Sample Chapter:
Blowing Snot Bubbles

“When someone tells me yet another horror story about church, I respond, ‘Oh, it’s even worse than that. Let me tell you my story.’
I have spent most of my life in recovery from church.”
Philip Yancy

One of the most gripping examples in all of Scripture of those who Love Jesus and Hate Church can be found in the next to the last chapter of the gospel of John. It graphically shows how those who claim to love Jesus— those who’ve been privy to His teachings, have tasted of His intimacy and have had first-hand, eyewitness experience of His miracles— can respond to Him in two totally different ways.
Like polar opposites.
Head versus heart.

With cautious reservation or with reckless abandon.
And it shows this distinction in unmistakable clarity.

It also reveals to us which of the two paths of worship Jesus honors— literally making His revelation of Himself to us virtually undeniable.
Guaranteed. A sure thing.

Finally, it paints for us a brutally honest picture of the church today and of the choices each of us face. Choices about our spiritual life that we cannot afford to ignore any longer. Choices this book has dropped on our doorstep, placed in our very lap. Choices that must be dealt with.
Choices about Jesus.
Choices about worship, priorities— and choices about church.
It’s a fitting end to our Love Jesus, Hate Church odyssey.

So hang on, and let’s take a look at Peter and John and the woman who blew snot bubbles.

The Time That Is…

Scripture is clear.
Jesus said “But an hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers shall worship the Father in spirit and truth; for such people the Father seeks to be his worshipers.”

Or, to repeat His teaching in the language of the New Millennium:
“There is a time, a time which is now upon us, when the true worshipers of God will worship the Father in spirit and in truth. No, we’re not talking about the false, hypocritical, self-seeking, passionless, stale and lifeless exercisers of rote religion. But those who choose to worship the Father in the mode He has determined to be pleasing and honoring to Him. In fact, it’s this very group of selfless worshipers the Father pursues, actively seeking their worship.”
Think about it. Jesus said there are some who claim to follow Him that actually get it right! Wow! They truly worship Him— not according to their own standards and dictates or in a fashion designed to be pleasing to themselves, but they truly worship Him!— His way and for His glory.
They literally lose themselves in Christ. They become hopelessly submerged in the total adoration of the Father.

So who are these people and what makes them so special?
How do they worship? What do they do, if anything, that’s different from us?
Why is God so pleased with them that He actively seeks them out?
What do they have that we don’t have?
What can we learn from their lives?
More importantly, how can we become the type of person God the Father actively seeks as His worshiper?
And finally, how is this the antidote for the Love Jesus, Hate Church cancer?

TGIF

The Passover has passed.
The blood-soaked tears of Jesus have long since dried upon the large, smooth rock near the edge of the garden of Gethsemane leaving tiny, thin, crimson streaks as the only reminder of the night’s anguished prayers.
Judas, change in his pocket, has surprised the disciples, and Malchus went home with both ears and a story to tell.

The mock trials are over.
Jesus was condemned.
And the twelve are nowhere to be found. Poof! Vanished into thin air. Like a vapor. An early morning mist. As if they had never existed at all.

Dawn of that day finds the Lord nailed to a cross between two thieves, writhing in indescribable agony, at a place commonly known as the Skull.
Hanging there— alone.

Come, Take a Closer Look

Draw near, if you will, and take a closer look at this familiar scene.
Look beyond the tortured, brutalized body of the Lord nailed naked to a Roman cross. Look past His choked, labored gasps for breath. Past the horrid, guttural, gurgling sounds that mark His losing battle against the rising tide of fluid in His lungs.
Look past those that surround Him— watching Him, taunting Him, laughing at Him, deriding Him— and you will see a small group of grief-stricken friends huddled close together. Refusing to move. Refusing to leave. Defiantly unafraid. Much like a faithful dog standing guard over the grave of his deceased master.
They were clinging to Jesus until the very end.
Whatever that end may be.
They were where they wanted to be.
Where they knew they should be.
They were with Jesus— their friend, their Lord, their God and their life.

