Growing up as a kid, I had a half-Rottweiler named Bubbles. I know, “Bubbles” is not really an appropriate name for a Rottweiler, but when you’re 9-years old, you’re not really thinking all that hard about such things. You’re just glad to have a puppy. She would prove to be one of my dearest friends as a child. Once she got over her maniac-puppy stage, she mellowed out and became a big lumbering ball of serenity. She was my calm in the storm, a safe haven when life seemed to go sideways. I’d go out to the barn and she’d be there waiting for me. I’d stoop down to sit on the back steps, and she’d come up behind me, burying her nose between my side and my elbow, unrelenting until I had looped an arm around her neck. And then she’d just sit, leaning all her body weight against me, quietly breathing. Sometimes she would slide down, like slime running down the wall, and melt onto the floor, waiting for me to scratch her belly. I couldn’t have asked for a better companion during those years. She died the summer after I graduated from college, and I find myself on the rare occasion still expecting to see her poke her head out from behind the bushes when I pull in the driveway of my parents’ house.
But for as great of a pet as she was - loving, patient, and calm – and despite looking very much like an intimidating Rottweiler, she made for a lousy watchdog. She would run around like an idiot during a rainstorm, barking at thunder, this imaginary invader, but if someone pulled in the driveway or came around, she was lucky if she lifted her head up from her resting spot. She was never aggressive or territorial unless you took her bone or got near the puppies she eventually birthed. “Bubbles” and “stellar watchdog” never really ended up in the same sentence together when we described her to people.
I suppose, though, that we humans don’t make for very good guardians either. I have been slow-walking my way through the Gospels here lately, reading one chapter per day, starting in Matthew. When I came to Matthew 27, I was struck by this seemingly innocuous detail found in verse 35, “When they had crucified him, they divided up his clothes by casting lots. And sitting down, they kept watch over him there. Above his head they placed the written charge against him: THIS IS JESUS, THE KING OF THE JEWS.”
They kept watch over him there. “They” meaning Roman soldiers, “him” meaning Jesus.
Soldiers of Rome keeping watch over the King of the Jews.
But for as great of a pet as she was - loving, patient, and calm – and despite looking very much like an intimidating Rottweiler, she made for a lousy watchdog. She would run around like an idiot during a rainstorm, barking at thunder, this imaginary invader, but if someone pulled in the driveway or came around, she was lucky if she lifted her head up from her resting spot. She was never aggressive or territorial unless you took her bone or got near the puppies she eventually birthed. “Bubbles” and “stellar watchdog” never really ended up in the same sentence together when we described her to people.
I suppose, though, that we humans don’t make for very good guardians either. I have been slow-walking my way through the Gospels here lately, reading one chapter per day, starting in Matthew. When I came to Matthew 27, I was struck by this seemingly innocuous detail found in verse 35, “When they had crucified him, they divided up his clothes by casting lots. And sitting down, they kept watch over him there. Above his head they placed the written charge against him: THIS IS JESUS, THE KING OF THE JEWS.”
They kept watch over him there. “They” meaning Roman soldiers, “him” meaning Jesus.
Soldiers of Rome keeping watch over the King of the Jews.
If they only knew how absurd the idea was.
Why would Rome bother to have their soldiers, these men equipped and trained to mete out unimaginable brutality, stand guard over a man pierced to a tree, shoulders wrenched out of joint, every breath a struggle? Why stand guard over a man physically destined for death?
Because there was always that small possibility he may just be exactly who he said he was.
It’s a kind of guardianship borne ultimately of distrust. These men of Rome stood guard while he hung on a cross, and they stood guard when he was sealed in a tomb. The chief priests and Pharisees remembered Jesus had said he would rise on the third day, and because, again, there was that small possibility that Jesus may just be exactly who he said he was, they stationed a soldier by the tomb and sealed it.
Somewhere along the way they had appointed themselves the guardians of not just Golgotha but the grave, too.
What fools we become when we think we can stand guard over Jesus.
They told themselves, we have to keep watch because clearly this man can’t be trusted. We’re going to stand here at the foot of this cross and see to it that he doesn’t come down from that tree. They even mocked him with the thought,
And yet – and yet, we are just like them.
We maybe never say it out loud, but we tell ourselves in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different circumstances, “Jesus, I don’t trust you, so I’m going to have to stand guard over you and make sure you don’t try any funny business.”
