The Interview

An interesting article came my way, and I’ll share it with you before I blog: 

 

 Former New York City mayor is pledging to spend $50 million this year to push gun control, the New York Times reports. For this and other deeds (such as taking on obesity and smoking), Bloomberg believes he's going to heaven.

“I am telling you if there is a God, when I get to heaven I’m not stopping to be interviewed. I am heading straight in. I have earned my place in heaven. It’s not even close,” Bloomberg told the Times.  Here's the full context of Bloomberg's heaven quotation:

Mr. Bloomberg was introspective as he spoke, and seemed both restless and wistful. When he sat down for the interview, it was a few days before his 50th college reunion. His mortality has started dawning on him, at 72. And he admitted he was a bit taken aback by how many of his former classmates had been appearing in the “in memoriam” pages of his school newsletter. But if he senses that he may not have as much time left as he would like, he has little doubt about what would await him at a Judgment Day. Pointing to his work on gun safety, obesity and smoking cessation, he said with a grin: “I am telling you if there is a God, when I get to heaven I’m not stopping to be interviewed. I am heading straight in. I have earned my place in heaven. It’s not even close.”

 

 
Mr. Bloomberg’s Republican opponents might unkindly respond to his tongue-in-cheek with their own sarcastic charge that it’s the gun control and Pepsi-legislation that’s actually keeping him out of heaven.  And finally, Mr. Bloomberg and his opponents would have something in common:  They could be wrong together. 

 

This isn’t about obesity, or guns, or giving to charity.  For that matter it's not even about going to church, getting baptized, or working as a missionary in Tibet for six decades.  Because salvation isn’t about what we do.  It’s about what Christ already did. 

 

This week marks a time of reflection for almost everyone, religious and otherwise.  Whether you are struggling with doubts about eternal life, or enjoying a super-sized dose of Bloomberg confidence, the reality of Christ’s horrible suffering leaves us with one lingering question:  Why? 

 

Why, if we are not really that bad at all, did Jesus have to be stripped down to nothing and scourged with glass-embedded whips, until his appearance was no longer human?  Why did a crushed piece of matzo bread resemble His body so accurately that He could emphatically tell his disciples at the last supper, “This is my body, given for you”? 

 

Why the mock trial, the blindfold, the games of brutal soldiers, the liars at the trial, and a surprised murderer released?  Why the thorns?

 

Why the “cup” of suffering, despite His tearful pleas?  Why the agony of a six-hour dying, a public humiliation, and a weeping mother sharing space at foot of the cross with soldiers who gambled for his robe?

 

We like to inject ourselves into the story here as angels, watching someone else’s tragedy unfold, shaking our heads at the injustice of it all.  What if I had been there?  What part would I have played?  I want to identify with the angels, but honesty is brutal. 

 

I am Judas, loving this world and its treasures at a cost I can’t even measure until it’s too late to remedy; selling my Savior for the price of a slave. 

 

I am Peter, denying our friendship lest I be forced to fellowship in His sufferings; and then hiding in regret, profound sorrow, and failure.

I am Pilate, fearing people more than loving truth; trying to appease a frenzied crowd with a scourging--yet calling Him “King of the Jews” on the sign above His head and desperately trying to wash my hands of “that Man.”    

 

I am Barabbas. It was my sin that should have been punished that afternoon.  Instead, the crowds who gathered at my execution watched Jesus die in my place, for my sin.  He “Who knew no sin” was made sin for me.    

 

I am Mary Magdalene, confused and broken by grief, focusing on a tomb and a stolen body; failing to remember the promises, never expecting to hear Jesus say my name again.   

 

I am Thomas, looking for a sign, hunting for nail prints because my faith is too weak to accept Christ’s own words. 

 No, Mr. Bloomberg:  There really is a God.  And when I face Him, I will not be skipping past “the interview” due to my own merits. 

 

Because there is no interview. 
  

The blood of Jesus is the only thing that can satisfy the justice of God.  For those who choose to accept Jesus' death as their own payment for sin and call upon Him to save them, heaven is already sealed as their future, eternal home.  Sadly, for those who would try to substitute this finished work of Christ with their meager efforts and righteousness, no discussion is needed, no lengthy explanations about how life was spent.  They will face an eternity of paying a debt that can never be fully paid, and needlessly suffering torment that was already experienced for them at the cross.   

 

“Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows; yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.  But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities:  the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.  All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all . . . Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise him; he hath put him to grief; when thou shalt make his soul an offering for sin, he shall see his seed, he shall prolong his days, and the pleasure of the Lord shall prosper in his hand.”  (Isaiah 53:4-6, 10)

“For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord.”  (Romans 6:23)

“But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on name.”  (John 1:12)

 

Have you ever stopped depending on your own merits to secure heaven, and simply received the free gift of eternal life through Jesus Christ?

 

An Artist's Perspective

A couple of weeks ago, I blogged about the differences between right-brain dominance and left-brain dominance.   I asked our 17-year-old daughter, Jessica, to write about her experiences using art and color schemes to help her retain information, especially with her music.  She explains here:

 

Last summer, as I was practicing my piano arrangement for church the next day, I was already dreading it.  As I sat there reviewing my past episodes of messing up songs in front of the whole church, I began to get frustrated.  It didn’t make any sense to me:  I could play the song perfectly the night before, only to bomb it during church.  Of course, there was the explanation of nerves, but I knew that it wasn’t just that.  I had been calm the last time I played, only to watch the song slip through my fingers.  And then there was the explanation of not practicing enough.  But I knew my song and could play it perfectly the night before.  I know I’m not a Mozart.  Music isn’t one of my passions, and I’m not one of the more gifted musicians in my family. 

 

But as I sat on the piano bench, I was mad at myself for messing up and was more determined than ever to get it right this time.   It was then, as I stared at my music, I saw something that I had always seen but never realized.  I knew that my brain saw all the notes on the piano and on the page in colors.  “C” was always yellow; “A” was always red; “D” was always teal, and so on.  Since the notes were colors, the chords were a combination of colors.  And since letters are colors in my brain also, the song’s title gave the song an overall “color” as well. 

 

But as I looked at my music this time, I realized my brain was seeing something more.  The notes on the page had become a type of “timeline” that consisted of pictures, different colors than the usual note colors, and feelings that held the song together in my memory.  When I played in front of people, though, the timeline disappeared.  I had to fight to almost sight-read most of the notes as if I had only seen the song a couple of times. 

 

Now that I know my memory works this way, I can play better in front of people.  I just have to work the colors and pictures into my mind and remember things like, “It goes purple down here . . .”, or “It turns gold on this part . . .”   My brain goes through the door of color in its way of memorization and music.

 

 

Pretty amazing!!  God, Who created our minds with such creativity and detail, is not boring or redundant!  I appreciated Jessica taking time to let us peek into her mind for a minute.   Maybe Jessica’s understanding of how her creative, artistic mind works will help someone else to understand their own learning style and find success!