Notice also that Peter, Andrew, James, Matthew and the other disciples are conspicuously missing. Absent. AWOL. Nowhere to be found.
Scattered like dry leaves in the October wind.

When we finally track them down we find each of the disciples slinking into the shadows, trying to find solace in the darkness, far away from the light. They’re frantic. Frightened. Tail-between-their-legs petrified. Panic-stricken with mind-numbing dread about how the dramatic cycle of events of the last 24 hours will impact their lives over the next 24 hours.
How sad. How incredibly sad.
Those who had confidently, almost arrogantly, pledged their very lives to Jesus earlier that evening were now running blind, like scared children, afraid of the dark.
“Did you see what they did to Jesus? They’ll do the same to me!”
“I’ve got to look out for me now. After all, I’ve got a family to think about!”
“I didn’t sign up for this. This is not how it was supposed to end.”
“How can I serve God if I’m dead? Huh? Answer me that question!”
“Run legs! Just keep running! Don’t stop and don’t look back!”

Notice also at the foot of the cross, as close as the Roman guards will let them, next to the dark, damp, blood soaked mud where the wooden pole of the cross protrudes out of the dirt, there are several people woven tightly together. They hold each other close, almost clinging to one another, desperate, each somehow trying to find comfort from the oppressive grief they individually share together. They’re like terrified kittens that have been abandoned at midnight in the middle of a large field. Shaking with fright. Lost and rejected. Holding on to the single hope that their mother will soon return to rescue them, save them, and lead them back home.
But in the deep sorrow of the long night they know their mother isn’t coming. They’re all alone— together. All they have is each other.
Together alone.
Look and you’ll see the disciple whom Jesus loved, John, trying to warm and comfort as best he could Mary, the mother of Jesus. The same Mary, at the dying request of the Lord, that John takes into his own house and into his own family from that very day until her death some years later.
There were some other women at the cross.
There was the sister of Mary.
There was Mary the wife of Clopas.
And there was a woman of a horrendous, pitied past— Mary Magdalene.

Mary Magdalene

Who was Mary Magdalene?
What was she doing with John and Mary at the foot of the cross?
Why was she there?
What had Jesus done for her?

When we first hear of this woman we see her displaying, in an unashamed, extravagant fashion, her love and profound gratitude for the precious gift Jesus had given her. In Luke 8:2, it states that Jesus had previously driven seven demons out of her and had delivered her from the dark dungeon of spiritual bondage to the joy of true freedom.
With a word, a command and a touch— Jesus had liberated Mary Magdalene.
For the first time in forever Mary was free because of Jesus!
And now, at the home of Simon the Pharisee, that forgiven, freed, and delivered Mary comes unannounced and uninvited and falls at the feet of the One who had changed her life.
Look again at the scene as it unfolds before us. And take special note of where it’s all taking place.
This is Simon— a Pharisee. A religious “I’m-better-than-you” noble.
This is Simon’s house— a place where a woman like Mary would have never been invited and would have never felt welcomed.
And this is Mary— the woman with a stained, tainted past. Refusing to be deterred by the scornful stares and muffled rebukes of the “clean, blessed and good-looking” people, she brushes past those who are chosen and gathered to hear the Master, and shamelessly bows in worship at the feet of Jesus.
"Ugh! Why… why… this is unthinkable!”
“It’s unimaginable.”
“Quite an embarrassment, if you ask me.”

Mary— the known sinner, the town harlot, the local slut— carefully brought out an alabaster vial of costly perfume she had hidden under her shawl and, not feeling worthy to even look upon the Lord, dropped humbly to her knees behind Him. Weeping from guilt and gratitude, she washed His feet with her tears and kept wiping them dry with her hair.
With her hair!
Her long, beautiful, black hair.
The only glory of a woman like Mary.