We tell ourselves we’re not convinced God won’t let any harm befall our child, so we’re going to stand guard over their every move, every breath. We’re going to so sterilize their world, and eliminate to the best of our ability any chance of harm coming their way. We’re going to do it because we’re not convinced God will.
We’re not convinced God won’t let someone we love take his own life, so we’re going to call him every day, and check on him, make sure he’s still got a pulse and make sure God’s doing his job.
We’re not convinced God will provide for us financially, so we’re going to clench our fists so tight around our money and our budget and we decide we’re never going to trust him with a dime of it.
We’re not convinced God can keep our bodies from failing or from getting cancer, so we’re going to control and manage every calorie, every pound, every ounce, every bite, every sore muscle, and get our hands on every anti-aging crème we can find.
We’re not convinced God can manage people the way we do, so we’re going to micromanage and overanalyze every move of every person around us, and be relentless in our expectations of them.
We’re not convinced you are who you say you are, God, so that leaves us no option but to stand watch over you. We’re not convinced you will do what we think you ought to do, so we’re not going to trust you, believe you or have faith in you.
Because - after all – just like the soldiers of Rome, the chief priests and the Pharisees, we are the self-appointed guardians of the galaxy, are we not?
The soldiers of Rome kept watch over Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, but what they – and we – failed to realize was that the God of the galaxy, King of the universe, kept watch over them.
Their watching was in vain, and our watching is no less in vain.
You were neither appointed God nor guardian of God.
Why would Rome bother to have their soldiers, these men equipped and trained to mete out unimaginable brutality, stand guard over a man pierced to a tree, shoulders wrenched out of joint, every breath a struggle? Why stand guard over a man physically destined for death?
Because there was always that small possibility he may just be exactly who he said he was.
It’s a kind of guardianship borne ultimately of distrust. These men of Rome stood guard while he hung on a cross, and they stood guard when he was sealed in a tomb. The chief priests and Pharisees remembered Jesus had said he would rise on the third day, and because, again, there was that small possibility that Jesus may just be exactly who he said he was, they stationed a soldier by the tomb and sealed it.
Somewhere along the way they had appointed themselves the guardians of not just Golgotha but the grave, too.
What fools we become when we think we can stand guard over Jesus.
They told themselves, we have to keep watch because clearly this man can’t be trusted. We’re going to stand here at the foot of this cross and see to it that he doesn’t come down from that tree. They even mocked him with the thought,
And those who passed by derided him, wagging their heads and saying, "You who would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself! If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross." So also the chief priests, with the scribes and elders, mocked him, saying, "He saved others; he cannot save himself. He is the King of Israel; let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God; let God deliver him now, if he desires him. For he said, 'I am the Son of God.'" (Matthew 27:39-43)We point our fingers at the soldiers of Rome and the chief priests and elders, shaking our heads at them, saying, “You do know how ridiculous you are, right? Ha. As if you could stand guard over Jesus.”
And yet – and yet, we are just like them.
We maybe never say it out loud, but we tell ourselves in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different circumstances, “Jesus, I don’t trust you, so I’m going to have to stand guard over you and make sure you don’t try any funny business.”
We tell ourselves we’re not convinced God won’t let any harm befall our child, so we’re going to stand guard over their every move, every breath. We’re going to so sterilize their world, and eliminate to the best of our ability any chance of harm coming their way. We’re going to do it because we’re not convinced God will.
We’re not convinced God won’t let someone we love take his own life, so we’re going to call him every day, and check on him, make sure he’s still got a pulse and make sure God’s doing his job.
We’re not convinced God will provide for us financially, so we’re going to clench our fists so tight around our money and our budget and we decide we’re never going to trust him with a dime of it.
We’re not convinced God can keep our bodies from failing or from getting cancer, so we’re going to control and manage every calorie, every pound, every ounce, every bite, every sore muscle, and get our hands on every anti-aging crème we can find.
We’re not convinced God can manage people the way we do, so we’re going to micromanage and overanalyze every move of every person around us, and be relentless in our expectations of them.
We’re not convinced you are who you say you are, God, so that leaves us no option but to stand watch over you. We’re not convinced you will do what we think you ought to do, so we’re not going to trust you, believe you or have faith in you.
Because - after all – just like the soldiers of Rome, the chief priests and the Pharisees, we are the self-appointed guardians of the galaxy, are we not?
The soldiers of Rome kept watch over Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, but what they – and we – failed to realize was that the God of the galaxy, King of the universe, kept watch over them.
Their watching was in vain, and our watching is no less in vain.
