Missing the Point

Two Christmas stories

Ebenezer Scrooge. The Grinch. What instantly comes to mind whenever we hear those names? Greed. Hatred. Meanness.

Why?

Isn’t the whole point of both stories that even the most evil among us can change dramatically? Scrooge “became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world.” The Grinch’s heart “grew three sizes that day.” They were both redeemed to a new way of life.

Shouldn’t our immediate thought when we hear one of those names be, “I remember him; he’s the one who became so much better than anyone ever thought he could be”? Shouldn’t we keep those positive images in our minds at this time of year?

It’s the theme of the entire Bible. No one is beyond redemption. Not Adam and Eve. Not Jacob. Not Thomas. Not Peter. Not Saul. Not Augustine. Not John Newton. Not Charles Colson. Not Rosaria Butterfield. Not me or you.

We seem to accept the changes in these people’s lives as being permanent. Why not do the same with poor old Scrooge and the Grinch?

I have to admit that we might be influenced simply by the sounds of their names. The authors chose well. Those names don’t sound pleasant or happy.

But surely it must go deeper than that.

Another reason could be that both fictional stories end with a brief glimpse of their new personalities and that’s it. We don’t really get to know them after they’ve been redeemed. In contrast, we have a great deal of information about the real people named above as they’ve lived out their new lives.

Maybe that’s all it is.

Deeper reasons

But I’ve wondered for several years now: Why don’t we get the message of A Christmas Carol (by Charles Dickens) and How the Grinch Stole Christmas (by Dr. Seuss)? Why do most of the images of the Grinch that we see at this time of year show him with that evil look on his face? As if he’d never changed.

Maybe we find it too hard to believe that anyone can be transformed so drastically in so short a time. No one goes from being despicable to being lovable instantaneously, do they?

Maybe we can relate better to the unredeemed Scrooge and Grinch. Their new selves set too high a standard for us to live up to, and we know it. We feel like failures compared to these remarkable characters. We’re more comfortable around their faults than their virtues.

And maybe it’s a reflection of our darker nature, the part of us that finds pleasure in hating. In an article on the “Public Discourse” website, Daniel Sonnenfeld writes, “Much ink has been spilled on charting the roots and causes of hate and its diverse manifestations. Yet in all these intellectual analyses and sociological investigations, one cause has largely escaped notice: the simple pleasure of hate.”

A tag line for the 1980s prime-time soap opera “Dallas” was “the man you love to hate,” referring to popular character J. R. Ewing. There’s something attractive, something pleasurable, in hating someone.

In the case of Scrooge or the Grinch or J. R., where that hatred is directed against an obviously evil target, it feels virtuous. But it’s not. Jesus tells us to love those who do evil things (Matthew 5:44). That’s what He does (Romans 5:8).

The abundance of bullying and online trolls demonstrates our human capacity to hate simply for the pleasure of it. Maybe we enjoy the anger and hatred we feel toward Scrooge and the Grinch at the beginning of their stories more than we enjoy our admiration for their new lives.

The original Christmas story

What do we think of at Christmas time? Santa Claus, reindeer, snow, decorated trees, lights. Maybe a baby in a manger.

But even when we consider the biblical side, do we limit our thinking to an infant, a holy family, a bright star, angels, wise men, and shepherds? That’s certainly better than remembering the bad side of Scrooge and the Grinch, but it still falls short.

Just as those characters didn’t remain the same by the end of the story, Jesus didn’t remain a baby or even a young man. He didn’t just become a good man or a prophet. He wasn’t killed as a martyr, but as a sacrifice. The whole point of His coming was to die to redeem us.

At some level, we get this. We recognize the fictional stories as Christmas stories even though their theme is redemption, not birth.

Shouldn’t our immediate thought when we see the baby in the manger be, “He’s the one who came to save me from my sins”? It’s the theme of the entire Bible.

One reason we stay focused on the manger scene is simply that babies have a natural way of touching our hearts. We like the warm fuzzy feeling they give us.

But surely it must go deeper than that.

Another reason is that the Gospels mostly cover Jesus’ life as a man on this earth. We only get a brief glimpse of the risen Christ. As with Scrooge and the Grinch, most of what we read about our Savior comes before His transformation.

But that’s not all it is.

Deeper reasons

It can be hard to believe that the Son of God would do such a dramatic thing as being born in a human body and dying on a cross all for the sake of mere people. Hasn’t history proven that we’re a lousy, violent bunch of animals that don’t deserve to live, much less live eternally? All we do is bring misery and suffering to a beautiful natural world that would be better off without us. Why would the Lord of the universe go so far as to die for us?