Breaking the vial, eyes downcast, hands trembling, she began to gently anoint Jesus with her perfume. Slowly. Lovingly. In deep worship. Savoring each second, each moment with Him like it was a priceless jewel. She had to show Him, no matter the costs, the depths of her love for her Lord.
Jesus, compassion beaming from His presence, looked at Mary with His faint, familiar, all-knowing smile. And yet He never uttered a word at her worshipful display of devotion and love. It seemed that Jesus was also savoring the moment.
All she was and all she would ever be now belonged to Him— to Jesus.
She didn’t care what the others thought.
Not now.
Not anymore.
Never again.

It was clear to see that Jesus was well pleased by her actions.
It was also clear to see that the others in the room were not so pleased by her flagrant display of adoration.
It unnerved them. Made them feel uncomfortable. Almost queasy.
While Mary was lost in the deep worship of the Lord, the others sitting around the table were feeling somewhat uneasy about what they were witnessing. The genuine display of Mary’s raw emotion troubled them. Anger was soon to follow.
“After all,” they reasoned to themselves, “there are other ways…you know…uh, proper and acceptable ways to honor a man like Jesus. But this…well, this is too extreme. It’s too strange and unconventional. It’s not exactly what we would call proper etiquette, is it? And just who does this woman think she is? Who does she think she is to come barging in here uninvited and intrude on this group of upstanding, religious people like us? We’ve spent the better part of our lives not living or associating with the likes of Mary the sinner. What right does she think she has to come and disturb this gathering? Who does she think she is anyway?”
With each unanswered question, born out of deep conviction, the anger of the Pharisee and his proper guests grew.
“If this man were a prophet, He would know who and what sort of person this woman is who is touching Him,” Simon the Pharisee said to himself. “After all, she is a sinner.”
But Jesus did know.
Jesus knew exactly what kind of woman Mary was. He knew of her past, her pain, and her failed hopes. He knew of the unspeakable hurt she kept locked up and hidden deep within herself, buried beneath a façade of flippant cynicism designed to keep people away, never close, at arm’s length, so that no one would ever see. And Jesus also knew of her memories— ah, the plaguing, tormenting memories of a small child, alone in the dark, pleading, crying, begging, and praying for someone to help her as her innocence was betrayed, violated again and again by the groping hands of cruel, abusive men.
Oh yes, Jesus knew everything there was to know about Mary.
Everything. Both good and bad.
But Jesus also saw something in Mary of great worth. He saw something worth redeeming. Worth saving.
Jesus saw something in Mary worth dying for.

Jesus saw Mary, not for what she was— a hard, arrogant, bitter woman with a biting, sarcastic tongue— but He saw Mary for what she could be. Jesus saw her potential. He focused on the unlimited promise of her future and not on the multiplied failures of her past.

But there was something more.
Jesus also recognized that somehow Mary intuitively knew who He was and what He had to offer her. Somehow she understood the “big picture.” New lives in exchange for old. A new beginning. A fresh start. A changed life. Like being born again.
Jesus saw her hunger, her longing, her need, and her faith.
ut He also saw something else.
Her worship!
He experienced Mary’s unbridled display of passionate worship designed for an audience of just One.
Just for Jesus.

Knowing Simon’s thoughts, Jesus said, “Simon, do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave Me no water for My feet, but she has wet My feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You gave Me no kiss; but she, since the time I came in, has not ceased to kiss My feet. You did not anoint My head with oil, but she anointed My feet with perfume. For this reason I say to you, her sins, which are many, have been forgiven, for she loved much; but he who is forgiven little, loves little.” Then He said to her, “Your sins have been forgiven.” Those who were reclining at the table with Him began to say to themselves, “Who is this man who even forgives sins?” And He said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Go in Peace

“Go in peace,” Jesus had told her.
Ah, the healing power of those three small words.
“Go in peace.”
And so she did.
Mary left that unforgiving house experiencing something she had only dreamed of, something that always seemed to be just beyond her grasp, just past her outstretched fingertips— just out of reach.
Mary experienced real peace.
True peace.
Redemptive peace.

