Hope Within the Emptiness

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In the weeks leading up to Christmas, we focus on gifts, decorations, activities, and family gatherings. Many denominations make Christmas the most ‘wonderful time of the year.’ Yet for Jesus followers, our focus should be that empty tomb. The Lenten season leads up to the hosannas of Palm Sunday, the tragedy of Good Friday, and the silence of a grief-filled Saturday.

But Easter Sunday is much more than a smoked ham, deviled eggs, and children searching for hidden treasure all over the yard.

Image attribution: TC_Perch

The reason we celebrate Easter is because it represents the most amazing and highest form of miracle we can imagine. Death loses. Life wins.

I have often wondered how the Resurrection of Jesus actually happened. Did Father God come down and peer at the bedraggled and bruised body of his son? Then breathe life into him like he did for the first Adam?

Did Jesus begin to feel each cell take on energy and warmth, wake from his stupor, and climb out of his grave clothes? Or was it truly like what is often depicted in pageants and films?

The huge stone rolls away and SHAZAM! Out pops the actor who plays Jesus. No longer bloodied and battered. Clothed in a startingly white robe with a cheesy smile on his face.

Did the real Jesus jump up and run around, so glad to be out of that cold sepulcher? Or did he quietly emerge, notice Mary Magdalene’s sobs, and slowly approach to comfort her?

The point, of course, is not how but Who. Of all the religious leaders throughout history, Jesus is the only one who came back to life. The only one who even dared to prophecy that he would be raised after three days (Mark 9:31).

If it wasn’t true, surely by this time, someone would have traced down his DNA and speculated where his body lies. But for those of us who have experienced the soul-saving love of God, we are certain of the facts. The baby of Bethlehem’s Christmas became the Savior on the cross and the resurrected Jesus who is still alive.

But an even greater truth brings me pause. The same power that brought those cells back to life lives in each of his followers (Ephesians 1:19,20). We, too, can look forward to a stunning resurrection, to leaving our fragile bodies behind, and springing forward into eternity. SHAZAM!

On the hard days when life’s chaos seems too heavy to bear, I think about that truth. Sometimes, I even speak it out loud, “The same power that catapulted Jesus out of that tomb lives in me. In the end, life wins.”

So let’s celebrate the eternal hope that the empty tomb offers. Let’s spend Easter as a day of gratitude. A day when we remember that because of Jesus — we live.

He paved the way. He made it possible for us to live in freedom. He offers eternal life to anyone who dares to believe.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

While you’re waiting for that final resurrection, find encouragement in Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Hope in the Cross

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Throughout history, man’s inhumanity to man has manifested in various ways: the Trail of Tears, the Holocaust, and brutal executions such as crucifixion.

We sometimes glorify the cross as a beautiful symbol. Symmetrical. A lovely collection of cross décor on our walls. Jewelry we wear to show what we believe. Decals on the car.

But to move through the Lenten Season and truly understand what it meant for Jesus to complete his mission, we must pay attention to the horror of crucifixion. When we know what Jesus suffered for us, we can be more grateful for how he died.

Dr. Cahleen Shrier, associate professor in the department of biology and chemistry at Azuza University, presents an annual lecture: The Science of Crucifixion. Based on historical data during the time period of Christ’s death, Dr. Shrier lists the following:

