Why So Serious?

I had to apologize recently to this hedonist I know for telling her how terrible she was for pooh-poohing the death of Christ. She repeatedly said, “It's not that big of a deal. God knew Jesus would be back.” She had made similar arguments before in more or less differing ways.

Frankly, the many times I’ve tried to get through to her, I’ve met with no apparent success. She continually argues that since God knew He would raise His Son from the dead, it wasn’t the sacrifice that we Christians make it out to be.

I tried then, as before, to express the awful agony and anguish that the man, Christ Jesus, experienced in the hours leading up to the cross, the crucifixion itself and the abandonment by His friends and His Father. I explained my belief that the latter was the worst part of the entire ordeal. For Jesus, the Only Begotten Son of God, God’s most favored, the one He loved, shall I say, the most, to become the very thing that He hated most…sin!

“He who knew no sin became sin…” II Corinthians. 5:21

It had zero effect! As usual, her jaded heart reflected every dart of Gospel I fired her way.

The conversation was interrupted and it seemed it would not continue. (I wasn’t unthankful for that.) At least, at that moment, I thought not.

Some minutes passed and my thoughts were roving between the previous conversation and a thousand other things before me that day. Whatever path my mind was wandering in was suddenly at a standstill. I had what I believe to be an epiphany. I also knew I had to share it with her the first chance I had or, at least, the first chance I could make.

Several minutes later, at the first opportune moment, I called her by name. I then told her I owed her an apology. She looked at me knowingly. She recognized that something was coming. She had seen me in action before. She bit and inquired as to why.

I told her that I was sorry that I had been scolding her for being so complacent over the death of Christ, when, in actuality, she sounded, to me, much like your typical Baptist. I told her that most Baptists really didn’t take the crucifixion all that seriously either.

She laughed half-heartedly and tried to reiterate some of the silly points she had previously made, but I was past the moment. I chuckled and thanked her for helping me to understand, so to speak, and went on my way.

Through our previous conversations, it had never really occurred to me how off base I actually was. I was directing my displeasure toward the wrong person. I should have been angry with someone else or, rather, another group of individuals.

We fuss and carry on about sinners who don’t seem to give a wit about the love of God or the eminent damnation of their own souls. We seem to be shocked that they care so little. We are astounded that they care not at all!

Funny thing about it, though. They probably are so little affected by the thought of Christ’s agony and their own impending doom because we Christians are so very little affected by it ourselves. It’s much like so many things in our Christian lives: We talk the talk, but we often don’t quite walk the walk.

I remember a story a former pastor of mine once told. It went something like this:

A little boy was sitting in the pew next to his mother one Easter service. The man behind the pulpit was bringing a message that was very apropos for the particular holiday in celebration. As he talked, he went into some detail about the crucifixion itself and concerning the great pain and suffering our Lord endured at the hands of His oppressors.

After some time had passed with the minister detailing the arduous events taking place on that day of days, the mother noticed the sounds of quiet whimpering in the pew beside her. She turned her head to see her little boy with his face in his hands and tears flowing down his cheeks.

Astonished, the mother inquired of her child, “What’s wrong, son?”

The boy looked up at her through red eyes and sobbed, “Don’t you hear, Momma? Don’t you hear what they did to Jesus?”

Alas, his mother reached down to him with tender hand and stoic voice replying coolly to her weeping offspring, “Oh, child. Don’t take it so seriously.”

Isn’t that our problem? We don’t take the price for our salvation “seriously”. Are we so used to the Gospel that it can hardly bring a tear to our eye much less a shout to our lips? Have we become so accustomed to the “Old, Old Story” that we don’t even get excited about telling it anymore?

Even Lazarus got up and walked when the Lord called his name. We sit in our pews afraid to spiritual death that someone will think we might be the least bit out of our own control.

Worse yet, we, who forget the Passion of the Christ who bore our sins, bear little or no compassion for the millions who are starving for someone to truly, sincerely and simply care about them. Instead, we treat them as lepers! We treat them as if they are beneath us. We treat them as sinners, forgetting that we ourselves are only sinners saved by grace. When will we learn? When will we care as Christ cares?

Let us not stop at mere sentiment. Let us not get so caught up in our own therapeutic bouts of emotion where we zealously express our yearning for some enigmatic something and forget that the “greatest of these” is what we should desire.

When will we care? More importantly to me, when will I care?

Our preacher was preaching about Barabbas and the exchange that was made for him when a thought occurred to me that may explain a little of why we are so complacent about the cost for our salvation.

He remarked that he didn’t know if, later in his life, Barabbas was ever saved. The Bible doesn’t really address the prospect. I’m guessing he was. Why? Because if the Lord died for anybody, He died for Barabbas! (No, that doesn’t prove anything, but it’s an argument for my reasoning.)

Did he recognize that he was given a second chance at living? Did he witness the crucifixion? Did he understand that it surely, easily and even should’ve been him on that cross instead of Jesus of Nazareth?

If he did, he certainly would’ve had a different perspective than we. He certainly would’ve had a different testimony that any of us might’ve. I can’t help but think that if Barabbas were standing before your average Baptist congregation today, he, of all people, would be able to look us all in the eye and say, “If you’re not excited about the crucifixion, well, I guess you just haven’t been where I’ve been!”