For the first time in her troubled life Mary was free, clean, and forgiven. The flesh of her soul was no longer hard, rough, and callused by the trials and hurts of this life, but it was now made new, soft, and pink, like the bottom of a newborn baby. The peace that Jesus spoke about now belonged to her. It was His peace. Not the kind of peace the world gives… but His peace. The peace that “passes all understanding.”
It was His wonderful gift to her.
No more condemnation and no more shame.
No more seeking from man the approval she had now freely secured from God.
No more loneliness or lack of purpose or hollow despair.
Forgiven! She had been truly forgiven!

The gift Jesus presented to Mary that day is the same gift He also offers to each of us. What she became, we can be. Like Mary, we also can be forgiven, redeemed, cleansed, and set free! The same Spirit of God that lives in her also desires to live inside each of us to comfort, empower, and conform us to the image of God.
Wow!

Does This Sound Like You?

The amazing truth I see in this story is the contrast between Mary’s reaction to the gift of Jesus and the reaction most of us, the church crowd, have towards His same gift. Let’s face it, the party line, the status quo, the acceptable and popular reaction of the church today towards Mary’s childlike example of heart-felt gratefulness is “eye-opening” at best. At worst, it is the vilest, most appalling form of sin and apathy imaginable.
Oh, you think that statement is a tad too strong?
Well, ask yourself this question. What have you done with your life to show your gratitude to Jesus for the gift of forgiveness He presented to you?

24/7 – 365

Mary spent the rest of her life dreaming up and inventing new ways to lovingly communicate her gratitude to Jesus for the gift He freely gave her.
The Gift: Something she didn’t deserve and certainly couldn’t earn herself.
Think about it.
From that day forward, without hesitation or looking back, Mary began to follow Jesus. Like Matthew, James, John, Peter and the others who responded to the direct invitation of Jesus to “Follow Me,” Mary devoted herself, 24/7, to Jesus and to Him alone.
Do we?

In Luke 8:3, the Scriptures state that Mary, along with some other women who were also changed by Jesus, were contributing to His support out of their own means— as meager as they may have been. Imagine, beginning with the breaking of the vial to anoint her Lord, Mary began to see that she was “no longer her own, but bought with a price.” She knew and fully understood that if she belonged to Jesus, if He was truly her Master and Lord, then it would naturally follow that everything she had also belonged to Him. Why? Because she was, as Jesus taught over and over again, simply a pilgrim, a sojourner, someone just passing through. After all, this world was no longer Mary’s home anymore than it was her Master’s home. She now lived in His kingdom and served Him without reservation. She was full-time and totally focused. Mary had successfully made the transition between the two kingdoms— the kingdom of this world and the Kingdom of God. She left the one and, with arms flung open wide with anticipation, eagerly embraced the other.
Just like us, right?

Back to the Past

Back to the cross.
The disciples, save one, are all gone.
The very men who had boldly pledged their lives to Jesus several hours earlier now fled and hid for the very sake of them. The lips that so confidently proclaimed, “Even if all run away, I will die for you!” had just hours later said, “I don’t know the man!”
Courage in the light quickly dissolved into fear in the shadows.
Those who knew the truth, or should have known the truth about Jesus, had scattered like leaves in the wind leaving their Lord to face the trial of all humanity alone.
Some friends.

But not all ran.
Mary stood with Jesus. She was there for Him as He had always been there for her. She was at the cross to let her Lord and Master know, if only by her mere presence, that not all were cowards. That someone cared. She was determined to show her love for Him to the very end— no matter what.
No matter what.

Then, when Jesus had breathed His last, in the midst of the darkness that turned the afternoon sky black as ink and the rumors of the Temple veil being torn top to bottom, when all hope was lost and her Lord was truly dead and gone forever— Mary was still there. She was steadfast. She refused to leave. She was loyal and committed, a true friend to the end.
Mary knew her place. And that place was with her fallen Lord.
Even as Jesus’ body cooled and His limbs began to stiffen, Mary was ready to cover Him with herself, to somehow try to warm the One who had revealed to her the “true” light that had come into the world.
Just like we would have done if we were there.
Yeah, just like…er…us.

