Easter challenge remains

Buy it or not, the New Testament’s account of what occurred over what we call Easter, two millennia ago, is dramatic. It is at least as dramatic as the Christmas story with the baby, the crib and the procession of worshippers who came to greet the Christ child. 

Easter places the baby – now a guileless but powerful miracle-performing 33-year-old man – on the executioner’s cross, the the electric chair, the hangman’s noose of the day.

There’s every element of drama in the brutal saga that unfolds. Love, betrayal and denial. Unprecedented cooperation between superpowers of government and temple.

This man, who says he is God’s son, is paraded before the rich and powerful, then mocked and scorned. At the zenith of his need, a friend walks away, claiming Jesus to be a stranger to him. 

Then, he who healed the masses and raised the dead is himself dragged through the city for public humiliation and execution.

His death on “Good” Friday is grueling and gruesome. 

Yet, at the moment of his greatest pain, he considers his mother and makes plans for her care. He provides comfort to a common criminal also facing public execution. While fixed to the cross with nails through his limbs, he prays forgiveness upon his executioners, then yells out in pain because the God and Father he has loved since before the beginning of time is absent, has abandoned him. He breathes a final breath, and it is finished.

On the Saturday, his followers confront the reality of his death, the death of their dream and the end of a shared vision. Men and women who had ventured all on his behalf are now abandoned, leaderless. They have lost all. They who had forsaken all are now the forsaken. The leader of the sometimes unruly and diverse mob is dead, entombed with the door to the tomb sealed shut with a rock of considerable size.

Sunday comes and the tomb is open and empty. 

A crucified man is up and walking. 

He appears suddenly here and there presenting himself, sometimes in private to individuals and also to masses of people. Within days, he’s making breakfast on a beach, calling the one who ran away from him and denied him to join him for a meal that he has already prepared, having made the fire himself.

What landed Jesus in trouble was that he lived a life that supported and endorsed his claims. 

His life, not only his words and his teaching, challenged the ruling religious order. Few religions enjoy being challenged, let alone do they tolerate when a person making the challenge so completely “walks the talk.”

My faith doesn’t land me in hot water like Jesus’ faith did for him. This is not because I am not sometimes zealous about my faith, but because I am a hypocrite. I am not always who I say I am. I’m often not myself. I often fail to display integrity. 

Jesus was always who he claimed to be. 

He was thoroughly authentic, and it was this authenticity, this integrity, that angered people and upset governing powers. It rocked the status quo at places of worship and made him a sufficient threat so that his critics would take his life in the most barbaric manner their righteous minds could conceive.

The world can deal with my claims about myself. 

They are as fragile and empty as most people’s claims about themselves. 

Most of us, zealous or not, can tolerate the dreams of the guy next door. 

But it was not empty claims that got Jesus in trouble. Many had come claiming to know, be, or represent God. 

His life, his deeds gave profound evidence to the fact that he was who he said he was. It was this that authorities could not stomach.

At every Easter, we are each challenged to take the time to answer the question posed by Jesus to his outspoken friend: “Who do you say that I am?”

Mutuality, equality, and respect are the litmus tests for all healthy relationships. 

I am enjoying watching each of these values be challenged within my family as my sons transition from boys to full and grown men. 

Among us – the three of us – there are shifting power dynamics. There are changing degrees expectations. There are movements in responsibilities. These things are not always easy for each of us to see or understand as individuals. These changes can be even more difficult for us to accept and embrace as a family unit.

Perhaps you have been aware of similar changes in your own family.

Both boys are earning good salaries and so when we eat out I sometimes suggest one of them picks up the bill for our dinners rather than my sons assuming it’s my responsibility. The response is usually quite amusing but the point is made and one or both usually treat me to dinner.

I have been traveling significantly more lately than I have done in the last few years. When I arrive home the house is in reasonably good condition. My younger son picked up responsibilities that would usually fall to me and I see a healthy shift has occurred even though little or nothing was said or expected.

“We are three men now,” I tell them, “one of us just happens to also be dad.”

Healthy replies to unhealthy prompts. These are not direct quotations. They encapsulate what I have heard from healthy people:

• No, I do not feel as anxious as you do about this – it’s not helpful if we are both immobilized. (Wife to husband over a business failure.)

• This is a conversation it seems you need to have without me – your adult sons and daughters want time alone with you. I understand completely. (Man to his wife in a second marriage.)

• Your accomplishments at school are yours. When you are doing well I will not take the credit. When you are doing poorly I will not feel as if I am to blame. You already have everything you need (from me) to be a good student. What do you need to change about your work habits? Start there. No, I will not speak to your teacher. You are perfectly capable of doing that for yourself. Your teacher is not responsible for your performance – you are. (Parent to son of 15.)

• I am very uncomfortable speaking about people who are not present unless you are full of praise for them. Gossip is not at all good for friendships. (Friend to friend.)

This week this column has been on newsstands every weekday for 22 years in one of South Africa’s morning newspapers, The Mercury. The Mercury is sold in KwaZulu-Natal and is one of the oldest newspapers in the country. 

It has been my privilege to build a faithful readership over the years. 

I’m proud to know I write for the newspaper that was my first “real reading” as a child. 

As a child I recall being fascinated that “The Idler” (backpage humorist) was able to write EVERY DAY.

Little did I know it would be my joy to be published daily for over two decades (so far).