As Jesus stood on display before them with the blood from his wounds seeping through the purple robe Pilate’s troops had draped over him in mockery, the religious elite pressed Pilate to finish him off by nailing him to a cross. The torture already inflicted had been at the procurator’s command in a failed attempt to appease them, but he resisted their demands for crucifixion stating, for the third time, “I find no fault in him.” Then, the balance of John 19:6-11 records a tug-of-war that followed between the governor and Christ’s accusers over the subject of authority, who possessed it and on what basis. Although the words and are often used synonymously, they’re not the same thing. Power is the capability to do or accomplish something, but authority is the right to control, command, or determine it. For example, a police officer may have a gun on his belt that gives him power, but the badge on his chest is what gives him authority. In the confrontation between the Jews and the governor, there was no question who had the power to crucify Jesus. The argument was over who had the authority. The religious leaders claimed they did and that it was based on the Mosaic law contained in Scripture. They knew that Pilate was under orders from Rome to try and keep the peace among the subjugated people of Israel by respecting their laws as much as possible. So, although misapplying it, they made the case for their authority to have Jesus crucified based on Leviticus 24:16 which says, “Whoever blasphemes the name of the Lord shall surely be put to death.” They insisted that by asserting he was the Son of God, Jesus was guilty of a capital crime. This troubled Pilate. In fact, we’re told it seriously frightened him. After conducting his initial interrogation, he’d dismissed the Jewish leaders’ original accusation that Jesus claimed to be . In fact, he’d begun referring to him in derision using that phrase. But it’s clear that as both an employee of Caesar and a polytheist, he now found himself caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. If his inaction unleashed religious unrest among the people, he would lose his job or worse. And on top of that, as someone who likely believed that offspring of the Roman gods were known to make appearances among men on occasion, he would have been terrified of the possibility he might have just signed off on having one of them whipped and beaten. So, he retreated once again with Jesus into the Praetorium out of public view and asked him to confirm where he’d come from. And he wasn’t referring to his Israeli hometown. He certainly already had that information. He wanted assurance that this enigmatic prisoner was not from among the pantheon. When Jesus refused to answer him, an indignant Pilate claimed to have the power to crucify or release him. But the word translated as three times in verses 10 and 11 might be better rendered as . And when the Lord finally responded to Pilate, it was to address that issue. Jesus made it clear he was not intimidated by the governor’s implied threat and set him straight regarding who held the authority in their relationship. Our Lord told the procurator that any authority he held was merely a grant , which can also be translated as . In other words, Pilate had no authority over Jesus that wasn’t explicitly given to service the will of the one who holds all authority. You and I could benefit from gaining greater clarity about the fact that God’s authority is absolute. Jesus said, “All authority has been given to me in heaven and on earth” (Matthew 28:18). So, whenever we find ourselves being spiritually threatened by demonic bullies or in troubling circumstances that tempt us to fear, let’s remember that we belong to the one who loves us more than we can know and has the final say over all things.

