This week, as we think about the passion of Jesus, I’ll be posting some excerpts from my last book, The 52 Greatest Stories of the Bible.

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Tuesday was a long day! It was one of those days when you blink and it’s lunchtime, then you blink again and it’s starting to get dark.

Jesus and His disciples found themselves in a series of meetings (some of us can relate to just how draining that can be!). But the day ended on a positive note. As they were leaving the Temple, Jesus sat down in the court of the women and watched people as they approached the 13 trumpet-shaped, bronze receptacles. Each was labeled, telling what the donated money would go toward. Jesus saw wealthy people casually tossing in money, their coins sliding down the bronze, clanking metallically, attracting attention.

And that’s when He saw her: Unnoticed by anyone else, an unassuming widow dropped two tiny coins in the coffer. Jesus got so excited that He called His disciples over to tell them her story. It must have seemed strange to them, given the scale of everything else that had been happening this week, that Jesus would get that worked up over a mere shaving of metal. But to Jesus, apparently, it was a very big deal.

Think about that for a minute: Jesus only had a few days left with His disciples. In about 48 hours His ordeal would begin, and it wouldn’t end until He was dead and buried. We would understand if Jesus was a little preoccupied, wouldn’t we? If Jesus was a little withdrawn or reserved or introspective, that would be understandable, right? Or if He was a little testy, pessimistic or cynical. After all, He had spent the better part of three years trying to get His message across to these dullards. But after all this time, still all they ever want to know is when He’s going to set up the Kingdom, when He’s going to overthrow the Roman government and who will get to sit next to Him when He finally holds court!

We’d understand if He just wanted to be alone for a while to collect His thoughts. Yes, He would get to that, but first He was determined to wring every last minute out of life while He could.

Jesus was always on the lookout for people who were getting it right. How did He even notice that one quiet widow amidst the sprawling chaos of His life? Well, if you study Jesus much at all, you’ll notice a pattern. Do you know who the most important person for Jesus was at any given moment? The person right in front of Him.

One time when Jesus had just finished preaching, a guy with leprosy starting calling His name. Jesus stopped everything to go over and spend time with him. One time when Jesus was on His way to heal a man’s dying child, a women touched the hem of Jesus’ robe. Again, Jesus stopped everything to connect with that one sick woman.

It was His pattern. He was often busy — He had lots to do, places to go, people to see. But He was never too busy to notice people who were getting it right in small and quiet ways.

This week, as we think about the passion of Jesus, I’ll be posting some excerpts from my last book, The 52 Greatest Stories of the Bible.

If you only had one week to live, what would you do? What if you knew you could postpone your death by altering your schedule?

All Jesus had to do was lay low, and the whole thing would likely have blown over. It’s not like the Jewish leaders were looking for someone to kill that week; they would have been happy to keep things quiet and avoid any kind of controversy. And the Romans were reasonable: Stay in your place, pay your taxes, don’t cause trouble, and no trouble will come after you.

But Jesus knew this was the thing He had come to do. Yes, the teaching was important. Yes, the miracles. Yes, the lifestyle. But none of it would make a difference without His sacrificial death.

The apostle Paul said that without the resurrection, we’re the biggest fools of all time — celebrating a man who was executed! And he was right (see 1 Corinthians 15:14-19). But there’s no resurrection without the crucifixion. They’re inseparable.

And so it was that Jesus, knowing full well that this week would end with Him dead and buried, having suffered the most humiliating and tortuous death imaginable, marched straight toward it, embracing His role in human history. Make no mistake about it: He chose this. No one did this to Him. He went willingly.

And here’s the crazy kicker (it won’t come as a surprise to any who have been following along): He didn’t choose this path in spite of the fact that He was God. He chose this path precisely because He was (and is) God. This is exactly the kind of thing you’d expect Him to do.

Granted, no other god in any other religious system in human history would ever choose to die on behalf of the people who have spurned and rejected His loving advances for millennia. But this isn’t any other god in any other religious system. This is our God, the God who humbled the Egyptians and parted the Red Sea, the God who drove the Canaanites from the Promised Land, the God who spared Isaac and redeemed Gomer, the God who loves relentlessly and refuses to give up on His dream of one day forming a community of people who are rightly related to Him and rightly relating to each other, a group of people whose very presence is a blessing to the whole, wide world.

He knew how the week would end. He knew how to avoid it. But He walked straight into the fiery furnace of hell for us. That’s the kind of God He is.

This week, as we think about the passion of Jesus, I’ll be posting some excerpts from my last book, The 52 Greatest Stories of the Bible.