Joseph from Arimathea petitioned Pilate for the body of Jesus. The very one who publicly feigned any interest in Him for fear of the Jews, now stepped into the light and took his stand next to the broken, lifeless body of the Lord. When it seemed little more than a moot point, Joseph finally became bold.
With Pilate’s permission, Joseph, Mary, and some of the others prepared Jesus for burial as best they could. The day was quickly coming to a close and the Sabbath was dawning. Their time was running out. A few pockets of spices, the loving, caressing, straightening of His shroud, like a mother tucking her child into bed, and their work was done.
At the urging of the Jews, a huge stone was rolled over the mouth of the tomb to prevent…well…something from happening. Nobody knew quite what. The Jews warned Pilate that the disciples were going to steal the body of their dead master. Fat chance! Like scared children lost in the dark, that was the last thing on the disciples’ minds. They were still firmly camped in the self-preservation mode. You know, the standard “Hey man, I got my own problems to deal with, my own family to think about. I know what happened to Jesus was terrible, but man, what about me? What am I going to do now?”

Jesus was buried. The borrowed tomb secured. Guards posted and the huge stone rolled firmly in place. Seal intact.
“Nothing gonna happen here.”

The disciples? They were frightened, terrified, lurking in the shadows, running from their own reflections and praying they wouldn’t bump into one another.
And the rest? Those who truly loved the Lord? They would have to wait until dawn of the day after tomorrow, the first day of the week, to properly complete for Jesus what they had only begun in haste.

And the long wait began.
Like time standing still.
Seconds dragging on like hours.
Everything moving in slow motion, as if in a dream.
Like the whole world was underwater.

Dusk to Dawn

Saturday. Dawn to dark.
The Passover was officially over.
Dawn of the next day, while it was still dark, Mary made her way back to the tomb of Jesus

.What!
Emotions, one after another, came pounding like the waves of the sea in the midst of a raging Northeaster.
Shock! Disbelief. Wonder. Fear. Panic.
Suddenly the air seemed thick and hard to breathe.
Mary’s mind began to race as she desperately tried to make sense out of what she had just seen. Come on Mary, think! Think! Focus only on the facts. What happened here?
Like pieces of a massive jigsaw puzzle, Mary began to put together what she knew. The facts…
Fact: The stone had been rolled away from the mouth of the tomb. “Must have taken several men to accomplish that. It was a huge stone.”
Fact: The body of Jesus was gone. “Someone must’ve taken the Lord. But, where? And, why?”
Fact: The guards? “Sprawled out on the ground like dead men. Why?”
What happened here?

Mary’s first thought, “I’ve got to tell the others!”
She had to tell Peter and John. Maybe they could tell her where they had taken the Lord. Maybe they knew what happened to the body of Jesus. Maybe they would know what to do.

Her words seemed to just blubber out, rolling one on top of the other, each mixed with tears and weeping. Her words spilled out like a bullet-point memo, not sure when one sentence ended and the next one began. Hey, it was hard enough to think complete thoughts, let alone speak complete sentences!
Peter and John stood and looked at her with blank stares. They were not quite sure they had understood what she said. Maybe they’d missed something.
Did she say something about Jesus? The tomb? Empty? Can’t be!
It was John, with his compassionate, soothing nature that tried to calm her down…
“Now hold on, Mary.”
“Slow down, Mary.”
“Take a deep breath and tell me again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I can’t understand you. You’re not making any sense.”
“Come on, slow down, Mary.”
“Take it from the top. Tell me again. What’s happened at the tomb?’

Stammering with short, jab-like pants, Mary told them once more.
“They have taken away the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid Him.” There was something in her voice. Something in the pleading, longing, searching tone of her voice that seemed to shout at them and say, “Look, I’m not crazy. I saw what I saw! Come with me and see for yourself if you don’t believe me!”
So they did.

The non-verbal challenge in Mary’s voice, coupled with the unbridled passion in her broken sobs, had said enough. Volumes. Mary really believed she saw the tomb empty and the body gone. There was no denying that. Glancing at each other with the “Could it be? Naw!” expression on their faces, Peter and John broke into a sprint as they dashed towards the Garden.