When I’m home, I usually watch the evening news to keep up with what’s going on. But in this age of ubiquitous real-time video capturing a world becoming increasingly loveless, violent, and tragic, I’m finding the reports more difficult to watch. These days, correspondents frequently preface their stories with cautionary statements like, “This report contains images that may be disturbing.” And that would be an appropriate warning for the description of events recorded in John 19:1-5. It’s a brutal account. But even though most of us instinctively turn away from scenes of cruelty, pain, and misery, it’s important to resist that urge when confronting this passage. As hard as it is to take in, this disturbing portrait of our Lord’s suffering is essential for comprehending the dimensions of his grace. With the crowd’s insistent cries of, “Barrabas,” still ringing in Pilate’s ears and his attempt to release Jesus collapsing around him, the governor ordered our Lord whipped with a scourge. It was a hideous implement of Roman punishment designed to inflict maximum damage. Made of leather straps embedded with pieces of jagged bone or metal, it literally tore the flesh from its victims and often resulted in their deaths. But Jesus survived which provided the soldiers additional opportunities to torture him. So, they pressed a crown of thorns into his scalp, dressed him in a purple robe while berating him with verbal abuse, and then used him as a human punching bag. After that, while continuing to claim, “I find no fault in him,” the procurator proceeded to have his bruised, bleeding, and broken prisoner paraded before the inflamed crowd. Weirdly, he seems to have been trying to avoid the crucifixion of an innocent man by putting that man’s battered body on display. He apparently hoped the mob’s bloodlust would be assuaged by seeing how much pain Jesus had already endured. So, that’s why he invited them to “Behold the man!” That plan failed. But the invitation to behold or take in the scope of Christ’s suffering is something every Jesus-follower needs to do. Each part of that abuse was a fulfillment of prophecy, woven into the divine plan for our redemption, and addressed a specific aspect of our sin-scarred condition. The ultimate sacrifice of Messiah’s death on the cross was still to come, but not before he’d been wounded, bruised, chastised, and striped as explicitly predicted 700 years earlier in Isaiah 53:5. In that prophetic text, the Hebrew phase translated as could be more literally rendered as . And might be better stated as . When Isaiah continued by saying our Redeemer would experience , he used a word that’s most often translated as or but can also be understood as . This seems to better fit the context and points to the verbal abuse and false accusations Christ faced to provide us with what Isaiah described as , a rendering of the word which refers to a deep and expansive wellbeing. And finally, the prophet’s vision of the Promised One concludes by saying he would endure or, more literally, by which we would be or . According to Isaiah, when our Lord’s scalp was pierced with thorns, he was paying the price for our rejection of God. When the soldiers bruised him with their fists, he was atoning for our evil. When he was subjected to the chastisement of their mockery, he was absorbing the impacts of Satan’s lies and false accusations (Revelation 12:10) so our souls could be at rest. And when he was inflicted by the stripes of the scourge, he was securing relief from all our brokenness. Although deeply heartbreaking to consider, the Bible’s detailed accounts of Christ’s suffering provide us a humbling, moving, and reverence-producing vision of God’s grace. And that’s why it’s essential for each of us to regularly stop and, “Behold the man!”

John 18:39-40 documents a very odd exchange between Pilate and the Jewish leaders that ultimately reveals the spectacular beauty of the gospel. After conducting his own interrogation of Jesus, Pilate determined he was not guilty of the charges brought by the Jewish leaders. In fact, the governor said, “I find no fault in him AT ALL.” However, instead of upholding the law and commanding the release of this prisoner he’d just declared to be innocent, he decided to try and appease the representatives of the high priest. He presented them with a convoluted offer apparently designed to help them save face. He asked if they wanted him to set Jesus free as the recipient of their Passover clemency tradition. Given his position of authority, it must have then come as a shock when they not only rejected his proposal but literally shrieked their surprising response shouting, “Not this man, but Barabbas!” Their bloodlust was at fever pitch. And if he hadn’t understood that before, he certainly did then. They were demanding that someone who was a convicted criminal, guilty of violent theft according to John as well as insurrection and murder according to Luke (23:19), be released in place of the guiltless one Pilate had labeled, “King of the Jews.” It was a perverse and ugly scene but one that, like a dark background enhancing the experience of an exquisite work of art displayed against it, highlights the glory of God’s grace provided in Christ. We know from the other Gospels (e.g. Mark 15:15) that Pilate acquiesced to the demands of the religious leaders by releasing Barabbas and ultimately delivering Jesus to them for crucifixion. The life of the faultless was taken in exchange for the guilty. And that should not only sound familiar, but it should also drive us to our knees in worship before the one who offered his sinless son to shoulder our iniquity and take upon himself the penalty we deserve that we might be set free from guilt and be clothed with his innocence. As 2 Corinthians 5:21 says, “He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.” The impact of the truth conveyed by those words and the love that made it possible are beyond human capacity to even begin to comprehend. But from one Barabbas to another, let me just say that I want to spend every moment of the forgiven eternity I’ve received, as a result of the exchange that verse describes, in a manner that honors the one who willingly exchanged his life for mine.