We can relate better to Jesus the man, living, walking, working, talking in this world. He ate, He prayed, He slept, He cried. We’re more comfortable around a vulnerable and compassionate human being than the risen Son of God.

Part of our darker nature refuses to admit that we need to be redeemed. Many people believe that they’ll go to heaven when they die just because. Because they’re not as evil as Hitler. Because the good things they’ve done outweigh the bad things. Because God loves everybody and will therefore forgive anything and everything they’ve done without anyone having to pay any kind of price for it.

And part of our darker nature doesn’t want what Jesus has to offer. Living a self-centered lifestyle is so much fun! We enjoy the darkness more than we think we could enjoy a godly life (John 3:19).

Getting the point

It’s okay to celebrate the birth of Jesus, just as it’s okay to get a kick out of the stories of Scrooge and the Grinch even before they change. Another reason we like them before their redemption is because of the cleverness and creativity the authors display in developing their characters.

But just as we need to move beyond their initial ugly personalities and remember the whole point of the books—their transformation—we also need to move beyond the attraction of a baby in a manger. We need to remember the whole purpose behind the Son of God taking on a human body.

Those characters have become popular because they changed so dramatically. There would be no story if they didn’t. In the same way, we need to celebrate Christmas because it leads to Good Friday and Easter. There would be no point in Jesus’ birth apart from His sacrifice to redeem us sinners.

 

 

 

The Hammer and the Nail

The advantages of being a hammer

Would you prefer to be a hammer or a nail? In their song, “El cóndor pasa (If I Could),” Simon and Garfunkel say they’d rather be a hammer. Most of us would. It seems so obvious.

The hammer has a flashy job. It makes enough noise to attract attention. It has complete power over the nail. The nail can’t defend itself, beg for mercy, or talk back. All it can do is submit. The hammer is more valuable; one hammer costs more than many nails. Isn’t that what we want in this life? Attention, power, prestige.

The hammer’s role isn’t just one of pounding on the defenseless nail for no good reason, though. Its most common function is to build something new and worthwhile, like a shelter to protect vulnerable human beings. It can also help hang a picture on a wall, bringing beauty to an otherwise dull room. We want that sense of purpose and accomplishment, too.

The poor nail just keeps getting hit hard. Blow after blow after blow. It’s gotta hurt. Who would want that kind of life?

The advantages of being a nail

But the Bible often turns our natural human values upside down. We want power. Jesus came in meekness. We want to run the show. Jesus came to serve. We want to have our own way. Jesus always submitted to His Father’s will. (Matthew 11:28-30 KJV, 20:25-28, John 6:38)

We want so much to be the hammer in life. Jesus was more like the nail much of the time.

The hammer’s role might not be as fulfilling as it appears, though. It’s a solo job. No friends, no special relationships. Just domination. Even though it can be hard to admit it, that’s not a good life for any of us.

And, like the nail, the hammer is under the control of someone greater than itself. It has to wait for a human hand to pick it up and put it to use. Sometimes it suffers as that hand flings it away or the human mouth curses at it when it accidentally strikes the person’s thumb.

Still, the nail appears to have the less pleasant job. Being hit on the head. Cutting through hard wood until it’s forced down to where it will remain immobilized for many years. Sometimes being bent, wrenched back out, and thrown away as useless. Often being covered up where no one can see the hard work that it’s doing, as if it’s too ugly or worthless to look at.

But the nail isn’t just picked up occasionally for an odd job then put back on the shelf, like many hammers are. Once it’s in place, it renders a long, steady service behind the scenes. It binds things together that would otherwise fall apart. Sometimes it needs to work with other nails to do its job. It serves in a position that requires self-sacrifice, endurance, and cooperation. Kind of like the life God calls us to.

What are we to do?

Does that mean God doesn’t want any of us to be hammers? Is it wrong for a Christian to exercise power over others? On the job. In the home. At church. Within the community.

Of course not. We need bosses and parents and pastors and teachers and even political leaders.

However, like a good hammer, they’ll get the best results if they do the job right. Hitting the target accurately rather than striking wildly. Using only as much force as is necessary. Moving on when the job is done. Focusing on fulfilling their purpose to build something useful or beautiful, not on their ability to exercise power over others. Sometimes lying around for days or weeks waiting to be picked up. And just as there are many nails for one hammer, in any given situation God only calls a few to lead, while most of us serve.

