The girl child sat in my lap as I flipped through the children’s book of bible stories to the telling of Passover. She was excited because she and her family had attended Passover Seder on Saturday night at a friend’s house and she had been given the privilege of perhaps finding the “afikoman.” It has hard to get the exact details from her. She is three. That should be enough explanation.

I grew up in a Christian home so our traditions were more of the egg hiding kind than the traditional matzo hiding kind but I knew what she was talking about.

When my kids were little, my daughter wanted us to celebrate Passover, so my Jewish business partner graciously invited us to join her family. Before that, I had celebrated a Passover meal lead by Murray Tilles. His ministry, Light of Messiah, connects Jewish people to Jesus and Christians to their Jewish roots – so that is where I had first encountered a true Seder.

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I have been trying to get Jesus and his life straight in my mind. Oh, I know all the stories written about him; the parables of wheat and vineyards and the miracles of lame men dancing and the woman holding her breath as she touches the bottom of his robe. But there is just so much to take in and I can’t get it organized and flowing in a nice sequential order that will really land in a solid and sure place in my thoughts. The problem is I am reading it all – the stories of Matthew and Mark and Luke and John. Trying to get myself ready to enter the gates of Jerusalem before the week of Passover. And I am running out of time.

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The crowds squeezed into the house in Capernaum where Jesus was staying. They looked in through the doorway and windows; they overflowed into the streets straining to catch any word that would drift their way. People had come from all over to hear God’s Word taught by God’s own son. They didn’t realize that was what they were experiencing – they only knew this Jesus knew things they didn’t know about God and His Kingdom.

There in the front row sat a handful of their religious leaders: the Pharisees and the teachers of the Jewish law. They had come to hear this man’s teaching for themselves. Rumors of this unusual rabbi pulling rabbits out of hats had spread far and wide. If they were lucky, they just might see him perform one of his unusual tricks for themselves.

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He was a mess. Completely insane, living on the street and sleeping in the rain. He had broken every fine law of society and every shackle placed on his arms and legs. Blood scabbed on his skin from his own marks of self-hatred and he cried out with pain and rage. There was no containing him.

When Jesus showed up, on the wrong side of town, the opposite shore of the sea, this was his greeting party – dangerous and certifiably crazy. He shouted at Jesus: “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most-High God?”

I think in our heart-of-hearts we all cry this out into our dark nights. Why in the world would the Son of the Most-High God come across the sea for us? Can't He see we are bleeding and broken? The chains meant to keep us in line are broken and dangling uselessly. The good fine folks of the town make sure they don't come too close.

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Is it time to think about Jesus again?

You know the drill. December: we think about the tiny precious baby being born in a manger because there was no room in the Inn. And we think about presents because of the Wisemen coming over from the East. And then we go shopping.

And then sometime after Mardi Gras and Ash Wednesday if you are of that upbringing, you think about giving something up for Lent, with churches posting notices about Easter services when everyone will need a new outfit and a new hat. I think I even wore gloves when I was a child. Maybe we don’t do that anymore.

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It is cold and raining outside my window this dreary morning. The view matches the condition of my heart. All I want to think about is running away to sunny Florida – but that is not in my immediate future. God reminds me of a little adventure the man Jesus took. It wasn’t to blue skies and soft sand with warm water lapping against his toes. It was to a harsh place called the wilderness.

When I read the story in Matthew (4:1-11), the first thing I notice is that the Holy Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness. This immediately dismantles the naïve assumption that if you are obedient in following God, he will lead you down a rosy path. Apparently not. And it wasn’t just an outward bound, get away from it all for a little alone time with God kind of retreat. No. Jesus’ camping companion was the devil. Satan. The Tempter. And this enemy of God had plans of his own. His plans were to stop God’s plans. This doesn’t sound good.

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