Christ, Suffering Servant

The ex-head of Japan's Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant, Masao Yoshida, 58, died at a Tokyo hospital of esophageal cancer on July 9, 2013.

When the tsunami devastated Japan's Fukushima nuclear power plant on March 11, 2011, Masao Yoshida worked to control the damage caused by the failing reactors. He disobeyed a company order and secretly continued using seawater, a decision that experts say almost certainly prevented a more serious meltdown and has made him an unlikely hero. He chose to place himself in danger, exposing himself to extreme radiation. And his story is just one of many at the plant.

Remembering the disaster, he said "The level of radioactivity on the ground was terrible…but the workers of the plant leaped at the chance to go trying to fix the situation with the reactors…. My colleagues went out there again and again."

Possible Preaching Angle:

What a beautiful picture of sacrificial, Christ-like love.

How are we to understand Jesus’ cry of dereliction, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” along with his desperate prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, pleading with God “if possible, let this cup pass from me?

Here’s the (question): Many mere mortals have managed to face death with more (composure) than Jesus did—Stephen, for example, just months later. Jesus knew he would rise from the dead, so why all the anguish?

In his ordeal on the cross … Christ mind-reads the mental states found in all the evil human acts human beings have ever committed. Every vile, shocking, disgusting, revulsive psychic state accompanying every human evil act will miraculously, be at once, in the human psyche of Christ … without yielding an evil configuration in either Christ’s intellect or will.

Such psychic agony “would greatly eclipse all other human psychological su­ffering … Flooded with such horror, Christ might well lose entirely his ability to find the mind of God the Father.” This drives home the suffering of Christ, a suffering so comprehensively horrible that it surpasses even the physical abuse of crucifixion.

In her book Ten Fingers for God, Dorothy Clarke Wilson writes about Dr. Paul Brand who worked with leprosy patients in India.

Sometimes they would all gather together in fellowship. One evening, Paul joined them, and they asked him to speak.

Dr. Brand had nothing prepared, yet he willingly stood up, paused for a moment and looked at their hands, some with no fingers, and some with only a few stumps. Then he spoke: "I am a hand surgeon, so when I meet people, I can't help looking at their hands. I would like to have examined Christ's hands. With the nails driven through, they must have appeared twisted and crippled. Remember, Jesus, at the end, was crippled too."

The patients, on hearing this, suddenly lifted their poor hands towards heaven. Hearing of God's response to suffering had made their suffering easier.

A Franciscan University in Ohio recently posted a series of ads on Facebook to promote some of its online theology programs. But Facebook rejected one of them because it included a representation of the crucifixion. The monitors at Facebook said the reason for their rejection was that they found the depiction of the cross "shocking, sensational, and excessively violent."

The Franciscan University of Steubenville responded with a blog post that no doubt surprised Facebook: they agreed with Facebook's assessment! The Franciscan university posted:

Indeed, the crucifixion of Christ was all of those things. It was the most sensational action in history: man executed his God. It was shocking, yes: God deigned to take on flesh and was 'obedient unto death, even death on a cross' (Philippians 2 v 8). And it was certainly excessively violent: a man scourged to within an inch of his life, nailed naked to a cross and left to die, all the hate of all the sin in the world poured out its wrath upon his humanity.

They went on to say that it wasn't the nails that kept Jesus on the Cross but his love for mankind:

He was God, he could have descended from the cross at any moment. 'No, it was love that kept him there. Love for you and for me, that we might not be eternally condemned for our sins but might have life eternal with him and his Father in heaven.’

How far would you go to understand the struggles of someone else? How close would you get? Consider the sacrifice of Kris Rotonda. Many thought he was crazy. His girlfriend, family, and friends tried to talk him out of it. But once Kris Rotonda became aware of the struggles the Humane Society of Pasco County faced—a lack of funding and a limited number of volunteers—he knew something had to be done to shed a light on the conditions.

So, he packed rice cakes, protein bars, pre-packaged meals, an ample supply of water, a pillow, blanket, and three lanterns, and barricaded himself in a cage with different dogs at the shelter for 10 nights.

Rotonda said, "(Shelters) are often overlooked. I kind of wanted to wake up … the community a little more and put myself in the position of these animals to understand how solitude gets to you and how to deal with it. It’s very difficult, and it gives you a different perspective.”

Staff employees treated him like a dog, (as he asked them to), taking him outside only for an hour and a half to play and use the bathroom. He said, “I told the shelter, ‘Don’t give me any special treatment. Treat me like a German Shepherd.’” It was hot. He couldn’t shower. There were bugs. The smell of urine filled his nostrils. And the loud barking of up to 50 dogs kept him up at night.

