Brother...

Brother…

Have you ever thought about having Jesus for a brother? Your parents surely had a special place in their heart for him. You see, they knew who he really was. A secret they kept.

You heard the neighborhood gossip about his birth. At twelve years of age, he stunned the religious teachers with his knowledge. He probably made his bed and took out the garbage without being told to! A wonderful role model. Loving. Kind. Compassionate. The Bible says, He was without sin. Hard to live with a perfect brother!

Then he started acting crazy. Stirring up the people. Especially the ruling-religious. How could he do such unlawful things? Touch the Lepers. Talk to women. Even a Samaritan woman! He was without honor in his own town. Maybe even in his own home. And then miracle after miracle.

And then the end… Captured and drug from Herod to Pilate. Lies! Accusations! Death penalty! Whipped! A cross! And then death!

This was your brother. How would you feel? Would you finally believe that he was more than a brother! He was the Messiah! Your Savior!

Blame us…

‘Blame us… And our children. Just kill Jesus!’ That’s what the crowd, the mob, called out to Pilate.

They had been worked up by the religious leaders. They could only go along with the crowd. Its’ mob hysteria. It is still pretty much the same 2000 years later. It starts small, continues to go to a point where there is no turning back. The mob rules.

Several years ago in Seattle, the Fat Tuesday celebration turned into mob violence and an innocent young man was kicked and beaten to death while others watched.

Five people received new life from his organ transplants. One was his heart. But, that doesn’t make it right.

2000 years ago Jesus hung on a cross. A victim of mob violence and a few religious leaders who saw the law only one way.

The crowd called out, ‘Kill Him! Blame us and our children!’

Pilate washed his hands of the matter. However he had Jesus whipped, then turned him over to the mob. Pilate’s name is always connected to the crucifixion of Jesus. The hand washing didn’t work.

Jesus had to die. It was a sin issue. I’m glad He was willing. The crowd was right. The blame is on them and their children. And me! Jesus was innocent. I’m not. Jesus died because of my sin. To set me free. Thousands live because He died. It’s a heart transplant.

S’more thinkin’

Wonder what would I have done, if I had been part of the mob that morning? Would I have washed my hands and walked away? Or would I have been caught up in the mob hysteria - only to realize too late who Jesus was.

What am I doing today? Am I still part of the crowd? Or do I stand away from the crowd and do what God would have me do? What about you?