Are we confined to one role or the other? Simon and Garfunkel’s lyrics make it sound like that’s the case.

Then I look at Jesus’ life. He spent much of it as a nail, submitting to God’s will in all things. He endured the opposition of the religious leaders of His day. He watched many lukewarm followers leave Him when His words offended them. He spoke and lived the Beatitudes. He washed His disciples’ filthy feet. He let Himself be nailed to a cross.

But He was more like a hammer when He cast out demons and cleansed the temple and rebuked the Pharisees. And when He rose from the dead.

Just like Jesus, most of us spend some time as hammers and more time as nails. A woman might act as a hammer to her children (choosing and enforcing the rules of the home in order to raise them to be responsible adults), then go to the office where she’s a nail.

There are powerful forces in our culture right now encouraging all of us to be hammers all of the time. Stand up for yourself. Demand your rights. Don’t let anyone take advantage of you. Seize whatever power you can and use it. Be an activist. Change the world.

Many politicians exemplify this attitude. How many presidents in recent decades have used their power hammering out executive orders that can be struck down by the Supreme Court or changed by Congress or the next president, rather than working together with senators and representatives to craft legislation that will hold together for many years?

These are our role models. They’re the ones we’ve elected to the highest office in the land.

What we really need, to counteract this destructive trend, is a whole lot of nails. People quietly serving without calling attention to themselves (1 Thessalonians 4:11). Holding things together rather than exercising blunt force. Working with others. Enduring the difficulties that come with their position. And understanding that this brings a different kind of power.

The power to contribute to greater peace in the world. To build stronger relationships and deeper community. To bring about greater justice and prosperity for more people. Jesus spent much of His life as a nail, but He’s had a more powerful influence on more people than anyone else in history.

 

 

Loving God

Agape vs. phileo love (pronunciation guide: a-gah-pay, fi-lay-oh)

Jesus: “Simon son of John, do you truly love [agape] me?”

Simon Peter: “Yes, Lord, you know that I love [phileo] you.” (John 21:15)

Agape is the greatest, deepest, richest kind of love. The love we all yearn for from others. An “unconditional, selfless, and sacrificial love.” Loving someone just the way they are, no matter what they do or say or think. Focusing fully on them and their needs. The kind of love God demonstrates. God is agape (1 John 4:8).

Phileo is “friendship or brotherly love, characterized by mutual affection, trust, and camaraderie.” Unlike agape, which is “unmerited, steadfast, and enduring,” phileo depends on things like how much we have in common, my current mood, and how easily I can be offended. It can fade over time. (Source of quotes: christianity.com)

After Peter has denied Christ three times, Jesus questions Peter three times about his love for Him (using his old name, not the new one Jesus gave him earlier). I can almost feel Peter cringing as he faces his Lord. Not only did he disown Him at His trials, now he’s going back to his old way of life, which was fishing.

Instead of being the rock (the meaning of the name “Peter”) and building the church on this rock (Matthew 16:18), instead of fishing for men (Matthew 4:18-20), he’s drawing his fellow disciples away with him to the lake and the boats and the nets. Even after witnessing Jesus’ sacrificial death and supernatural resurrection. Is there any hope for this man?

If we’ve read the rest of the story, we know there is. Most of that hope lies in God’s grace. But part of it is connected to Peter’s deeper understanding of himself. Jesus points out Peter’s failures by using his old name, then asks him if he agapes Him.

The old Peter would have loudly proclaimed his undying, sacrificial love for Jesus, as he did in John 13:37: “I will lay down my life for you.” (To which Jesus replied, “Before the cock crows, you will disown me three times!” He was right.)

The new Peter humbly recognizes and confesses that he does truly phileo Jesus, but agape is beyond his reach. He’d really rather catch fish than give his life away following Christ. Maybe part of the point of this passage is to show us that Peter has grown, even though he’s still disappointing his Lord. If there’s hope for this failure, then maybe there’s hope for me, too.

Phileo love for God

Agape demands that we love someone just the way they are. Do we love God just the way He is? Or do we want a different God, a God our warped and limited human understanding thinks is better? A God who gladly lets us conform to the world, rather than sacrificially following Him. Do we want the depth of an agape relationship with God, or only a shallow phileo friendship with Him?

Every time I open my Bible, Jesus asks me, “Ann, do you agape Me?” Am I willing to change my view of Him based on His revelation? Willing to love Him just the way He is? Or am I trying to accommodate the message that I find to fit my own ideas, giving Him my phileo but not my agape?