Possible Preaching Angle:

By putting ourselves in the middle of another person's struggle, their loss, their cage, we can better identify with them as individuals. It will not be easy; it will be loud and messy. And it will reflect the work of Jesus. He left the comfort of a heavenly home to live with a bunch of strays. not for 10 days, but for 33 years.

We do not always get a simple, satisfying answer to all of our questions about suffering. In a 2014 testimony about his experience with a debilitating disease, former Wheaton College Provost Stan Jones provided a helpful perspective on all the questions about our suffering that we find it difficult or even impossible to answer. He said:

Long ago, I read a book about suffering, and the author made a point that I have had to return to time and time again. He said most of our why questions about suffering are ultimately unanswerable. God does not seem to be in the business of answering the why questions, and most of our philosophical responses to the question of suffering amount to various forms of taking God off the hook for the problem of suffering. But this author pointed out that God doesn't seem to be interested in getting off the hook. In fact, the answer of God in Jesus Christ to the problem of suffering is not to get off the hook at all, but rather to impale himself on the hook of human suffering with us in the very midst of our suffering.

When trouble comes and places a giant question mark over our existence, we should remember Jesus and the empathy of the Cross.

Nabeel Qureshi, a Muslim convert to Jesus Christ, had a "resolutely" Muslim friend named Sahar who was attracted to parts of Christianity but couldn't accept the idea of God becoming a human being. On one occasion she honestly asked, "How can you believe Jesus is God if he was born through the birth canal of a woman and that he had to use the bathroom? Aren't these things beneath God?"

Qureshi affirmed her questions and then asked her one in turn: "Sahar, let's say that you are on your way to a very important ceremony and are dressed in your finest clothes. You are about to arrive just on time, but then you see your daughter drowning in a pool of mud. What would you do? Let her drown and arrive looking dignified, or rescue her but arrive at the ceremony covered in mud?

Her response was very matter of fact, "Of course, I would jump in the mud and save her." Nuancing the question more, Qureshi asked her, "Let's say there were others with you. Would you send someone else to save her, or would you save her yourself?"

She responded, "If she is my daughter, how could I send anyone else? They would not care for her like I do. I would go myself, definitely."

Qureshi said, "If you, being human, love your daughter so much that you are willing to lay aside your dignity to save her, how much more can we expect God, if he is our loving Father, to lay aside his majesty to save us?"

The biblical story of God eventually won Sahar's heart. As Qureshi reported, "The message of God's selfless love had overpowered her, and she could no longer remain a Muslim. She had accepted Jesus as her Savior."

There have been many famous deaths in world history; we might think of John F. Kennedy, or Marie Antoinette, or Cleopatra, but we do not refer to "the assassination," "the guillotining," or "the poisoning." Such references would be incomprehensible. The use of the term "the crucifixion" for the execution of Jesus shows that it still retains a privileged status. When we speak of "the crucifixion," even in this secular age, many people will know what is meant. There is something in the strange death of the man identified as Son of God that continues to command special attention. This death, this execution, above and beyond all others, continues to have universal reverberations. Of no other death in human history can this be said. The cross of Jesus stands alone in this regard. … There were many thousands of crucifixions in Roman times, but only the crucifixion of Jesus is remembered as having any significance at all, let alone world-transforming significance.

On his 39th birthday, poet Christian Wiman was diagnosed with an incurable form of blood cancer. He wrote frankly about the agonizing effects of his illness and the treatments.

I have had bones die and bowels fail; joints lock in my face and arms and legs, so that I could not eat, could not walk … I have passed through pain I could never have imagined, pain that seemed to incinerate all my thoughts of God and to leave me sitting there in the ashes, alone.

When the diagnosis came, Wiman was a rising star in the literary world and the editor of a prestigious poetry publication. Though Wiman confessed his Christian faith had "evaporated in the blast of modernism and secularism to which I was exposed in college," the diagnosis started a journey that ultimately led him back to God. It wasn't a particular doctrine that drew him back to the faith, but Wiman found a friend in the suffering Messiah.

I am a Christian because of that moment on the cross when Jesus, drinking the very dregs of human bitterness, cries out, "My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me." … The point is that God is with us, not beyond us, in suffering. I am a Christian because I understand that moment of Christ's passion to have meaning in my own life, and what it means is that the absolute solitary and singular nature of extreme human pain is an illusion. I'm not suggesting that ministering angels are going to come down and comfort you as you die. I'm suggesting that Christ's suffering shatters the iron walls around individual human suffering.