  • In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus sweat drops of blood. This condition, hematohidrosis, breaks down the capillaries that feed into the sweat glands. The result is that the skin becomes more tender, which would later exacerbate the pain Jesus suffered.
  • Pilate ordered Jesus to be flogged, whipped with leather strips that contain metal balls and sheep bone. The flogging left Jesus’s back in ribbons. His blood pressure plummeted, so his body went into shock. Extreme thirst was a natural response to this loss of blood.
  • The crown of thorns, pushed into Jesus’s head, caused more blood loss. It also likely affected the facial nerves, causing pain in the neck and head.
  • The Persians designed crucifixion between 300-400 BC. Usually reserved for slaves, revolutionaries, and vile criminals.
    • The victim was thrown to the ground where dirt mixed with his blood.
    • His arms were stretched across the horizontal beam and spikes (7-9 inches long) were nailed into the wrists.
    • His knees were bent, then his feet were nailed to the bottom of the T-frame cross.
    • As he was lifted, the weight of the body dislocated the shoulders and elbows. Talk to any athlete who has suffered a dislocated shoulder. They will tell you about the excruciating pain.
    • To breathe, the victim moved up and down, trying to fill the diaphragm with air. Carbon dioxide built up in the blood, and the heart beat faster. Since Jesus had already been flogged and his back opened, splinters and dirt from the wooden beam likely entered his system, causing sepsis.
    • Fluid built around the heart and lungs causing more damage to the heart. In severe cases, the heart burst.
    •  With collapsing lungs, dehydration, a failing heart, and the inability to breathe — the victim basically suffocated or died of a heart attack.

Because Jesus was a flesh and blood human being, he suffered all of the above. The fact that he survived for approximately six hours is due to the fact that as a craftsman of wood and stone, he was in good shape. He was a young man who walked many miles with his disciples and ate a Mediterranean diet.

But crucifixion was designed to kill, and Jesus died on that cross. Add to the physical side effects, he also suffered emotionally and spiritually. An innocent victim of proud religious leaders and a culture that did not understand the purpose of his mission. Throughout decades of prophecy, the Messiah was designated as a great leader who would free his people. However, the Jews misunderstood what type of freedom Jesus would win for them.

It was not a freedom from their Roman occupation. It was not a miracle of moving them from poverty to prosperity. It was an eternal hope that would destroy forever the need to be perfect and keep all the religious laws.

The writer of Hebrews says it well, “We have been made holy through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ — once for all” (Hebrews 10:10 TNIV).

Because Jesus became the perfect and final sacrifice, all people of the entire world have an opportunity to spend our eternities in a perfect environment of love and grace. The crucifixion — as horrible as it was — offered us a gift. A once-for-all-time invitation to believe in a better way.

During this Lenten Season, spend some time in gratitude. Visualize the cross, not as a beautiful symbol, but as the weapon used to kill your Savior. Listen to He Loved Me with a Cross by Larnell Harris. Then do what Jesus asked on his last night with his friends, “Remember me.”

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

For an easy-to-understand manual about the love God offers, check out Uploading Faith: What It Means to Believe.  

Hope in the Humanity

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We do not focus a great deal of theology on the humanity of Jesus. Yet we know he lived and died as a human being.

The television series, The Chosen, has brought more of the human physical and emotional characteristics of Jesus to the forefront. Maybe this series has become so popular because we needed to experience and understand that Jesus was more than the Son of God.

As we move through the Lenten Season, let’s focus on some of the main themes in the humanity of Jesus.

Family. Jesus lived in Nazareth in the middle of a family unit. Scholars believe his step-father, Joseph, died young which would mean Jesus was raised by a single mom, Mary. He was the firstborn which carries a heavy load of responsibility, especially if he took on the role of man of the house after Joseph died.

Did Jesus teach his brothers, James and Jude, about the craftsman trade? Did he make toys for his sisters and tease them like brothers often do? I like to think he acted like a normal boy, adolescent, and teen.

What were the family dynamics he experienced? A normal family deals with arguments about who does the chores, teasing siblings that turns ugly, laughter and sorrow, visits with cousins and other family, holiday celebrations especially the many Jewish traditions such as Rosh Hashanah and Passover. Jesus would have experienced all these and more.

We know his family did not readily accept him as God’s Son nor follow him as disciples (John 7:5), which brings us to another aspect of his humanity.

Rejection. Most of us have experienced rejection of some sort. The bullies who tormented us at school. Not feeling ‘in’ with the popular crowd. The date for prom that never happened. The rejection slip from a publisher after years of effort crafting our words. Divorce. Downsizing at the job. Children who turn away from our kisses as we drop them at school.