Running hard, legs cramping, lungs burning— yet drawn by an irresistible anticipation that seemed to compel them forward, the trio ran through small fields, around unlit corners and down dusty paths, until they drew near to the entrance of the tomb. As they got closer to the place where the Lord was buried their speed instinctively increased. John, younger, faster, and sleet of foot pulled noticeably ahead while Peter, losing ground with each sandaled stride, followed close behind.
Then, as if forgotten, like an afterthought— came Mary.
She ran, stumbled, picked herself up and ran again, all the while holding up the hem of her garment scandalously high in a fashion that would have brought upon her the disgusted stares and condemning gossip of the pious, judgmental, I’m-better-than-you women still comfortably sleeping in their beds.
Did she care what they might say? Did she care what they thought of her?
Not on your life!
She was going to where her Lord was! She was going to be with her Master!
She was going to Jesus.

John was the first to reach the open tomb. He stood at the entrance, wide-eyed and mouth open, not sure if he should go in. Not sure of what to do or how to feel. Not really sure of anything at the moment. Peter, still several yards behind, finally lumbered past him and barreled into the tomb.

It was just as Mary had said!
The body was gone. The tomb was empty. Nothing left but grave clothes.
The linen wrappings were still in place and the face cloth was neatly rolled up and set aside, all by itself, as if by design. Strange? If someone had stolen His body during the middle of the night, why would they have taken the time to neatly fold up the face cloth? I mean, that didn’t make any sense. It was dumb. Stupid.
What’s happened here? What’s going on?

Almost unnoticed by the pair was the presence of Mary. She was on her knees outside the tomb, as if collapsed by the thought of the One she loved with all her heart, laying somewhere else, moved by strange, unloving hands. The sounds of her anguished, almost inconsolable sobs broke the solemn, early morning quiet. The dust, mixed with her tears and caked on her cheeks, gave her the look of a common laborer after harvest time. She resembled a mourning mother who had just learned that her husband and three small sons had been tragically killed in an early morning accident. Emotions run amuck. She was crying uncontrollably in deep despair.
Blowing snot bubbles.

Blowing Snot Bubbles…?

The rest of this story amazes me. It literally confounds me.
In fact, the more I read it the more I’m convinced that the key to true worship— the key to having Jesus reveal Himself to us in a style straight out of the pages of the book of Acts— the silver bullet, the antidote to Loving Jesus and Hating Church can be found behind the actions of Mary and the Dynamic Duo. You can clearly see that the intensity and degree of their love for Jesus, in contrast to the intensity and degree of their love for themselves, shapes their different responses to the same events that fateful morning.
Remember, it was earlier that very week that Jesus had told them, “he who loves his life loses it, and he who hates his life in this world shall keep it unto eternal life.”
And now, on the morning that forever changed history, the morning of prophetic fulfillment, of blessing and awe, the disciples closest to Jesus failed to even remember, let alone understand, what He had said.

Let’s look at the response of the two:
First, Peter and John. You know, the “even if all fall away I will never deny you!” disciples.

What? Did you catch that? Do you realize what just happened?
Peter and John had just left the vacant tomb with its rolled up face cloth and the guards laying motionless, paralyzed, face up on the ground. They obviously walked past, possibly even stepped over, the weeping, sobbing, inconsolable, blubbering-out-of-grief, Mary. And without so much as a single word of encouragement to her, they parted ways as they headed to the safety of their own homes. Wow! Absolutely unbelievable!
Just like nothing ever happened.
Just like they had a lawn to mow or a call to make or an appointment to keep.
Just like what they had just experienced had no affect on them at all.
Like it was no big deal. Nothing out of the ordinary. All in a day’s work.
Classic denial.