In the face of brutal, isolating pain we don't really want answers. We want a person. At such times there is simply no substitute for the presence of Christ.

No greater pain has ever been experienced on any level than the hell of Christ suffering in this moment. But why? Because he carried all of that pain, sin, guilt, and shame in that moment. Yet on a far deeper level he was forsaken and punished for us to reconcile us to God (2 Cor. 5:18).

Tim Keller illustrates it this way:

If after a service some Sunday morning one of the members of my church comes to me and says, "I never want to see you or talk to you again," I will feel pretty bad. But if today my wife comes up to me and says, "I never want to see you or talk to you again," that's a lot worse. The longer the love, the deeper the love, the greater the torment of its loss.

But this forsakenness, this loss, was between the Father and the Son, who had loved each other from all eternity. … Jesus, the Maker of the world, was being unmade. Why? Jesus was experiencing Judgment Day. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" It wasn't a rhetorical question. And the answer is: For you, for me, for us. Jesus was forsaken by God so that we would never have to be. The judgment that should have fallen on us fell instead on Jesus.

Lt. Jack Cambria has spent more than a decade talking people down from the ledge. Until his retirement in 2015, he was the commanding officer of the NYPD's hostage negotiation team for over 33 years. During his career he became an expert at saving fellow cops from gun-wielding maniacs or dissuading people to not jump off New York City's skyscrapers or bridges.

What's the secret to success as a hostage negotiator? Cambria says, "The very good negotiators, I think, are the ones with the life stories"—particularly, he would add, life stories of pain that have produced compassion for others. Cambria claims, "[Good negotiators must] experience the emotion of love at one point in their life, to know what it means to have been hurt in love at one point in their life, to know success and perhaps, most important, to know what it means to know failure."

He learned this lesson during his first day as a police officer. Cambria admitted that he had his "own baggage about the homeless, they were violent, they were dirty, they were mentally ill." Then one day, he had to confront a homeless fare beater and searched his satchel. Inside wasn't a weapon but a manuscript of a play titled "Crabs in a Basket," a metaphor for the man, of his struggle to crawl out of the hole he was in.

"In that two-minute space of time, he had transposed himself from a homeless guy—my baggage—to a playwright," he recalled. That compassion has led colleagues to refer to him as "Gentleman Jack," whose guiding principle is to just get the suspects talking.

How do we measure the size of a fire? By the number of firefighters and fire engines sent to fight against it. How do we measure the seriousness of a medical condition? By the amount of risk the doctors take in prescribing dangerous antibiotics or surgical procedures. How do we measure the gravity of sin and the incomparable vastness of God's love for us? By looking at the magnitude of what God has done for us in Jesus, the Son of God who became like a common criminal for our sake and in our place.

David C. Nicosia, a business owner in Chicago, had no idea who he was slapping. The 55-year-old man was outside the Cook County Courthouse when he became angry at a 79-year-old African-American woman. After arguing with her, Nicosia, who is white, spat on the woman and called her "Rosa Parks." Then he turned and allegedly slapped the silver-haired woman on the left side of her face with an open hand.

It was a bad move for Nicosia. The woman happened to be Judge Arnette Hubbard, the first female president of the National Bar Association and Cook County Bar Association. Judge Hubbard is a community icon who has served as an election observer in Haiti and South Africa and had long been a voice on civil rights and women's issues. Hubbard was appointed to the bench in 1997, re-elected to a six-year term the following year and retained since in two more elections, most recently in 2010.

Nicosia was arrested by sheriff's deputies and charged with four counts of aggravated battery and a hate crime. The Chicago Tribune quoted a local leader who said, "People of good common sense and decency, people of good hearts should be outraged by this." After all, nobody should go slapping and spitting on a community icon.

Preaching Angles: Holy Week; Christ, cross of; Cross—In the Gospels we see that the entire human race conspired to slap and spit on someone whose true dignity was also hidden. It was an outrage, and yet the eternal Son of God didn't arrest us. He set us free.

This quote highlights how Jesus, in his suffering and death, stands in solidarity with any human being who suffers, especially the poor, the forgotten, and the powerless:

It's important to note that [according to the world's standards] Jesus' death was an obscure one … [In the world's eyes] Jesus dies like a migrant worker who suffocates in a freight container, like a garbage-picker caught in a slide, like a child with an infected finger, like a beggar the bus reverses over. Or, of course, like all the other slaves ever punished by crucifixion, a fate so low, said [the Roman philosopher] Cicero, that no well-bred person should ever even mention it. Some people ask nowadays what kind of a religion it is that chooses an instrument of torture for its symbol … The answer is: one that takes the existence of suffering seriously.