Looking at the list of labels in my sidebar, with “questioning.God” in a large font and “resenting.God” smaller but still there, it’s clear that I have a hard time loving God just the way He is. And I’m not alone.

Humans have always been drawn to gods who expect their followers to work their way into the gods’ favor. Sacrifice. Worship. Obey without questioning. It feeds our pride. (Look what I’ve achieved!) And it makes sense. What kind of god could demand anything less?

But the biblical revelation makes it clear that we can’t earn God’s love. He already loves us just the way we are. We sacrifice and worship and obey because we love Him, not to manipulate Him into loving us.

In the West today, the tendency leans more toward wanting gods who give their followers the freedom to do whatever makes them feel good, letting go of the old demands for purity and righteousness. The best god will respect the highest good in the universe—each person’s right to make his or her own decisions without judgment from anyone else.

There are those who stand firmly on the concept of social justice, rightly basing their convictions on the God of the Bible. He has always cared about the poor, the weak, the vulnerable, the oppressed. We should, too. In our actions, not just in our words.

But from what I’ve seen and heard, some of the most vocal religious proponents of the modern concept of social justice are appalled by many of the biblical demonstrations of God’s justice. They cannot believe in a God who condemns nations to slaughter or individuals to hell. They don’t love God just the way He is. They want to remake Him into their idea of what a good, modern god would be. A god they can phileo.

Those who promote a health and wealth gospel might phileo God but they don’t agape Him. They want to change Him into a God who always heals them and always provides abundant wealth for them.

And then there’s me. Sometimes life seems almost magical. Hopes and dreams fall into place. I can see God’s hand guiding it all. I can believe in the power of prayer and the depth of His love for me. I think I’m agape loving Him at those times. But maybe it’s more like phileo.

Maybe what I’m really feeling is a sense of mutual affection, trust, and even camaraderie. As long as He’s doing what I want, I can have a comfortable, friendly relationship with Him. But if He disappoints me, my phileo can cool off.

Agape love for God

Agape love is difficult for humans to achieve. But not impossible. God in His grace enables us to be more than we could be on our own, including growing in us the ability to agape. He even commands us to do it.

In Matthew 22:37-39, Jesus tells us to love God with all our heart and soul and mind, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. It helps to know that “this love (the Greek word agape) is not so much a matter of emotion as it is of doing things for the benefit of another person, that is, having an unselfish concern for another and a willingness to seek the best for another” (Bible Gateway).

At the time of his death as a Christian martyr, Peter proclaimed by his actions what he was unable to honestly say in words in John 21. In the end, he did agape Jesus.

I suspect that none of us (not even Peter) has ever been capable of sustaining our agape for God for any length of time in this life. The “unconditional” part of the definition of agape might be the biggest hurdle we have to get over. It really is very hard for us to love God just the way He is.

But as we move closer and closer to doing that, as we open our minds and our hearts to grasping who this glorious, generous, perfect, just, kind, and compassionate God is, loving Him selflessly and even sacrificially are likely to come more easily.

Peter’s example shows that it’s possible for that kind of love to grow and develop in us, by God’s grace and power. The fruit of the Spirit is agape (Galatians 5:22-23).

 

 

The Ascension

The Mount of Olives

Forty days after the resurrection, Jesus ascended into heaven from the Mount of Olives. He returned to His Father to sit at His right hand. (Acts 1:3-12, Hebrews 10:12) Evangelicals don’t often mention the ascension, yet it was a watershed moment in the history of mankind.

Definition of a literal watershed: “A ridge of high land dividing two areas that are drained by different river systems.”

Definition of a figurative watershed: “A critical point that marks a division or a change of course; a turning point.” (Source: The American Heritage online dictionary)

The Mount of Olives was both.

According to Wikipedia, it’s a literal watershed. It divides the river system on its west side from the river system on its east.

It’s also a figurative watershed. A turning point. It’s where the Glory of the Lord was last seen by Ezekiel after it was removed from the temple (Ezekiel 11:22-23). It’s where Jesus ascended into heaven. It’s where He’ll stand when He returns (Zechariah 14:4).

The old and new covenants

It’s a figurative watershed in another sense, too. According to Crosswalk.com, from the top of the Mount of Olives you can look to the west and see the city of Jerusalem flourishing on Mount Zion and to the east and see the dry open desert. Quite a contrast.

A contrast elaborated in Hebrews 12:18-24. In this passage, the author is comparing Mount Zion to Mount Sinai, a comparison between the new covenant and the old.