I’m an introvert and very comfortable with silence, but I love the sound of my wife’s voice. And I delight in pursuing the treasures to be discovered when she speaks. Whether she’s asking me to pass the salt, telling me about her day, or verbally processing something she’s going through, I find myself wanting to be present and fully engaged with each syllable. We’re all naturally compelled to listen to and invest in the process of understanding what someone says when we have a deep connection with them. So, that should be most true within a relationship to Jesus. But I know that some Christ-followers struggle to hear him and have even subconsciously concluded that they’re just not meant to be included in the conversation. If that’s you, I invite you to consider the message at the heart of John 18:33-38. The high priest and Sanhedrin had fraudulently convicted Jesus of blasphemy, sentenced him to death (Matthew 26:65-66), and sent him with their representatives to secure a crucifixion order from the Roman governor. But Pilate was unwilling to simply rubber-stamp their plan. So, he brought the Lord inside the , away from his accusers, to interrogate him for himself. He began by parroting a phrase the Jewish leaders must have used in their indictment when he asked, “Are you the King of the Jews?” So, the Lord called him out on that, and a frustrated Pilate rephrased the question as, “What have you done?” But since Jesus hadn’t DONE anything illegal, he responded by circling back to the original question, schooled the governor on its absurdity, and then declared, “My kingdom is not from here.” At that point, Pilate thought he’d caught him in an admission of guilt. So, he asked, “Are you a king then?” Jesus acknowledged that he was, but described his kingly mission in terms the Roman procurator would have had a hard time grasping. In Pilate’s experience, Monarchs were focused on only two things: gaining and maintaining power. But Jesus said he’d come into the world to “bear witness to the truth.” The Greek word translated as in that phrase is and it’s used twice more in this passage. It refers to an essential reality. According to German theologian, Hermann Cremer, it’s "the manifested, veritable essence of a matter." John had previously used the same word in chapter 14 verse 6 to quote Jesus saying, “I am…the truth.” So, we know the Lord was talking about something he IS, not just something he KNOWS. When he told Pilate that his royal vocation was to be truth’s witness, he was claiming to be its physical manifestation. Then, Jesus built on that revelation and took it a step further when he said, “Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.” It’s an astounding sentence that begins with the same word translated as in the most familiar verse in the New Testament, John 3:16, where Jesus described the wide-open door to eternal life available to those who believe in him. In a similar way, it’s used here to declare that this promise is for ANYONE who is “of the truth,” or has entered into a relationship with him as the of God. He said they will not only hear his words, but, more literally, understand what he’s saying. So, it’s unimaginably tragic that just before returning to the Jewish leaders to render a verdict of innocence, Pilate physically turned away from Jesus, rejected his implied invitation, and mumbled a rhetorical question that dismissed as unknowable. Let’s be careful not to make the same mistake. is knowable in the person of Jesus the Christ, not only in the academic sense, but in the relational sense. And he made it clear he intends to make his voice heard and his message clear to ALL, not just some, of those who come to know him. I encourage you to join me in allowing this wonderful promise to shape how we listen for and respond to the sound of his voice.