Are you amazed at their actions? Are you shocked? Maybe angered?
Does their callous behavior seem to be out of character for Peter and John?
Did you ever wonder why, at the very least, they didn’t want to spend some time with each other? You know, maybe to discuss what had happened? Maybe to pray?
Did you ever wonder why they didn’t have the same excitement running from the tomb as they did running towards it? Why they weren’t overcome with the urge to tell the world what Mary said was true? That a miracle had taken place and Jesus was alive?
Does it seem odd to you, if not down right cold-hearted, that they chose to close their eyes and plug-up their ears to the sights and sounds of Mary’s anguish and grief as they stepped over her and slithered off to relative safety, leaving her to cry alone in the dirt?
Does it bother you that they seemed to be concerned only with themselves?
I mean, what kind of men are these anyway?
Where’s their love and compassion?
And to think that Jesus called them His friends! Some friends!
As Butch said to Sundance, “Hey, who are those guys?”

Ah, But the Sovereign Choice of God!

Before I begin to bang on these guys too much, let’s understand that there’s a spiritual principal at work here. The principle is simple: “What goes around, comes around.” Or, to put it in Biblical terms, “Whatsoever a man reaps, so shall he sow.” In other words, honor breeds honor, love breeds love and disdain breeds disdain. In fact, Jesus said “everyone who confesses Me before men, I will also confess him before My Father who is in heaven. But whoever denies Me before men, I will also deny him before My Father who is in heaven.”

Now it’s possible that Peter and John wanted to “sort it out in their minds” before telling the others. Or, as men, maybe they needed to “mentally process the empty tomb scenario and formulate a plausible explanation” before reporting their findings to the other disciples in the annual, upper room, board meeting.
They may have been scared. Frightened. You know, that flat out, “pee-in-their-pants” petrified. Or, maybe they were, how do we say, whacked-out, bewildered, and just not thinking straight. “Uh, I don’t know what I could’a been thinking. It was like my brain was stuck in neutral or something. It just wouldn’t go nowhere.” Possibly they could have been suffering from a mild state of shock. Or whatever! Who knows?
The list could go on and on.
The point is this: The disciples were, by their very actions, far more concerned about their own hides than anything or anyone else that day. And because they chose to selfishly skip alone to their own homes, they tragically missed the greatest gift of all. In doing so, they stepped over the grief-stricken body of Mary lying in the dirt in a pool of her own tears with no one left to comfort her.
No one.
But Jesus.

Do you know what she saw?
Two figures. Men dressed in brilliant, dazzling white. One at the head and one at the feet of where Jesus once was. Angels! A heavenly visitation!
One spoke to her, questioned her, and asked her with kindness and compassion in his voice, “Woman, why are you weeping?”
Mary replied, her voice halting, choked with childlike awe and emotion, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.”
Translation: Jesus is gone. Someone has taken away His body. I don’t know where they have put Him but I want to be where He is. I want to be with my Lord. My place is at His side, at His deathbed, to care for His body. I want, I need, I long for nothing but my Lord!

How do you comfort a woman so broken as Mary? How do you soothe the ache in her heart? How do you put back together the broken pieces of her life? How do you erase the pain, rejection, hurt, disappointment, and despair she suffered over the last 36 hours?
How?
Well, you don’t.
You simply point her to Jesus.

He spoke to her.
Looking back, Mary said she should’ve recognized His face, if not His voice. However, with puffy eyes swollen from days of sobbing she failed to realize that the answer to her life’s longing was standing directly in front of her in the garden by His tomb.
So close, yet so far away.
Jesus. The Light of the World and the Lord of Mary’s life.

He spoke softly to her. “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing He was the gardener, Mary pleaded with Him to tell her what had happened to her Lord. “Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away.” Tell me! Where is He? I want to be where He is.

The Revelation of a Lifetime

It was then that it happened.
Like the end of a playful game of hide-and-seek, Jesus spoke her name.
“Mary.”
Joy indescribable replaced grief untold!
In tears of joy she ran, stumbled, crawled up to Jesus and grabbed hold of Him as she lay before Him, facedown, in thankful worship and adoration. She had lost Him once. She would not lose Him again. Never!
“Mary,” Jesus said smiling. His tone was full of deep satisfaction at her unreserved, unashamed display of raw, genuine devotion. “Mary, stop clinging to Me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to My brethren and say to them, ‘I ascend to My Father and your Father, and My God and Your God.’”