Mount Zion represents “the heavenly Jerusalem, the city of the living God,” while Mount Sinai is in the hot, dry, dusty desert. (It’s not literally east of the Mount of Olives, but since it’s in a desert my mind combines the symbolism of Sinai with the desert east of the Mount of Olives.)

Sinai was filled with “darkness, gloom, and storm.” The scene was so terrifying that Moses was trembling with fear. It was the site of the old covenant, a covenant of law, mediated by the man Moses, ratified by the blood of animals, and based on earthly things (“a mountain that can be touched” and promises of tangible blessings). Few were allowed on Mount Sinai.

In contrast, Zion is full of “thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly.” It represents the new covenant, a covenant of grace and joy, mediated by God the Son, ratified by the blood of Jesus as the perfect sacrifice, and focused on spiritual things (“the heavenly Jerusalem” and eternal life). All are invited to Mount Zion. (My thanks to a Bible teacher at my church who presented this information in a class that I was taking when I wrote this article.)

I imagine myself standing on the top of the Mount of Olives. First facing the desert that symbolizes Mount Sinai. Filled with the fear of a perfectly righteous God and the hopelessness of never being able to fulfill all the requirements of His Law. Never being able to earn His forgiveness. Seeing God’s holiness and judgment in the darkness and storm. Feeling a great distance between us.

Then turning in the opposite direction to face Jerusalem. Seeing God’s intense love expressed in the sacrifice of His only Son for the sins of the world. Relieved that I’m completely, totally forgiven by His grace, not by anything that I have to do. Filled with the Holy Spirit and His fruit.

An analogy of the gospel. We must first face the scorched desert. The hopelessness and vastness of the sin that separates us from God. We must see this in order to recognize our own personal need for salvation and our inability to earn it for ourselves. Then when we turn around and see the New Jerusalem, we can begin to grasp the love and grace of God, the enormity of what He’s done for us in order to bring us into fellowship with Him.

At the watershed moment of salvation, we turn from the dry dusty desert of selfish worldly desires that can never satisfy us but only increase our thirst. We turn in the opposite direction (the literal meaning of the word repent) to the glory, beauty, and joy of the heavenly Jerusalem where the river of life flows and the tree of life bears continual fruit and provides leaves for the healing of the nations (Revelation 22:1-2).

The impact of the ascension

I stand on this watershed, turning from east to west, from Sinai to Zion. Then look down and up. Down to the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus was betrayed, bound, deserted, and taken away to face His trials. Up to where He ascended into heaven. A sort of vertical watershed.

At that moment, in this place, everything changed. Jesus ascended to sit at the right hand of the Father.

“Sitting signifies a permanent abiding.”

“Abiding is about being in a place where one remains close, where a relationship is sustained.”

“‘Sitting at the right hand’ indicates authority from and special privileged access to God.”

“To sit with denotes intimate fellowship.”

To sit down also means the work is finished. A couple of Bible teachers have pointed out to me in recent years that there were no chairs in the tabernacle or temple. Until Jesus’ death and resurrection and ascension, the work of restoring man’s relationship with God was never completed.

Since His ascension, Jesus permanently remains in a position of authority with special access to God and in intimate fellowship with Him. The disciples were “filled with grief” when He told them He was going away. But He assured them that it would be better for them when He did. (John 16:5-7)

Because of the context, I’ve always understood His words to mean that the change for the better would be the coming of the Holy Spirit to dwell within us. But it’s also so much better for us that He’s now abiding at God’s right hand, exercising authority and interceding for us, rather than walking the earth, even in His resurrected body.

The fullness of our salvation, of our restored relationship with God, was made possible by every watershed moment in the Gospels and the first chapter of Acts. Jesus’ birth. His death. His resurrection. Last of all, and most often ignored or forgotten by evangelicals (including me), His  ascension into heaven.

Redemption

A place of trauma

After eating a special meal together, they went with their leader to a mountainous area outside the city. There was something different about him tonight. He’d been unusually solemn at dinner, telling them frightening things. He would be going away soon, where they couldn’t follow him. One of them would betray him. Another would disown him. They would all desert him.

When they reached a garden where they often gathered, he took his three closest friends apart from the others and asked them to watch and pray with him. He was troubled. They were worried. He seemed to need their support. Had that ever happened before? They weren’t sure how to respond.

They were exhausted from the stress and anxiety and confusion of the last few hours, even though their leader had made every attempt to reassure them that everything would work out for the best. If that was true, why was he struggling so much with his own emotions? They were shocked by his weakness. He’d always been so strong and calm anytime they were feeling overwhelmed.