Rejection hurts and can result in emotional scar tissue.

What did Jesus do with those moments of rejection, especially the final betrayal of disciples not brave enough to follow their Master to the cross? And because he was considered an illegitimate child, he experienced the rejection of his community, especially the religious leaders (John 8:41).

I’m sure rejection hurt his heart. Like us, he had to learn how to deal with rejection and not let it change his authentic nature. He had to learn how to hold his own when others betrayed him. How to be who God created him to be. How to move past the deep hurt and not let it sway him from his mission.

Was there another human who could speak into his hurt and help him deal with it? Or did he have to struggle alone?

Loneliness. Multiple scriptures underscore the isolation of Jesus. Alone in the wilderness with Satan’s constant attacks. The times Jesus left the crowd to be alone and pray. The loneliness of the garden when his buddies could not stay awake and pray with him.

The fact that he was a maverick with a different agenda fostered the loneliness. No one quite understood what he was all about and what he was trying to do. He was alone in his commitment to follow God’s will. Being alone, whether physically or philosophically, fosters loneliness.

His plaintive cry shows evidence of that loneliness during the last supper. “Remember me,” he pleaded with his friends.

Jesus becomes more of a personal Savior when we realize he suffered like we do. He lived as a human, so he surely struggled with childhood illnesses. Growing through the hormonal ups and downs of puberty. Struggling to breathe as the sepsis of crucifixion took its toll.

God did not rescue Jesus from the ravages of being human. In fact, Jesus was perfected because he suffered as a human, experienced the hurts, and completed his mission.

Before we can understand the totality of his sacrifice, we need to realize how fully human Jesus was.

Then it brings our relationship with him into greater focus. He understands us. He gets us. As fully human, he chose to live with us and become brother, cousin, friend, son, and craftsman. To place himself under the tutelage of Joseph and Mary. To be trained as a creative artist in wood, stone, and clay. To endure the same things we are asked to endure simply by being human.

This human Jesus willingly chose to spend 33 years on earth so that we could experience the expanse of God’s love.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

For a simple way to examine faith topics, check out Uploading Faith: What It Means to Believe.

Hope in the Ashes

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Ash Wednesday this year, 2023, was the first time I wore the ashes cross on my forehead. It was deeply meaningful.

I did not grow up in a religious tradition that included the ashes-on-the-forehead practice. In the buckle of the Bible belt, it was considered too ‘Catholic.’ But many of those traditionally legalistic beliefs have changed, recognized for what they were — a type of judgment and spiritual abuse.

Now that I attend a more liturgical and inclusive community of Jesus followers, I am open to accepting new ways of growing my faith. So I attended the Ash Wednesday service with my son and found it to be spiritually uplifting while at the same time a poignant reminder of what the day means.

Our service was filled with beautiful music and a sense of emotional loss. We were, after all, entering the season when that incredible God/Man died a brutal death so that we could be accepted into God’s loving arms.

Then toward the end of the evening, each of us walked forward to receive the ashes. The gentle touch of my pastor’s thumb pressing into my forehead. The warmth of her flesh against mine. Her soft voice, “From dust you came. To dust you will return.” My imagination of what the cross must look like on my skin. The tears that caught in my throat.

Then later, looking at the reflection of the cross of ashes in my bathroom mirror. Accepting the truth about the final state of my body. Having just completed all the paperwork for where and how my own ashes will be buried, this cross was a visual of my final act.

A reminder that death precedes eternal life. But ashes can also evoke a positive response. Used as mulch to produce new life. Beauty from dust. The ending and the beginning. Alpha and Omega.

Still, the writer in me wanted to know more. What was the origin of this practice? What is this visual and sensory act intended to mean for Jesus followers?