And after having to lovingly break from her grasp like a father does his three-year-old daughter when, for love, she doesn’t want him to leave for work, Jesus and Mary parted.
With the power, the love, the confidence of fulfilled expectations, and the wonder and awe of first-hand proof of a miracle, Mary made her way back to the disciples.
Her message? Ah, you know…
“I’ve seen the Lord!”
“I’ve seen the Lord!”
“It’s true. He appeared to me. He’s alive! He’s living!”
“Oh, I’ve seen my Lord!”

And Now, the Rest of the Story…

Did you ever wonder why Jesus chose to reveal Himself to Mary and not to Peter and John? Does that seem somewhat strange to you? I mean, would it not seem logical, even prudent, for the Lord to confirm His resurrection to His disciples and not to a woman with a tainted, less-than-stellar past? If credibility was ever going to be an issue— why Mary? And why not Peter and John?
I wonder?
Yet, for some reason known only to Jesus, He chose to reveal Himself to Mary.
Did you ever wonder what you would have done in the same situation? If you had been at the tomb with Peter and John, would you have responded differently than they did? Would you have been concerned about Mary? Would you, like Mary, have only wanted to be with the fallen body of your Lord? Would you have blown snot bubbles with her?
Or, would you have been more concerned with your reputation, your social status, your financial and personal responsibilities— your very life? Would you have gone underground and stayed secluded until you could confidently face your critics and confront their nagging taunts of “Told you so! Should have listened to me? Nanny, nanny boo boo!”
Which would it have been? The Lord or your life.
Which kingdom would your citizenship reside? His? Or yours?

Love Jesus, Hate Church

Mary chose the Lord— and all that He had for her. She didn’t care what the others thought or what the future held for her. She clearly had counted the cost and determined that the rest of her life began with the words of her Lord, “Go in peace.”
From that moment on, nothing of this world mattered to her.
For Peter and John the situation was quite different. They chose their life— and the safety and security of the familiar. After all, they probably reasoned, “an empty tomb is not something to go around telling everybody about. They might think we’re strange. Kinda weird.”
Peter and John chose themselves— and the desire to always have it the way it had always been. You know, me first. They demanded to be in control of their own lives. They would call the shots. They remained the CEOs.
Mary, on the other hand, wanted nothing but Jesus.

So, to whom did Jesus reveal Himself?
Was it the ones who served Him only when it was convenient? The ones who, when confronted with the fulfillment of Jesus’ greatest teaching, turned and ran and kept this wonder to themselves? Was it the ones who, after peering into an empty tomb, callously stepped over the ministry to Mary and went home? To the ones who took His light and hid it under a basket so no one could see? To the traditional, religious, formal, individually determined proponents of man-made devotion to the Lord?
I think not.

No, Jesus revealed Himself to the one who truly worshiped Him. The one who honored Him, pleased Him, and expressed love to Him in a way that showed the inner condition of her heart.
Jesus showed Himself to Mary— the true worshiper of God.

How About You?

Now, for a final thought…
How about you?
Has Jesus revealed Himself to you like He did to the Believers in the pages of the book of Acts? Has He spoken to you, ministered to you, called and compelled you to Himself?
No? Not sure? Really?
Ever wonder why?
Could it be that, like Peter and John, you’re more concerned with appearances and how this life of Christ will affect you that you failed to worship Him in a fashion pleasing to Him? Mary wasn’t the least bit concerned with what others thought about her devotion to her Lord.
Are you?
When you gather together to worship are you internally constrained by the perceived reaction of those who surround you in church? Are you more concerned with what they’ll think of you than you are about what Jesus thinks about your worship? Are you striving to be one of those that the “Father seeks to be His worshipers?”
Or are you, as Paul later said, “now seeking the favor of men, or of God? Or am I striving to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a bond-servant of Christ.”

Who are you serving?
Who are you worshiping in your church?

Or, to cut to the chase, who in the account we just looked at represents you?
Are you Mary? Or are you more like Peter and John?

re you Loving Jesus or are you Loving Church?
This book is pretty much over. The choice is yours.

Now, choose wisely!