It had been a busy week, and it wasn’t over yet. Things had started off with a bang and a parade, with Jesus looking like some Bizarro World version of a conquering king — riding into town on the back of a donkey with hundreds (perhaps thousands) of peasants throwing down their coats before Him and waving palm branches. It looked like the Messiah was coming to claim Jerusalem.

But all was not well.

The Pharisees complained about the level of excitement (Pharisees frequently do). Can’t you get those kids to calm down and be quiet? Jesus went toe-to-toe with the religious establishment and refused to back down. And he won…for the moment. The Pharisees lacked both the popular appeal and the official power to enforce their demands and could do nothing but stand there red in the face.

Jesus, however, did not rejoice in His temporary victory. Instead, He wept over the city of Jerusalem. He knew this would be the last time He would see the city like this. In a few short decades, Jerusalem would be ripped to shreds by the Romans. On top of that, He knew what this passionate week was going to cost Him. So He wept with undignified, gut-wrenching sobs.

Bright and early Monday morning, Jesus and His disciples made their way to the Temple. On the way there, He cursed a fig tree. Once He got there, He turned over the tables and benches where business was being transacted. People and animals scrambled this way and that. He had done this once before (see John 2:13-25), but apparently His initial cleansing of the Temple had little or no lasting impact. So as a sort of bookend to his public ministry, He did it again.

The Sadducees must have joined the Pharisees now in their anger and hatred of this man. But He had the people on His side. If they tried to stop Him, they might have a real fight on their hands. And the ever-present Romans weren’t too far away, hands on their swords, watching and waiting for their cue to quell a potential rebellion. And so they waited.

Tuesday was a day of conversation. Following two days of intense action, everyone wanted to have a word with Jesus. Some Greek people. Members of the Sanhedrin. Herodians. Sadducees. Pharisees. Regular folks. Everyone wanted to hear Jesus talk about who He was and what He intended to do. They questioned His identity, His authority, His politics, His eschatology, His ethics. The whole series of conversations built to a fever pitch, when Jesus launched into a tirade against the Jewish leaders (especially the Pharisees).

Afterward, He broke down in tears again. He had less than a week to live, and He knew it. Time was running out, and Jesus, meek and mild, seemed to have gone stark-raving mad!

If this is how the week begins, Lord only knows how it will end.

My pal Keith Brenton said, in response to a recent post, that I’d have been a terrific Greco-Roman god! He’s right. I have this idea that power is the ultimate virtue. That’s a legacy from Greek Rationalism, and I’m sad to say it’s infected some in what is now being called the “New Calvinist” camp.

It’s easy to understand. We imagine what we’d be like if we had access to God’s power, but we often fail to think about what we’d be like if we also had access to God’s wisdom or God’s love. See, God’s love and wisdom govern God’s power, restricting him in the way he throws that power around. This is precisely why the first three chapters of the Bible are not also the last three chapters of the Bible.

It’s not that God doesn’t understand the severity of the problem. He does. He mentions time and again throughout the Bible how ridiculous it is for these humans — who are completely dependent upon him for life — to rebel against him and try to hijack the world he created and sustains.

For example, “How stupid can you be? He is the Potter, and he is certainly greater than you. You are only the jars he makes! Should the thing that was created say to the one who made it, ‘He didn’t make us’? Does a jar ever say, ‘The potter who made me is stupid’?” (Isaiah 29:16).

Or, “Destruction is certain for those who argue with their Creator. Does a clay pot ever argue with its maker? Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying, ‘Stop, you are doing it wrong!’ Does the pot exclaim, ‘How clumsy can you be!’” (Isaiah 45:9).

If that happened, what do you suppose the Potter would do? He’d just smash the clay, right? That’s what happens in our world. Rebel against a more powerful leader, and be prepared to be met with the full force of that leader’s resources. History is full of examples of this. When the Communists rebelled against the Russian Czar in the Bolshevik Revolution, what happened? A bloodbath ensued. When the colonies of the new world rejected the leadership of King George of Great Britain, he didn’t take it lying down. He sent military forces to put the rebellion down.

We don’t expect rebellion to be met with peace. So, if frail humanity rebels against an omnipotent God, we expect that unlimited power to crush us. It’s what I would do, so it’s what I expect him to do.

But God (and again…I can hardly think of two better words than those) doesn’t often do what we expect.

Instead of advancing to meet us with force, God — when he was challenged for control of the earth he had made — backed off. He humbled himself, taking the long view of things, and began working on an amazing and surprising plan he’d prepared for just such a contingency. A plan for peace. A plan that did not involve our bloodshed but his own.

And once again, we see that the humility of God is more effective than force could ever be.

Imagine you’re God. It’s okay. This is just an exercise.