When he walked away from them to pray more privately, they were able to let their guard down, to relax a bit. As a result, they fell asleep. Three times. He woke them up three times. He finally told them to get up and go with him. They were ashamed, keenly aware that they’d failed him.

And then they heard the crowd approaching. Their companion, who’d left them at the end of the dinner, led some soldiers and officials up to their leader and kissed him to identify him so the authorities could arrest him.

One of his followers attempted to strike up a fight, but his leader stopped him and actually healed the injury that he’d caused. When it all looked hopeless, when their beloved leader was bound and taken off to be tried, his frightened and bewildered followers all fled. (Matthew 26:20-56, Mark 14:17-50, Luke 22:21-54, John 13:21-18:12)

It was a traumatic night and a traumatic scene. A great injustice was done, triggered by an act of betrayal. The group as a whole behaved badly, unable to support their leader in his most trying time, saying the wrong things, doing the wrong things, and running away for fear of being carried off with him. If they were like me, the memory of the emotions and failures of that night would remain intense long after the events had occurred. Healing, forgetting, moving on would be difficult, if not impossible.

It turned out that their leader, Jesus, was right, as usual. Everything did work out for the best. Way better than anything they had imagined. He was crucified, suffering a painful and shameful death, but even His crucifixion was God’s plan, God’s timing. It was a sacrifice for the sins of the world. The way to make peace between God and men.

On the third day He rose from the dead. Through the Holy Spirit He could now be with them, in them, each one of them, for the rest of their lives. He could provide strength and peace and hope like they’d never known before.

Memories of the same place

The disciples knew their relationship with Jesus was restored, but did some of the shame from the night of His betrayal still haunt them? Did any sight of the Mount of Olives stir it up again? According to a map in my 1985 NIV Bible, a road passed through the Mount of Olives between Jerusalem and Bethany. They probably traveled that road at least a few times between the resurrection and the ascension. What kind of memories did that journey bring back?

This was where they’d been standing when Jesus sent two of them to get the donkey that He rode into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday (Matthew 21:1-11). Memories of His triumphal entry.

This was where they’d asked Jesus for more information on His overcoming evil at the end of the age (Matthew 24:3-51). Memories of the prophecy of His future triumph.

This is where they’d often left the crowds behind for a bit of time alone with Jesus (John 18:2). Various memories, probably including prayer and teaching and maybe even laughter.

This is where they stayed every night during the last week of His life (Luke 21:37). Powerful memories of time spent with a loved one during His final days on earth.

But up against all the positive memories stood the shame and trauma of that one evening.

Redeeming the place

This is also where Jesus met with His disciples for the last time before rising into heaven. This is where He promised them the coming of the Holy Spirit, who would give them power to witness to others throughout the world. This is where they watched the Messiah physically ascend into heaven. This is where two angels promised that He’d return in the same way. (Acts 1:6-12)

By Jesus’ own action, the Mount of Olives was redeemed from a place of shame and sorrow and injustice to one of promise and glory and power. It’s never named again in the New Testament.

But it’s mentioned a couple of times in the Old Testament. This is where Jesus will stand when He returns (Zechariah 14:4).

God redeemed a place of trauma. He didn’t do it for the sake of the dirt and the stones and the trees, but for the sake of those who had suffered, and watched His Son suffer, in that very place.

Jesus intentionally led them back there in His own timing. He brought them as a group. Since they’d gone through the trauma together, the healing would be richer and deeper if they were together when they faced the emotions that the Mount of Olives triggered. Redeeming the place was somehow tied in with redeeming them.

God redeems us by His grace, through our faith, when we confess our sins and believe that Jesus is Lord and that God raised Him from the dead (Ephesians 2:8, Romans 10:9). He redeems our souls, giving us eternal life with Him. Such a gift is grand and glorious and awe-inspiring beyond our comprehension. But He doesn’t stop there.

One day He will redeem our mortal bodies, transforming them into glorious bodies (1 Corinthians 15:42-44). Even now, He’s redeeming our minds and emotions. He heals our hurts, grows the fruit of the Spirit within us, and transforms our thoughts.

Sometimes that means going back to a painful physical or mental place, as the disciples returned to the Mount of Olives. Sometimes Jesus Himself will lead me there in His perfect timing.

It might hurt. I might hesitate. But when I go, I know that He will be there with me. Sometimes He provides me with the support of friends who are returning to that same spot for the same reason. And in the end, what started as a place of failure and trauma will be redeemed by God into a place of hope.