I love riding rollercoasters. But while recently visiting a local theme park, I noticed and was impressed by something about them I’d not really considered before. Even after a wild ride of ups and downs and twists and turns at speeds designed to make you feel like things are out of control, they never really are. You always end up exactly where the engineers designed the ride vehicle to stop. That endpoint never varies by even an inch. And as unrelated as it may seem, that’s what came to mind as I considered John 18:28-32. Following his betrayal, Jesus stood trial before the high priest and the other Jewish leaders who made up the religious tribunal known as the Sanhedrin. John doesn’t provide us with visibility into these proceedings, but the three earlier-written Gospels do (e.g. Matthew 26:57-68). And they record an inquisition that was ultimately fruitless in its attempt to establish guilt for any crime except an acknowledgment by the accused that he was the Christ, the Son of God. That statement was judged to be blasphemous. And according to Jewish law, the punishment for blasphemy was death by stoning. So, this gave Caiaphas the religious cover he was looking for to get rid of Jesus. But there was a problem. The Jewish leaders had authority to convict someone of a capital crime, but only the Romans could administer the death penalty. That’s why in the early hours of that infamous day, representatives of the Sanhedrin brought Jesus to the , the Jerusalem headquarters of Roman authority. They wanted to persuade Pilate, the current governor, to have him killed. Then, in an amazing display of hypocrisy, having just conducted a sham trial where they purposefully violated many requirements of their religious code, they waited outside the governor’s residence insisting he come out to them so that they wouldn’t violate another part of that same code and become defiled during Passover for entering a gentile dwelling. When Pilate agreed to meet them on neutral ground, he pressed them to state the crime they were alleging and convince him it warranted his action. But their response was intentionally vague. They said he should just accept that they wouldn’t be bothering him if Jesus wasn’t a criminal. So, he pushed back and told them to deal with the issue themselves. That’s when they placed all their cards on the table and made it clear they weren’t leaving until they got what they wanted: the execution of Jesus of Nazareth. But the delicate dance between Pilate and the Jewish leaders recorded through the rest of this chapter and into the next reveals that the Jewish leaders also wanted the Nazarene’s blood to be on Rome’s hands so they wouldn’t be held responsible and ensure his death was a public spectacle displayed on a Roman cross as a warning to other would-be messiahs. And to accomplish that, they needed to make a credible case for Jesus’ proclamation of messiahship being a threat to Roman rule. That’s why the context implies that they accused him of claiming to be the king of the Jews. But in verse 32, John inserted some commentary that clarifies what was really going on. Beyond all the intrigue and interjurisdictional machinations, the redemptive strategies of the sovereign God were unfolding exactly according to plan. We’re reminded that all of this happened as Jesus had said it would, including that he would die on a cross (John 12:32-33). Not for one moment was his fate in the hands of those engaged in the religious, legal, and political tug-of-war taking place around him. Those ups and downs and twists and turns didn’t affect the divinely designed endpoint by even an inch. And the truth of our Lord’s absolute dominion over the events of that dark day should be deeply securing for our souls. When our lives feel out of control, we can trust in his power to ensure that nothing derails his good plans for us.

There are few things more attractive than a campfire on a chilly night. Its warmth is comforting, its flickering light is mesmerizing, and the company of those sharing it is reassuring. But something tragic happened around the one described in John 18. The narrative in the middle section of the chapter switches back and forth between two scenes, revealing their striking contrasts. Verses 12-14 and 19-27 follow Jesus from the arrest in Gethsemane through his initial hearing. Verses 15-18 and 25-27 focus on the drama of Peter’s denials. Jesus was led away in shackles to stand trial before the Jewish authorities. But first, he was subjected to pretrial questioning by Annas, the father-in-law of Caiaphas, the high priest. It’s unclear what the intended purpose was for this trial-before-the-trial, but what is clear is that tensions were already so sky high that nothing remotely resembling a fair hearing or lawful procedure could take place. John leaves it to the other Gospel writers to document the cruelties and injustices the Lord suffered during his official trial before Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin (e.g., Mark 14:55-65), but he reminds us that all of it took place within the context of Jesus having been prejudged. Without any due process, he’d already been sentenced to death by the high priest in an earlier private meeting of the religious leadership (John 11:47-53). Still, throughout the sham interrogations, Jesus never attempted to hide, spin, or obfuscate. He took responsibility for and stood behind everything he’d said and done, making