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!
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The Lord’s Supper is not funny.
That last meal that Jesus shared with His disciples, celebrating the Passover supper together? Even less 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.
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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.
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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?
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Lyla:
I can picture you and Lane choking back chuckles. I can see those around you, some that we know personally, also smothering laughter. And you are so right. Celebrating the Lord’s Supper is no laughing matter. Since you know the churches your mom and I grew up in, you know that they took seriously both ordinances or sacraments as some may prefer. Over the past 20 years or so, I have sensed a gradual deemphasis on both baptism and communion with baptism leading the charge. Most churches today observe communion once a month and have reduced baptism to an initiatory rite into membership in the local church. I don’t know what started the trend to the Lord’s Supper monthly but it is in part probably based on getting out of Sunday Service in an hour and accommodating program. Enough of my rant. I have already deleted a long paragraph that in retrospect was not apropos to this venue. (I know, I know, if I want to rant, I should get my own blog) At any rate, I’m in favor of anything that gets us to focus on the Lord’s Supper, even if it is a somewhat embarrassing and humorous event in your life as parents.
The disrupter’s Grandpa
2009/09/18 at 8:06 PM
SO funny–oh what I have to look forward to. I recall one prayer when all 18 of my family members were gathered. My dad’s phrasing led to a few contagious snickers and snorts throughout but then a whole heap of uncontrollable belly laughs immediately after the “Amen.”
But about Jesus’ humanity: I have a hard time remembering he was that human, too. And even when I remember, I have a hard time grasping it and grasping his perfection throughout his life. On days when my husband is grumpy and being a bad patient and the three kids are just over the top with doing everything non-mom-approved–it’s those times that I remember Jesus endured everything common to man and was without sin. That’s more than I could ever say about me. Thanks for the prayers–I’m exhausted but better as are the twins. Hubby now has the fever. This too shall pass.
2009/09/19 at 9:40 PM
That is funny. I’d have a hard time not laughing as well with that memory.
Switching gears… I’ve wondered why some say “His body, broken” because it actually wasn’t – not a bone was broken fulfilling prophecy.
Beaten… yes. Bloodied… yes, but not broken. I know it’s semantics, but I’ve still wondered.
2009/09/19 at 10:59 PM
Dad, really, keep commenting here. I can’t afford to have you siphon off my readers to your own blog.
Jennifer, His humanity is way more than I can get my head around. Even get my heart around. To be all God, all man…He had to endure it all as a man, but the temptation would have been great to use His deity to endure it less.
Shane, you’re so right — the texts don’t say “broken.” He’ll say “this is my body given for you” or “this is my body which is for you,” and He references being “poured out” but not “broken.” But it does seem that “broken” is said often enough in that context we don’t think twice about it. I wonder if the image of Isaiah 53:5 comes into play: “But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.” Though there was no literal bone breakage, certainly in the image is one of breaking and crushing. Either, way, what He took for me is huge.
2009/09/20 at 9:34 AM
I feel constrained to follow up my earlier rant with something more on point and with a little more substance. I have heard the phase “His broken body” or His body broke for you” since I was first aware of communion as a child. I think, for what it is worth, that the emphasis by many at the Lord’s Table comes from the words of institution. Jesus took the bread and broke it, saying “this is my body” (Matthew 26:26, Mark 14:22, Luke 22:19, I Corinthians 11:24). It was the bread that was broken, not the body. Somehow we have transferred the breaking of the bread over to Christ’s body. What was really broken when Christ died was the curse and results of sin. His body wasn’t broken, His spirit wasn’t broken, His resolve to comply with the will of the Father wasn’t broken, the promise wasn’t broken,
If the physical abuse that Christ endured prior to his death was anything close to that depicted in Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of Christ”, it is amazing that Christ suffered no broken bones. Those movie scenes are still vivid in my memory and made real His suffering not only for me but for all sinners.
Dad
2009/09/20 at 5:41 PM
Another great post Lyla! You made me laugh out loud just reading it and can assure you that if I would have been present at that service I would have snort-laughed…thats just the way I am!
2009/09/20 at 8:48 PM
Dad – that’s a great observation. Glad you continued your thoughts. Amazing the depth of what He suffered.
Julie – you’d have been in good company. I still laugh when I remember it. Just like the time I reached for one of the boys by his pants waist when he tried to scurry off down the pew. He yelled (and there are no quiet voices among the men at my house), “Stop trying to take off my pants!” It’s amazing they let us back in the doors week after week…
2009/09/20 at 9:09 PM