You’ve created a perfect world. The environment is perfectly adjusted. There is beauty and elegance from the tiniest molecule to the largest star. It is designed and ordered but not stale, predictable with just enough randomness to keep a person on their toes. You step back and take a good look and realize, “That’s good.”

Then you set to work on the piece de resistance: creatures with personality, self-awareness and freedom of choice. You call them humans, and this time, when you step back and take a good look, you realize, “That’s really good!”

These humans are capable of having a relationship with you. They’re not programmed to or forced to, but they can choose to. And you become friends. You take walks together and have conversations about all sorts of things. This is exactly what you wanted when you started creating things. And your heart is involved in this now. You love these humans, and they love you in return. They even follow you around and ask for your advice on stuff. They even do what you think is best — they defer to you not because they’re afraid of you but because they respect you.

And then it all comes to a screeching halt.

The humans, in a moment of heated temptation, forget all about how smart you are and how you always know just the right thing to do. They wonder if you’re really their friend. They doubt your commitment to them. They start to think that maybe you’ve been holding out on them, keeping them from something good. They think you haven’t been honest or fair with them.

Somehow, they even forget that they owe their very existence to you, choosing instead to believe a big lie they heard from some snake in the grass.

So, you watch with dismay and disappointment as these humans — who are still completely dependent upon you for the air they breath and the food they have — reject you and attempt to hijack the world you created. Worse, when you come to talk about this with them, they hide from you. Then they start pointing fingers and refuse to take responsibility for their behavior.

Now, honestly, what would you do?

I think the most common misconception about God is that he is like we would be if we had access to his resources.

If I had his power, I might walk around looking for an excuse to annihilate someone. I’d flex my muscles every once in a while — just because I could. If I had his knowledge, I might combine it with his power to coerce people into doing only what I want them to do, and I’d show up to bust people who tried to sneak around behind my back. I’d have strings attached to my benevolence. I’d use my creativity for utilitarian and self-serving purposes. I would set everything up so that everything went exactly the way I wanted it to go. Everyone I created would be a robot, doing only what I program them to do. I’d keep my promises as long as it was convenient. When it got uncomfortable or difficult, I’d break those promises and dare anyone to say anything.

First one to complain gets an anvil dropped on their face from 30,000 feet. Anyone else have anything to say?

If anyone dared step out of line, I’d turn petulant and moody, which is what I’m like anyway. The difference is I’d be extremely dangerous because I’d also be omnipotent. When people crossed me, I’d make it extremely difficult for them to make up for their sins — that is, if I let them live at all.

I may be revealing more about myself than I should!

My point is, we tend to think of God as just a slightly smarter, way more powerful version of us. And this may be the biggest reason we have trouble trusting him enough to actually do what he asks us to do.

But God is not like us — at least not in all the ways that drive us nuts about each other. He keeps his word because he’s actually a thoroughly honest person. He creates stuff no one will ever see because creativity is bound up in his nature. He can’t keep himself from creating things, and it doesn’t matter to him if they serve a purpose or draw attention. He doesn’t need anything, and that frees him up to live with integrity. He never asks himself stuff like, “What will make people like me more? And if I can’t make them like me, what will make them fear me?”

God has no hidden agenda. There will be no “gotcha” moment. He’s not trying to be obtuse or intentionally confusing. God is like the best person you know on that person’s best day times about a million, and he’s like that all day every day. And I think we know that deep down.

The question we have to ask ourselves is this: What if God is not like us? What if God is way better than we are? Would a God like that be worth following?

It’s hard to think of a scarier question than this: What if you’re wrong?

What if you’re wrong about that investment? What if you’re wrong about that innocent-looking mole on your forearm? What if you’re wrong about which wire to clip first — the red one, the green one or the black one?

I had lunch recently with a good friend, and he’s going through an interesting time of transition. He’s in a pretty serious relationship, and, as that relationship continues to deepen, he’s starting to wonder about things like transitions. He’s very concerned to do God’s will, but he’s a little unsure about what God’s will is in this season of his life. Should he marry her? Should he stay in his current job? Should he buy a house? Should he buy a dog?

He has some ideas, but what if he’s wrong?

Knowing that I’ve recently agreed to be the Lead Pastor at a church in Texas, he asked me how I knew this was God’s will for me. The real question he wanted answered was, of course, “What if you’re wrong?”

See, lots of folks seem to think there’s just one viable option if you want to live in God’s will. There’s just one person for you. There’s only one job for you. There’s a right place to live, and any other place is the wrong place. You better pick well, because, well, what if you’re wrong? You’ll be outside of God’s will, and you don’t want that.

But what if we’re wrong about this whole idea that God’s will is narrow like that?

More importantly, what if we’re wrong about what God is like?

