putting their nets down was more than just a rest or a short break, it was a life decision to pursue something more important…or at the least, mysterious.  All of a sudden their lives didn’t rely on their catch of fish.  Their livelihood wasn’t dependent upon making repairs to the nets and patching up the boats.

This seems to be the point in the story that I struggle over and I am sure that many others might hiccup as well.  There is something uncomfortable and disconcerting about a man who will walk away from his work before it’s done.  There is something scandalous and disappointing about a pair of sons that will walk away from their father and leave the employees under their care without direction, assistance, or an explanation.  They just walk away.  From the four young men’s perspective, they can measure their steps following after Jesus.  There might be an excitement, a curiosity, or even a stirring within their soul, but for those who are left in the boats or on the beach, I wonder if those measured steps stir feelings of abandonment, uncertainty, fear, or resentment at having to carry on through the day while shouldering more than their share of the work.

If we take these four fishermen and measure the rest of their lives in fish.  Following Jesus was a complete failure.  They’re quitters and they can’t cut it.  Even after Jesus has died and is buried, they need him to rise from the dead and yell from the shore about where to throw their nets before they catch anything of any significance.  However, if we measure their lives in faith, these four men don’t abandon their lives; rather, they finally begin uncovering their deep potential and priorities.  They being to learn to be fishers of people.  They lay down their nets to take up the larger and more meaningful nets of Christ.  They were caught up, drawn out, and prepared to become nets themselves– cast out into the world not to trap or capture souls, but to heal, comfort, and speak life into a world drowning in hopelessness, anonymity, and profound discouragement.  They begin to measure their lives in faithfulness and sharing their lives with others.  Questions about quantity, quality, and distance become less about fish and more about faith.  How much of my life am I willing to give?  What areas of my life are holding me back?  How far down this beach am I willing to follow?

I wonder if that’s a measure of discipleship.  Are we becoming a net for those who need the unconditional regard of God or are we back on the beach, too caught up already in our own nets?