With a bit of research, I learned the following:

  • The practice of a cross of ashes on the forehead began in the 8th century with the Gregorians, a community of Anglican friars.
  • It did not become a widespread part of American religious tradition until the 1970s.
  • The ashes symbolize penitence, being sorry for how we have ignored God and mistreated others — the basics of sin.
  • They are also a reminder of the brevity of our lives, of our mortality. We are not self-sufficient enough to forgive our own misdeeds. Jesus alone owns the power to transform us.
  • The ashes are made from the previous year’s Palm Sunday branches. Oil is often added to make the ashes stay on the forehead longer.
  • For many people, the ashes are an outward sign of their faith walk. An organic method of exhibiting our beliefs. A bit more meaningful than random cross jewelry or cross tattoos.
  • People often begin religious conversations when they see someone with the ash cross on foreheads.
  • The practice has become a symbol of the beginning of Lent. A time to remember what Jesus did for us. How much he gave up for us. What the cross truly symbolizes.

We should never look at a cross without remembering how it represents a brutality of torture unacceptable in our world of civil rights. The ashes bring us into the Lenten season as a more gentle reminder of what Christ’s sacrifice means.

And for me, that cross of ashes on my forehead represented a type of spiritual growth. Of accepting one of the more traditional practices within a modern world. Of opening my soul even more to consider the liturgies of other denominations.

Of expanding my intention to make this year’s Lenten season a time to remember Jesus.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Consider the women who loved Jesus and followed him to the cross. The Women of Passion Week

Hope Conquers the Chaos

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As a writer, observation is one of my tools. Awareness of this tool causes me to listen for dialects as people talk and later incorporate those rhythms into the characters who people my novels.

Observation notes interesting quirks such as the depth of a dimple, a spontaneous laugh, or fingers drumming on a barn wood plank. The benefits of observation add color and texture to my words without plagiarizing on the lives before me.

Observation also pays attention to whatever presents itself. Sometimes a graphic or a word suddenly surprises with its potential. I see it, reflect on it, and journal through it. Soon it becomes a theme, a sentence that stretches into a paragraph or a graphic that morphs into a blog post.

A recent graphic read, “All great changes are preceded by chaos.” No attribution, but the words pummeled into my soul like a snare drum in the early morning fog of band practice.

Chaos in the Journey. How appropriate is chaos for describing the journey so many travel. Years ago, the chaos of searching for a church forced me to consider the depths of my spiritual hunger. What my faith taught me, either wrongly or with stunning accuracy.

The journey and the change — the processing of who I am at the core flattened me. I landed on my knees. An appropriate stance for any soul-seeker living in chaos.

Gradually, the chaos eased as I settled into a choice. Replaced by the peace that passes all understanding. My decision radiated with joy, maybe because of the choice. Maybe because the search had ended — for a time.

Many of us live in various chaotic circumstances. We find ourselves restless, seeking change yet dreading the chaos. We feel the rumbles of chaos in our nation. Within our churches and our jobs. Within the rollercoaster of the stock market.

We face the certainty that the current chaos will indeed result in some kind of change.

Chaos in the Circumstances. Aging seems to magnify change. The power of observation settles more deeply in my soul as I recognize the changes.

As Mom journeyed through Alzheimer’s, changes in her routine created anxiety. So we had to carefully monitor her daily choices, then made the choice of assisted living that took most of her options away.

The chaos of her changes continued even as we walked through that final change of moving Mom from the facility to the cemetery.

The Divine One warns, “Everything will change. The foundations are shaken.” (Psalm 11:3)

Perhaps the circumstantial chaos that threatens our world these days will result in a global revival where we perceive each other through a different lens. Would it not be wonderful if skin color no longer divided us into urban and rural, poor and rich, dead and alive?

Would it not be beautiful if denominational chaos resulted in the search for the depths of God’s love rather than the judgment of our religious differences?

I so wish change would eliminate broken children, abused women, and toxic relationships. Please God, let it be.

Yet experience teaches that change cannot occur without some sort of chaos. Change implies growth and as we stretch — albeit with resultant pain — we can eventually grow stronger.

May God help us as we face whatever chaos is ahead. May each of us find our own place within this changing world and make it a better place to call home.