A.W. Tozer said, “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us…. For this reason the gravest question before the Church is always God Himself, and the most portentous fact about any man is not what he at a given time may say or do, but what he in his deep heart conceives God to be like.”

Could it be that our misconceptions about God — about his character and nature and desire for our lives — is what really keeps us from following him?

What if God isn’t narrow and restrictive? What if God is a God of freedom and liberation? What if God is a God of empowerment and generosity? What if God isn’t cranky and isn’t walking around looking for an excuse to make life miserable for us?

If that were true, this question we’re talking about might not be scary after all; it might be hopeful. What if you’re wrong about God? What if he isn’t perpetually angry? What if we don’t have to walk on eggshells around him? What if we can rest and relax in his presence?

What if you’re wrong about the way this whole thing is supposed to work?

What do you think are some of the common misconceptions about God that might be keeping us from following him?

I spent some time over the weekend trying to think about what my life would be like if I just trusted Jesus as my Savior but not enough to let him be my Leader. Here’s a short list:

I would probably be cynical about church, and I probably wouldn’t believe that the Christian life actually works.

I would do everything I could to cover up the fact that I was spiritually empty, dry and unsatisfied.

I would be passive and apathetic.

I would have good intentions, but I would lack follow-through.

I would focus on my needs, my rights, my options.

I would arrange my life around my personal preferences.

I would rather be a spectator — observing meticulously (and frequently complaining) but never actually participating.

I would compartmentalize my life to make sure stuff in the church box stayed in the church box and didn’t bleed over into the work, home and leisure boxes.

I would become an expert at going through the motions, doing what is expected out of habit.

I would be barren, and it would bother me every once in a while — just a little.

I would be extremely frustrated, but I wouldn’t realize it’s because I’m serving two masters.

I would be proud of how self-sufficient and independent I am.

I would refuse to commit so I could keep my options open — just in case.

I would have no real clear direction or sense of purpose, drifting through life.

I would secretly hope that there could be more to it than what I’ve experienced.

Sound familiar? Sounds like a lot of people I know. This list didn’t take me long to put together at all — and the reason is because I’ve been there — learning but not doing, believing but not trusting.

Did I miss anything?

In a comment to yesterday’s post, Tammy made this confession:

Until I was desperate for HIM, He was just Savior, not Lord.

“Just Savior, not Lord.” That’s a sad but accurate and common description of Jesus for many of us. It’s also a terrible distortion of Jesus’ message as recorded for us in the Bible.

Nowhere in the Bible will you hear Jesus giving instructions on how to get into heaven or avoid hell. You won’t hear much from him in the way of instructions for salvation — at least not salvation as it’s come to be understood today.

What you will hear him talk a lot about is our need to enter and live in the kingdom of God. He understood that it’s in our best interests to follow his lead, rather than be led by our own misguided passions or (worse) some other fallen person’s agenda.

In other words, Jesus’ command was “Follow Me!” Salvation was understood to be a byproduct of that — a means to that end but not the end in itself.

This is, in my opinion, where we got off track: Presenting salvation as the goal allowed us to bypass any notion of actually doing what Jesus would have us do.

So, if you could put yourself inside the skin of a Christian who trusts Jesus as their Savior but not their Leader, what would your life be like?

It seems to me that a lot of people think following Jesus comes down to exterior compliance. Performance. Behavior.

We tend to equate discipleship with activities first. Attend this event. Participate in this program. Learn this material. Practice these five steps to maturity. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

But, in teaching folks to work, give, go, do, we’ve neglected the simple fact that this is not how Jesus taught people. This is, quite simply, one of the most frustrating things about Jesus: He rarely gave us an outright command. More often than not, Jesus told us how things are and expected us to internalize that thought and adjust our behavior accordingly.

Jesus taught people to follow him from the inside out.

In that order.

Adjust the inside, address the disorder of your heart and mind first. Then, with a new heart and a renewed mind, allow that internal reality to work its way out through your behavior.

The sad truth is, performance-driven discipleship has not produced courageous, healthy, self-starting followers. Instead, it’s created disillusionment and apathy.

The gospel must first be allowed to impact the inside of us — the self, the ego, the libido, the imagination, the ambition, the passion, the soul — what Gordon McDonald calls “the life below the waterline” — if it’s ever going to provide the lasting change it promises.

We must wean ourselves from this obsession with superficial, performance-based cosmetic changes and learn to follow Jesus again from the inside out if we want to be that city set on a hill like Jesus wants.

But how do we do that? And why is that so counter-intuitive?

We’ve talked about this before around here, but let’s re-visit that conversation.

Why do so many preachers fail to teach the way Jesus did? Why are sermons so full of tips on how to change your behavior but so empty when it comes to new ways of thinking?