A Fork in the (Desert) Road

You've been in the desert for weeks, now.  You're thirsty, dusty, and spent.  You've wrangled with some wild animals along the way.  You've discovered some things about yourself you really didn't want to know in the first place.

Finally, there it is.  Over the crest of one of the countless desert dunes, you see the city approaching.  Jerusalem.  At last:  a place to get a square meal, a hot bath, and a good night's sleep.

But the horizon isn't quite what you remember, and not at all what you expect.  There have apparently been some changes since you were last here.  There on the outskirts of town, you recognize the slow and steady work of construction.  Some ropes, some wood and scaffolding.  You wonder--What in the world is going on?  In an instant, your stomach sinks like a stone; you recognize what it is that the workers are erecting.  A structure for torture and death.  

It's a cross...

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Well, there's no avoiding it.  You've reached a figurative fork in the road.  You can listen to Jesus and take the road that leads to the cross (Matthew 16:24)--or you can take another route.

As for the apostles, you might expect that they took the high road, the path leading to the cross.  But they didn't.  The gospels are brutally honest about the large detour of denial those first disciples took.  When Jesus told them he must die in Jerusalem, they simply could not (or would not) hear him.

What about the other road, the one that leads to the cross?  It was (and is) surely the road less travelled.  Out of all these apparently devoted disciples, not one was able to say a simple "yes" to Jesus' journey to the cross.  It took a woman--Mary, the sister of Lazarus--to understand the moment and respond with a soft and obedient heart.  (See John 12:1-8.)  Mary dug out what must have been her one great treasure, a costly bottle of perfume worth a year's wages, and poured it with unreserved love on Jesus' feet.

Judas, barreling down that other, cross-denying road, lost no time in criticizing Mary's itinerary.  The money could have gone to the poor, he objects!  But John the gospeler tells us that Lazarus was speaking out of his own greed; his habit was to abuse his position as treasurer and to siphon off money for himself.

Could we be given two clearer examples of people responding to this ultimate fork in the road?  Mary chooses the way to the cross.  It's dangerous, but it's the path down which Jesus himself is traveling.  So Mary gives everything she has to the one who is about to give everything he has for her.  Judas chooses the other avenue, the way of Self.  He recognizes rightly that the road to the Cross is hard, a rugged path that can only be traveled by those willing to lay down their comfort and wealth.  Judas, intent on having what he wants and having it now, refuses to embrace the painful beauty of what Jesus is about to do.  He braces against the cross and makes his stand.  He's out for himself.

When I read gospel stories like this, I find it so easy to look down my nose at the bad guys and to think of myself as being very much like the good guys.  But if I'm honest, I'll admit the humiliating truth:  I'm a lot like Judas.  I'm really very interested in my own comfort, and not all that willing to embrace pain. I see the cross, and I'm tempted to turn 180 degrees and walk the other way.

Lord, give me a heart like Mary's!  Let me celebrate the bright sadness of your journey to the cross.  As I follow Jesus, let me be less concerned about what I can receive.  Let me be wholly caught up in the beauty of your self-giving, and let me be stirred to grow in giving.  Let me worship you with every ounce of treasure I have.  And if it's off to the cross that you're headed?  Let me take your strength and follow along.

* * * * *

How about you?  How does the journey to the cross strike you, today, as you draw closer to the passion of Jesus?