His Body, Broken

  Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death — and the worst kind of death at that — a crucifixion.  (Philippians 2:5-8, The Message)

The Lord’s Supper is not funny.

The last meal that Jesus shared with His disciples, celebrating the Passover supper together was even less funny. 

Yet, from time to time when I hear said that Jesus’ body was broken, I confess that I snicker. I don’t want to laugh. I try not to do it very loud. And I try to get over it really fast. It’s embarrassing to be found laughing about such a somber thing. 

I’ve learned that not a lot of people appreciate snickering during Communion. 

And they really hate snort laughing.

::

When one of my boys was small (we’ll leave it a mystery which it was, permitting me to sleep with both eyes closed tonight), he watched a video to help him embrace potty training. Great songs about toilet paper, flushing, hand washing and using a towel. It helped to keep him focused on this monumental change in his daily routine.

Perhaps, in hindsight, a little too focused.

Focused enough that one bright Sunday morning, one in which we celebrated the Lord’s Supper with our church family, he filtered the entire sermon through his training. 

At first, it went right by him. Just a serious man up front saying a lot of words that didn’t mean much to such a little guy. Fruit snacks and crayons were far more stimulating. But as the pastor repeated the phrase “Jesus’ body, broken for you” more times than I can ever remember being said in church on a single morning, it took hold in his potty training mind. 

Soon, he could hold it in no more.

“Who broke Jesus’ potty?” he demanded to know.

::

He was indignant. 

Somehow, someone broke Jesus’ potty. This was devastating news. How could we all taking this itting down?

Then, a million questions. At toddler-in-church decibel.

What would Jesus do without a potty? Where would He go? How did it get broken? Who would break a guy’s potty? Can it be fixed?

Is it really true? 

Jesus’ potty is broken?

::

Sad to say, the irreverent disruption of the Lord’s Supper that morning started in the Lindquist’s pew. While a young boy, desiring to attend to the needs of his Master worked desperately to solve the mystery of His broken potty, his parents lost it. Nearly slid onto the floor. 

I’m sure a laugh snort or two escaped our row while the elements were passed, only partially stifled by a spare Huggies from the diaper bag. 

Then, not unlike cheering fans in the stadium standing as the wave reaches their section, shoulders collectively began to shake in the rows ahead of us, one by one until the tremors reached the front, as brother would lean to sister and whisper what ruckus unfolded not far behind.

Each time we hoped the worst was over, the pastor, unmoved by gale force laughter, said it again. For each one of us and because of our sin, Jesus’ body was broken.

And as though another quarter dropped into the jukebox, the drama restarted on cue. 

Jesus’ potty is broken?

::

My two-year old couldn’t grasp the significance of the Christ’s broken body. He couldn’t fathom the anguish the Redeemer would suffer. He couldn’t conceive of the sacrifice this Lamb would make of Himself. 

I hardly think that we grown ups get it either.

But I like to think that he did get his hands around something that often slips through our full grown fingers. 

He perceived the Messiah’s humanity. 

He saw that the God-Man, though God, was very, very man. 

From time to time, Jesus had to use a bathroom.

::

He was that human. So human that His deity did not permit Him to avoid the more distasteful parts of being human.

He experienced all our physical weaknesses and limitations. 

He willingly took His fully-God being and collapsed it into a fully-man form, and for 33 long years, endured the pain and discomfort and inconvenience of being human.

Of being one of us. 

Living among us, dying at our hands.

And becoming sin for us that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.

Something only a God willing to humble Himself to the depths of the most basic human functions could do.

::