clear he’d conducted his ministry in the open for all to see and hear. On the other hand, Peter did exactly the opposite. While Jesus was inside withstanding his interrogators by welcoming the light of scrutiny, out in the courtyard, Peter was avoiding his by choosing to hide in the darkness of denial. This is puzzling because the text doesn’t seem to indicate that there was a need for him to have feared being identified as one of Jesus’ followers. He’d been escorted through the gate and onto the grounds by another disciple who, though unnamed, was known to the high priest and appears to have possessed the authority to do it. On top of that, the bystanders who confronted Peter don’t seem to have held the kind of positions that would represent any real threat and were more than likely just curious. So, why was he insistent on denying his relationship with Jesus even after the Lord had warned him about it (John 13:38)? I don’t think we can know for sure, and even if we could, the answer would most certainly be multilayered. But it’s entirely possible that at least one of those layers had to do with the chill in the air and the allure of the campfire. Some of us have been there. We know what it’s like to try to fit in around the world’s fire circle hiding our identity as Jesus-followers to avoid feeling embarrassed about our faith. And even if it plays out more subtly than Peter’s direct disavowals, the effect is the same. But because we’ve been there, we can imagine a little of what Peter must have experienced as he warmed his hands and was suddenly aware that the rooster was crowing. The feelings of regret must have been overwhelming as he recalled the words of his Master’s prediction mingling with the sound of his denials on repeat in his mind. The juxtaposition of his failure unfolding on one end of that piece of real estate against what his Lord was enduring on the other must have been unbearable. And although this part of his story serves as a warning to resist the temptation of the campfire, Peter’s faith journey doesn’t end here. I’m grateful for the beautiful account of his repentance and restoration that unfolds in the chapters ahead. And that encourages us to know we can find recovery from our failures through Christ’s forgiveness too.

I’m not now nor have I ever been an athlete, but I powerwalk from my home to the beach and back daily for exercise. My route takes about an hour and includes climbing several large hills. And every day, the final ascent requires me to decide all over again to push through my fatigue and embrace the challenge for the health benefit that results. People are inclined to avoid discomfort by nature. Our bodies come equipped with an elaborate sensory response system designed to help us avoid or escape it. So, unless we’re forced to, yielding to an uncomfortable situation always requires a choice. And although I’m not in any way insinuating that a comparison can be made between the bit of resolve I exercise in overcoming reluctance to climb a hill during my workout and the Lord’s determination to climb Golgotha to face the sufferings of the cross, I believe John 18:10-11 provides us the opportunity to consider the pain he CHOSE to endure for our redemption. Attempting to provide Jesus a chance to escape arrest, Peter grabbed one of the two swords in the disciples’ possession (Luke 22:38) and attacked Malchus, the high priest’s servant, cutting off his right ear. But the Lord immediately stepped into the fray, healed the man’s wound (Luke 22:51), and commanded Peter to sheath his weapon. Then, he revealed in public the choice he’d made in private just moments before. Knowing full well what it would mean, he’d experienced intense agony as he wrestled with his Father regarding the that would be set before him. But in the end, his prayer was, “Not my will, but yours, be done” (Luke 22:42-44). So, he was saying more than words could ever capture when in response to Peter’s violent rescue efforts he asked the rhetorical question, “Shall I not drink the which my Father has given me?” And in that statement posing as a question, Jesus was teaching us one of the most valuable spiritual lessons of all. He was showing us by example the importance of not reacting to the difficult circumstances God allows – for purposes far greater than our limited perspective can comprehend in the moment – by grabbing the first sword we can find and trying to hack our way out. But that’s typically what we do isn’t it? My initial response to life’s difficulties is almost always to look for the nearest exit. But it turns out that those challenges are often the very things the Lord is using to escort me along the path to the fulfillment of my deepest desire, which is to know Christ and be conformed to his image. And more than that, they’re what enable me to reflect that image into this world with fewer smudges. That’s why James 1:2-4 tells us, “Count it all joy when you fall into various trials...that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing.” Learning to resist the instinct to avoid pain at all costs and choosing instead to seek the guidance of the Spirit before reacting to it is a critical discipline of our faith. Developing the habit of first engaging in Gethsemane prayer before attempting to squirm out of tight spaces can help us better follow in our Savior’s footsteps. It’s why he said, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me” (Matthew 16:24).

