Ironies

Irony is the incongruity between the expected result of a sequence of events and the actual result. That’s how old Mr. Webster defines the word. I don’t remember who it was, but someone once defined definition as the imprisonment of an idea within a wall of words. Which is, itself, ironic. However you define them, ironies surprise us. Or sadden us. Sometimes, they shock us. And now and then, irony explodes with new meaning. The last few hours of Jesus’ life may possess that kind of incongruity.

A friend and follower betrayed Jesus to his enemies. Then signaled his treachery with a kiss.

Peter, one of his closest disciples, denied Christ three times. Pilate, the Empire’s representative and Israel’s enemy, declared Jesus innocent. Three times (Lk. 22:4, 14, 22).

The Jewish leaders condemned Jesus for claiming to be the Son of God, but asked Pilate to release to them the terrorist, Barabbas — whose name means son of the father.

A Galilean named Simon denied he even knew him. An African named Simon carried Jesus’ cross.

The clergy condemned him. A condemned criminal defended him.

Scoffers challenged him to save himself. He saved, instead, one who hung nearby.

At the cross, his disciples maintained their silence and kept their distance. A Roman centurion, standing near the cross, declared Jesus to be a righteous man.

And, perhaps the greatest irony, the only righteous human who ever lived was separated from God so that unrighteous humans could be united to Him.

A. W. Tozer wrote, “A Christian is an odd number. He feels supreme love for One he has never seen; talks familiarly every day to Someone he cannot see; expects to go to Heaven on the virtue of another; empties himself in order to be full; admits he is wrong so he can be declared right; goes down in order to get up; is strongest when he is weakest; richest when he is poorest and happiest when he feels the worst. He dies so he can live; forsakes in order to have; gives away so he can keep; sees the invisible; hears the inaudible; and knows that which passes knowledge.” (The Root of Righteousness, p. 156.)

Today you will experience irony. It is likely you’ll eat the Lord’s Supper in the morning. A bit of food and drink that scarcely qualify as a snack will be considered a feast. Bread will be called flesh. Wine will be called blood. Sinners will be welcomed to a sacred table.

When you leave your service this morning, look for ways to extend all that incongruity into your week. Offer forgiveness rather than vengeance to those who wrong you. Extend grace rather than judgement when others fail. Be thankful even in circumstances that solicit complaint. Turn the other cheek. Go the extra mile. Be odd. Be an irony.