And may we stay in hope that after the chaos fades, peace will be restored.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

As we move into the Lenten season and you seek a reflective heart, check out The Women of Passion Week.

Hope in the Queue

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While typing and printing off documents, my printer suddenly decided to morph into la-la land. Electronic devices are wonderful — until they don’t work. Then we’re stuck.

Frustrated, I tried several times to print the last document, not realizing what was happening on the other end of electronic cyberspace. After rebooting, unplugging, and still not printing, I turned everything off and quit for the day.

The next morning, the printer decided to resuscitate itself. It spewed out page after page of my document that had been hiding in the queue. Eventually, it stopped — but not before I added several inches to my pile of recyclable scrap paper. Sometimes, the electronic world imitates life.

How many times have we prayed and prayed, waited and waited, while it seemed heaven itself lived in an introverted silence?

Nothing happens for weeks, months, even years. Our prayers seem stuck in the queue of God’s waiting room. Then suddenly — an avalanche of answered prayers, all bunched up at the same time. We gasp at the range of unexpected blessings and rejoice in the assurance that God surely loves us.

As a writer, sometimes my words get stuck in the creative queue. I’ve never experienced a complete writer’s block, but I do know how to procrastinate and avoid sitting in the chair. What I have discovered is that the discipline produces its own fruit.

Although I may slug through a paragraph or two, if I keep going, keep making the words happen, keep moving my fingers — the creative gift kicks in. I’m in another world for hours.

So what can we learn from our moments stuck in the queue?

Persistence is a Worthwhile Virtue. The best writing evolves as a result of self-discipline. When we give it our best and keep at it, day after day — eventually, we produce good fruit.

Persistence in prayer is a worthwhile venture. Although we may not see the results for a while, eventually the discipline we have learned will result in a stronger soul. Hopefully also a deeper faith in the One who decides how and when to answer those prayers.

Nothing worthwhile happens easily. Even Jesus had to count the cost and persist until his task was finished.

Persistence Requires Patience. Persistence and patience are twins. They sometimes look alike and often require the same disciplines to feed them. But the persistence twin is a process while the patience twin reveals a quality of life.

Patience reminds us to wait, then wait more. When we can no longer stand the wait, persistence digs deep. We learn how much strength authentic waiting requires.

Patience is the months-or-years-long battle, waiting for the chemo to take effect and save a life. Patience allows the preschooler to tie his own shoes even while the school bus honks.

Patience sits beside the Alzheimer’s resident and hears the same questions again and again, then responds with a gentle spirit. Patience gives grace when the addiction festers, but the victim still tries to recover.

Patience learns through the passage of time because it cannot be hurried. If we want the best result, we must not deny the waiting.

The Best Action may be No Action. For planners and doers like me, it feels better to do something. To hit that print button over and over. To unplug and try again and again. But sometimes, the cyberspace universe has to first get its pixels in order and find its missing megabytes.

I don’t even understand its language. How then, can I make it do something?

When we’ve prayed and prayed, waited and persisted yet nothing happens — we can use the prayer of release. Oh God, I can’t stand this, and I absolutely have no clue what to do. Please take over and do whatever you need to do to mend this problem. Help me to rest in you and trust that you know exactly what’s wrong and how to fix it. I give up.

The prayer of release feels counterintuitive to what we’ve been taught about productivity. But even the Psalmist portrayed the same advice, “Be still and rest in the Lord; wait for him and patiently lean yourself upon him. Fret not…” (Psalm 37:7 Amplified).

Be still. Unplug. Stop trying to figure it out. Don’t worry. Let go and let God salve your weary soul.

If we don’t learn how to be still, then we end up with a heap of nothing: wasted words, frustrated prayers, piles of worthless paper.

As we wait in the queue for God to restore and redeem what is so wrong, we can know with faith’s certainty that God does indeed know what he’s doing.