Have you ever misplaced the TV remote because you laid it down somewhere without thinking, stored something away for safekeeping and later forgot where you put it, or inadvertently left your credit card at a restaurant? Sure, you have. We all know what it feels like to lose something. But there are some of us who also know the other side of that emotion. They know what it’s like to feel lost. And that’s what John 18:7-9 speaks to. The troops dispatched by the religious leaders to arrest Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane were picking themselves up off the ground. They’d stumbled backward in an involuntary response to the majesty on display in the Lord’s fearless acknowledgment that HE was the one they were looking for. And as they were getting back to their feet, verses 7-8 quote him giving them a second chance to identify the subject of their arrest warrant before once again confirming that HE was their target. After that, referring to his disciples, he said, “If you seek me, let these go their way.” That selfless sentence reveals the depth of his concern for his followers, but it also reveals something else. The Greek word translated as is a forceful verb and makes clear Jesus wasn’t PLEADING for their safety. He was DEMANDING it. And the power behind his directive was so great the soldiers complied even after Peter drew a sword and attacked a representative of the high priest. Then, verse 9 describes why Jesus was so emphatic with that mandate by reminding us of something he’d just prayed on the way to the Garden. He’d told his Father, “Of those whom you gave me I have lost none” (see John 17:12). That night in Gethsemane, the Lord wasn’t negotiating the terms of his surrender. He was keeping a promise. And although that promise directly applied to his first disciples, he’s also quoted in the prayer that contains it as saying, “I do not pray for these alone, but also for those who will believe in me through their word” (John 17:20). So, he clearly included all of us following in the footsteps of their faith under the canopy of its provisions. It’s also evident he meant it to encompass more than just physical safety. The word translated as is a word expansive enough to accommodate every form of loss including emotional, relational, vocational, financial, and spiritual. Regardless of the conditions or circumstances that may cause any of us to feel otherwise, in Jesus, we are always found. He has promised to keep us in the firm but tender grip of his steadfast love. This passage reveals the intensity of our Lord’s commitment to keep those the Father has given him. And a reflection of that intensity is familiar to every parent who’s ever experienced losing their child in a crowd. It’s as though everything else in the universe fades to black, and there’s one – and only one – thing that remains: the desire to find your baby. And Christ’s parables of the , the , and the in Luke 15 make clear he pursues and preserves those he loves with the same type of consuming focus. So, if you’re feeling lost – misplaced, forgotten, left behind, adrift, or hidden – in any area of our life, Jesus had you mind when he spoke these words. Make the choice to reject the false narrative of your lostness and trust instead in the power of his promise.

My wife and I recently vacationed in Honolulu, Hawaii, and I went for a walk one morning along the Ala Wai Canal. As I strolled under the canopy of the trees that line the pathway, I suddenly came upon two men wielding swords – real, metal swords – the kind that belong in a movie not the hands of strangers just ahead of you on the footpath. And I instantly experienced a shot of adrenaline along with an urge to run away. Two-swords-to-none are not good odds. But after taking a second glance, I realized that these men weren’t a threat after all. They were just using that public space to practice a form of martial arts. So, I kept on walking, my heart rate began returning to normal, and I watched them with fascination. But my initial reaction to that surprise encounter got me thinking about the first six verses of John 18. After celebrating Passover together in an upper room in Jerusalem, Jesus and his disciples had been on the move heading toward the northeast corner of the city as he taught them and prayed to his Father. Once outside the city walls, he led them across the Kidron Valley and into a garden called Gethsemane. The text describes it as a place they’d visited often, one where Judas would have expected them to go. I'll get back to that in a minute. But before going any further, I need to note that at this point in the narrative of Christ’s passion, all three of the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) provide accounts of his raw and intense supplication to the Father. Often described as the , this blood-sweating episode of intense prayer regarding the coming suffering of the cross concluded with an expression of his fresh and deep surrender as he cried out, “Not my will, but yours, be done.” The significance of that aspect of the story of our redemption can't be overstated. But for reasons that are guided by its unique, Spirit-purposed perspective on the life and ministry