His Body, Broken
Contrasting Samson’s strength-for-myself with Jesus’ willingness to muscle under us for our gain reminded me of a post from the archives. Meanwhile, we’re off to see our last Minnesota Twins game in the Metrodome. Enjoy the weekend. Go Twins!
The Lord’s Supper is not funny.
Yet, from time to time when I hear said that Jesus’ body was broken, I confess I force back a 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 and offensive 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. For months, our home rang with 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, he was just a tiny bit too focused.
On a bright Sunday morning, one in which we celebrated the Lord’s Supper with our church family, the words of the sermon poured through the sieve of his training.
At first, it all flowed straight through. Just a serious old man up front saying a lot of words that didn’t mean much to such a little guy. Fruit snacks and crayons meant much more.
But as the pastor repeated the phrase Jesus’ body, broken for you more times than I can ever remember hearing 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, some way, somebody broke Jesus’ potty. His world flipped over.
As the earth moved under him, the volcano erupted and his questions spewed out like lava and ash — all 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?
An irreverent disruption of the Lord’s Supper that quiet morning broke out in the Lindquist’s pew. While a young boy labored to solve the mystery of the Master’s broken potty, his parents held seats with shaking hands and prayed clamped lips would hold back the howl pounding to come out.
I’m sure a laugh snort or two escaped our row while the elements were passed, only partially stifled into a spare Huggies from the diaper bag.
Then, not unlike cheering fans in the stadium raising hands as the wave reaches their section, shoulders shook in the rows ahead, one by one until the tremors reached the front, as brother leaned to sister and whispered what ruckus unfolded not far behind.
Each time we hoped the worst was over and that we had quieted our little one, the pastor, unmoved by giggles sweeping through the congregation, 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, my son’s drama restarted on cue.
Jesus’ potty is broken?
My two-year old couldn’t grasp the significance of Christ’s broken body. He couldn’t fathom the the Redeemer’s anguish. He couldn’t conceive of how this Lamb would sacrifice Himself.
I hardly think that we grown ups get it either.
But I like to think that he wrapped 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 very, very God, was also very, very man.
From time to time, Jesus had to use the facilities.
Jesus was that human.
He was so human that His deity did not permit Him to avoid the more distasteful parts of this mortal life.
He experienced all our physical weaknesses and limitations.
He willingly took His fully-God self 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.
Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death— even death on a cross! (Philippians 2:5-8)
He became one of us. But more, He became the worst part of us. He became sin for us that we might become the righteousness of God in Him. (2 Corinthians 5:21)
He did what only a God willing to humble Himself to the depths of the most basic human functions could do.