Maybe he’s just waiting for us to unplug and trust him so he can finish the task.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Waiting is often a daily practice. Learn more about it in Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Searching for Hope

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A massive earthquake in Turkey. Another black boy murdered. The diagnosis of Stage 4 cancer. Alzheimer’s. Kidnappings. The war in Ukraine.

It’s enough to keep us from watching the news. In fact, I am limiting myself to only one short news show per day. Check out the 1440.com for an alternative. 

Sometimes life unravels a world away as we watch, and sometimes it knocks at our door. What do we do when the unraveling becomes personal? When we cannot find hope? When we’re ‘supposed’ to know the answers and walk a life of faith with a smile on our faces and hope in our hearts?

We Grieve. We admit the truth to ourselves . . . that life on this earth is a struggle. No matter how we try to protect ourselves or our loved ones from tragedy, it WILL eventually find us.

So we take some time out and grieve. Whatever that looks like. Tears. Screaming into a pillow when the children are asleep. A bag of dark chocolate or a gallon of ice cream — no judgment here. I have tried both.

Vomiting our guts out with words in our journals. Sometimes my journal page ends up with holes in it because I press my pen so hard into its lined relief. Searching to find a bit of solace. Tearing out pages and burning them to eradicate my angry words.

When we fail to grieve, we internalize the sorrow. Then depression and life-long anger can claim our souls. Bitterness begins to shadow us, and we isolate in fear.

Better to admit it when we’re trudging through the pit. And find some relief in letting the pain go.

We Find a Friend. During the last few weeks, I have needed the company of friends. One day was particularly difficult. But I knew I had to get out of the house and connect with another pilgrim.

So I texted a friend for a lunch date, and we met at Third Space in Bonner Springs, KS. If you’re in the area, plug this amazing coffee shop into your GPS and drive there immediately.

Over plates of turkey-avocado-spinach-wraps, I shared my struggle. My friend listened. Understood my grief and my anger at the injustice. Gave me some ideas for how to deal with it. Promised to pray.

The release of sharing helped me make it through the day. And the warm spinach wrap was also a comfort. Sometimes all we need is a good friend and some good food. In that order.

We Admit Our Helplessness. Sometimes we can follow our to-do list and resolve whatever is happening. But often, we find ourselves unable to do anything to solve the particular problem. The systems work against us. The mountain is too tall and too cold to climb.

As one of my friends says, referring to A Tale of Two Cities, “It is certainly not the best of times. It is also not the worst of times. But it is a time we have not experienced before.”

It is much easier for me to figure out Plan B and make sure it happens. As a firstborn with an extra dose of life-long responsibility, everything in me wants to solve this problem. I am willing to do anything to make it go away and restore what has been stolen.

But I cannot solve it. The systems are stronger than I. The dynamics must work themselves out, and I must let go of Plan B, C, D, . . . . My self-sufficiency has met its match, and I lose. Pluck another grey hair. Plaster moisturizer on new wrinkles. Grind my teeth in frustration.

Maybe my letting go will release other powers to do what is right. If only they will choose the right way. But what if they don’t? So I go back to grieving, journaling, finding friends who promise to pray, stay busy, and try to find the zipper that releases hope.

Yes, I know many of my followers are thinking, Why don’t you just trust God? I do trust God, and I know that ultimately he is the one who restores our broken lives.

But a lifetime of experience has also taught me that restoration does not always happen in this lifetime. Sometimes the eternal plan is the outcome, way beyond my Plan B and much deeper than I can even imagine.

And that’s when the pain intensifies. Even as I repeat Bible verses, engage in my personal communion time, and beg God to show himself mighty. A sliver of hope seeks a good result. Logic reminds me that the resolution may remain hidden.

One step closer to vaulting over that mountain does not mean I will conquer its summit. But at least in the trying, the energy required for movement can elicit some hope.

Ultimately, we just keep breathing, living, and praying that the God who knows all things will somehow make a way through. And that what is broken will eventually be fixed, even if it takes eternity to finish it.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Living day by day requires a daily reboot. Find yours in Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.