of Jesus, John’s Gospel doesn't record that part of what happened at Gethsemane. It focuses instead on the Lord’s arrest that took place there on the same night. And the account of that event is what came to mind when I encountered the swordsmen. Unlike the benign intensions of those two guys, the Roman troops, temple security forces, and Jewish leaders Judas led to the garden were armed with lethal weapons – which Matthew’s account describes as including swords – that were brandished in the harsh light of their lanterns and torches for the express purpose of intimidation. But even with full knowledge of where it would ultimately lead, Jesus didn’t attempt to avoid the confrontation. Instead, verse 4 tells us he, “went forward” to meet them head on. And when he boldly confirmed that he was the one they were seeking, they were the ones who verse 6 says, “drew back and fell to the ground.” This bold, confident, and forceful turning of the tables on his adversaries was, like everything else Jesus said and did, purposeful. It demonstrated at least two things crucial to our faith. First, Jesus was not a victim of the brutality he suffered. Out of love for us, he freely offered his life. It wasn’t taken from him. The events that led to and included the cross were never outside his control. Second, whenever it feels like the devil has arrived on the scene of our lives to intimidate us with “lanterns, torches, and weapons,” we needn’t fear. The Lord has gone before us to provide the courage to face any assault head on and see the tables turned through the power of his consummate victory. As Colossians 2:15 says, “Having disarmed principalities and powers, He made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them in it.”

Confession alert! I’ve nursed a serious animosity toward the pastor of one of the mega-churches in the region where I live. He’s well-known and I’m obviously not, so we don’t run in the same circles. I only know him from news reports and his public statements. But I don’t like him. No, it’s more than that. I’m disgusted by him. And although I’m tempted to list all the reasons why, that would just be an attempt to justify the unjustifiable. My attitude has been sinful. Full stop. Regardless of anything else he’s said or done, that man openly confesses Jesus as Savior. And that means we’re brothers in the faith and will spend eternity together in the presence of the Lord. How then can I possibly imagine it’s remotely acceptable to hold onto these feelings. I can’t. There will be no room for my judgmentalism when we stand side by side before and face to face with the one whose perfect love drove him to the cross for the sins of us both. I’ve been giving myself permission to hold one of the Lord’s precious ones in contempt, and I choose to repent. My sin was laid bare as I prepared to write this commentary on the final section of Christ’s High Priestly Prayer recorded in John 17. After praying for himself and then for the disciples, verses 20-26 record the Lord’s final two requests, and they’re specifically for all future believers. That includes me. So, when he began by asking that his followers would exhibit a unity among themselves so striking it would serve as a testimony to his divinity, the ugliness of the disunity I was harboring in my heart was exposed. This is not an excuse in any way, but I don’t think I’m the only guilty one here. As the log is being pulled from my own eye, I think I spot some splinters in others’. It’s evident that oneness is not the first word that comes to mind when describing the current state of the U.S. church. We more often seem to reflect the polarization, distrust, and animosity of the world around us than the harmony Jesus prayed for. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not advocating for an anything-goes, sloppy agapē. We exercise godly wisdom when we assess others’ behaviors with humility in light of Scripture to avoid sin ourselves and be useful to the Holy Spirit in helping redirect those who’ve drifted off course spiritually. But we cross a line we should never trespass when we set ourselves up as the holiness or theology police and pass judgment on other believers. That’s because it disallows the second thing Jesus prayed for us. In addition to requesting that his followers be one, he asked the Father to make it possible for them to one day be with him in heaven and experience his unfiltered glory. And there’s no way for that to happen if we insist on dragging our unholy discord into that holy place. We need to deal with it on this side of heaven and as aggressively as possible. No one individual’s repentance can clean up the church’s relational mess. But if all of us who’ve contributed to it deal with our own, the impact will be profound. It’ll align us with our Savior’s desires and enable us to better serve as his witnesses. I’m determined to do my part. I’m dealing with the specific iniquity I’ve already confessed, but I’m also inviting the Holy Spirit’s conviction regarding any other wrong-heartedness I’ve allowed to take root in my soul toward fellow believers. I want to be among those who become the answer to Jesus’ prayer not the reason for it, and I bet you do too.