Editor's Note: Christ's death was completely planned and purposeful, not random or accidental. This quote merely highlights that at the Cross, Jesus completely identifies with the agony of the migrant worker, the garbage-picker, the unknown child, the beggar, the slave, and every other human being who has ever lived.

More people point to the problem of evil and suffering as their reason for not believing in God than any other—it is not merely a problem, it is the problem. A Barna poll asked, "If you could ask God only one question and you knew he would give you an answer, what would you ask?" The most common response was, "Why is there pain and suffering in the world?"

John Stott said, "The fact of suffering undoubtedly constitutes the single greatest challenge to the Christian faith, and has been in every generation. Its distribution and degree appear to be entirely random and therefore unfair. Sensitive spirits ask if it can possibly be reconciled with God's justice and love."

Richard Swinburne, writing in the Oxford Companion to Philosophy, says the problem of evil is "the most powerful objection to traditional theism." Ronald Nash writes, "Objections to theism come and go. … But every philosopher I know believes that the most serious challenge to theism was, is, and will continue to be the problem of evil."

You will not get far in a conversation with someone who rejects the Christian faith before the problem of evil is raised. Pulled out like the ultimate trump card, it's supposed to silence believers and prove that the all-good and all-powerful God of the Bible doesn't exist.

John Lennox (an author and professor of mathematics at Oxford University) tells a story about touring Eastern Europe and meeting a Jewish woman from South Africa. The woman told Lennox that she was researching how her relatives had perished in the Holocaust. At one point on their guided tour, they passed a display that had the following words written on it: Arbeit macht frei" (or "work makes free"). It was a mock-up of the main gate to the Nazi death camp at Auschwitz. The display also had pictures of the horrific medical experiments carried out on children by the infamous Dr. Josef Mengele. At that point of their tour, the Jewish woman turned to Lennox and said, "And what does your religion make of this?"

Lennox writes:

What was I to say? She had lost her parents and many relatives in the Holocaust. I could scarcely bear to look at the Mengele photographs, because of the sheer horror of imagining my children suffering such a fate. I had nothing in my life that remotely paralleled the horror her family had endured.

But still she stood in the doorway waiting for an answer. I eventually said, "I would not insult your memory of your parents by offering you simplistic answers to your question. What is more, I have young children and I cannot even bear to think how I might react if anything were to happen to them, even if it were far short of the evil that Mengele did. I have no easy answers; but I do have what, for me at least, is a doorway into an answer."

"What is it?" she said.

I said, "You know that I am a Christian. That means that I believe that Yeshua is the messiah. I also believe that he was God incarnate, come into our world as savior, which is what his name 'Yeshua' means. Now I know that this is even more difficult for you to accept. Nevertheless, just think about this question—if Yeshua was really God, as I believe he was, what was God doing on a cross?

"Could it be that God begins just here to meet our heartbreaks, by demonstrating that he did not remain distant from our human suffering, but became part of it himself? For me, this is the beginning of hope; and it is a living hope that cannot be smashed by the enemy of death. The story does not end in the darkness of the cross. Yeshua conquered death. He rose from the dead; and one day, as the final judge, he will assess everything in absolute fairness, righteousness, and mercy."

There was silence. She was still standing, arms outstretched, forming a motionless cross in the doorway. After a moment, with tears in her eyes, very quietly but audibly, she said: "Why has no one ever told me that about my messiah before?"

Around his 50th birthday, Pastor Ed Dobson was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as ALS or Lou Gehrig's disease. Over time, the disease attacks neurons that control voluntary muscles. As nerve cells degenerate, muscles atrophy. There's no known cure. Eventually, the body just gives out. Shortly after the diagnosis Dobson wrote, "I felt like I was sinking into the darkness … my life was over. I felt like I had been buried alive."

Then, 13 years later, Dobson said he has a very different outlook on life and on what it means to follow Christ. Before the disease, he basically focused on the resurrected Jesus. Now he can also focus on the suffering Jesus. "Even when my body doesn't work," Dobson says, "I remember the Jesus who created the universe limited himself to the human body. I find encouragement in Good Friday. I want to get to Sunday, but I'm more focused on the suffering."

Editor's Note: You can stop the illustration right here, or you can add the following two paragraphs to emphasize how suffering helps us comfort others in their pain.

Through his pain, he's learning how to meet others in their pain. Shortly after the diagnosis, he visited a woman in the final stages of ALS. The patient's husband stood in the doorway and politely explained that his wife didn't want to see anybody. But feeling urgent, he walked past the man into the woman's bedroom. Dobson spoke to her, but she remained silent. He returned for more visits, but each time she would just roll over and face the wall, never saying a word.

He always prayed with her, even though she didn't give a rip about God. He wrote a prayer to Christ on a note card, and her husband taped it to the wall where she would always see it. The weekend she died, she asked her husband to carry her into the living room. She wanted to watch Dobson preach on TV. After she had listened, she told her husband to tell Dobson he prayed the prayer—that she was ready to die. And the next day she did.

Editor’s Notes: Pastor Ed Dobson’s suffering ended on December 26, 2015, when he entered heaven.

In his book If I Were God I'd End All Pain, John Dickson recalls speaking on the theme "The wounds of God" at a university campus. After his speech, the chairperson asked the audience for questions. Without delay a man in his mid-30s, a Muslim leader at the university, stood up and proceeded to tell the audience how preposterous was the claim that the Creator of the universe would be subjected to the forces of his own creation—that he would have to eat, sleep, and go to the toilet, let alone die on a cross.

Dickson and the man went back and forth for about ten minutes during which the man insisted that the notion of God having wounds—whether physical or emotional—was not only illogical, since the "Creator of Causes" could not possibly be caused pain by a lesser entity, it was outright blasphemy, as stated in the Koran.

Dickson later wrote,

I had no knock-down argument, no witty comeback. The debate was probably too amicable for either approach anyway. In the end, I simply thanked him for demonstrating for the audience the radical contrast between the Islamic conception of God and that described in the Bible. What the Muslim denounces as blasphemy the Christian holds as precious: God has wounds.

The Message Bible translates John 1:14 to read that "the Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood." Here's how Phillip Yancey describes the type of "neighborhood" Jesus moved into:

A succession of great empires tramped through the territory of Israel as if wiping their feet on the vaunted promised land. After the Assyrians and Babylonians came the Persians, who were in turn defeated by Alexander the Great. He was eventually followed by Antiochus IV Epiphanes, the Jews' worst villain until Hitler. Antiochus began waging war against the Jewish religion. He transformed the temple of God into a worship center for Zeus and proclaimed himself God incarnate. He forced young boys to undergo reverse circumcision operations and flogged an aged priest to death for refusing to eat pork. In one of his most notorious acts he sacrificed an unclean pig on the altar in the Most Holy Place, smearing its blood around the temple sanctuary.

Antiochus's actions so incensed the Jews that they rose up in an armed revolt that's celebrated every year as the holiday Hanukkah. But their victory was short-lived. Before long, Roman legions marched into Palestine to quash the rebellion and appointed Herod, their "King of the Jews." After the Roman conquest, nearly the entire land lay in ruins. Herod was sickly and approaching seventy when he heard rumors of a new king born in Bethlehem, and soon howls of grief from the families of slain infants drowned out the angels' chorus of "Glory to God … and on earth peace." First-century Israel was a conquered, cowed nation. This, then, was the neighborhood Jesus moved into: a sinister place with a somber past and a fearful future.

Jean Baptiste Jules Bernadotte was born in 1763, the son of a French government worker. As a young man he joined the army, and by the start of the French Revolution, he had risen to sergeant. Eventually, he became one of Napoleon's first marshals. But in an odd twist of history, Bernadotte found favor in the eyes of the King of Sweden, Charles XIII, for his treatment of Swedish soldiers taken prisoner during a battle with Napoleon's troops. When Sweden's crown prince suddenly died in 1810, Sweden astonishingly offered to put Bernadotte next in line for the throne—the commander of a former enemy!

The son of a French government worker was renamed Charles John, the new Crown Prince of Sweden. In 1818, after the death of King Charles XIII, Bernadotte assumed the throne as King Charles XIV John. He was a popular but harsh monarch who reigned until his death in 1844 at the age of 81. It is said that during the embalming process they discovered an ironic secret: Years earlier, when the king was still simply Jean Baptiste, he had acquired a tattoo, obviously during the French Revolution. On his chest was a picture of a red cap, a symbol of liberation, with the French words "Mort aux rois!" or "Death to All Kings."

History is filled with leaders like Bernadotte—people who railed against the authority over them but then seized power and lorded it over others. There is only one King who had all the power of the universe, and yet released it to save others.