You were neither appointed God nor guardian of God.
We make for lousy watchmen.
In Mark 14: 33-34 and 37, just before Jesus’ arrest, Jesus and his disciples head to Gethsemane to pray. Jesus leaves them while he goes off alone to pray. Scripture says, “He took Peter, James, and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. ‘My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,’ he said to them. ‘Stay here and keep watch.’” Jesus goes off to pray, and then “he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. ‘Simon,’ he said to Peter, ‘are you asleep? Could you not keep watch for one hour?’”
All Jesus needed was one hour, and they couldn’t even manage that.
All Rome needed was for a tomb to remain occupied for three days, and they couldn’t even manage that.
Their watching was in vain.
Our watching is in vain.
This is JESUS, the sin-slaying, death-defying, grave-robbing, lie-silencing, God of the universe – and yet we dare to believe we can keep watch over him, as if it not only our duty, but our obligation, to do so.
In Mark 14: 33-34 and 37, just before Jesus’ arrest, Jesus and his disciples head to Gethsemane to pray. Jesus leaves them while he goes off alone to pray. Scripture says, “He took Peter, James, and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. ‘My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,’ he said to them. ‘Stay here and keep watch.’” Jesus goes off to pray, and then “he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. ‘Simon,’ he said to Peter, ‘are you asleep? Could you not keep watch for one hour?’”
All Jesus needed was one hour, and they couldn’t even manage that.
All Rome needed was for a tomb to remain occupied for three days, and they couldn’t even manage that.
Their watching was in vain.
Our watching is in vain.
This is JESUS, the sin-slaying, death-defying, grave-robbing, lie-silencing, God of the universe – and yet we dare to believe we can keep watch over him, as if it not only our duty, but our obligation, to do so.
I’ve got some news for you:
You’ve been relieved of your job as guardian of the galaxy, watchmen over your children, your brother’s keeper, police officer of the world, neighborhood watchdog. Your performance review shows you’re no good at it. Never have been, never will be. There will be no pay raise, no matter how hard you try, and this is not the kind of job where you move up the ranks. You’ll never get promoted, and you’ll never make it to the C-suite. If anything, you’ve been demoted. You’ll never get a corner office with a view. You’ll never see your name etched on the door. You’ll never have business cards with your title listed as “Chief Operating Watchman.” (Besides, that would make you a COW.) There is no golden parachute. Consider this your pink slip. Don’t even bother with a two-week notice. There is no severance package, and there are no retirement benefits. You’re fired.
Do we have a responsibility to steward what has been entrusted to us, such as our finances, our children, our jobs, our resources, our gifts, and our talents? Yes. Do we have a responsibility to engage the world around us, to put forth some effort, and leverage the gifts and resources God has given us? Yes. I’m not saying we abdicate all responsibility and just become apathetic and lazy. But neither do we have the responsibility to hold so tightly to them that we never trust God with what was his to begin with.
God doesn’t need your watchdog skills.
Psalm 121:3-8 says, “He will not let your foot slip – he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord watches over you – the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all harm – he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”
God is not like his disciples who fell asleep on their watch while Jesus prayed in the garden. He neither slumbers nor sleeps. God is not like the soldiers of Rome, or the guardian of the tomb who failed at their jobs.
God never fails as a watchman. Both now and forevermore, he stands guard over your life, keeping watching, in total loving and sovereign control.
This Easter – as we look to the crucifixion and resurrection – I want you think of the soldiers who stood at the foot of the cross, these men who are so often a footnote to history. They would have looked up and seen a man bloodied and bruised beyond recognition, a sword pierced through his side, a banner hanging high over his head: Jesus, King of the Jews. I want you to remember that banner that hung over Jesus on that cross, and remember that, Jesus, King of the universe, doesn’t need you as his guardian.
You’ve been relieved of duty. Time to pack your bags.
Do we have a responsibility to steward what has been entrusted to us, such as our finances, our children, our jobs, our resources, our gifts, and our talents? Yes. Do we have a responsibility to engage the world around us, to put forth some effort, and leverage the gifts and resources God has given us? Yes. I’m not saying we abdicate all responsibility and just become apathetic and lazy. But neither do we have the responsibility to hold so tightly to them that we never trust God with what was his to begin with.
God doesn’t need your watchdog skills.
Psalm 121:3-8 says, “He will not let your foot slip – he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord watches over you – the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all harm – he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”
God is not like his disciples who fell asleep on their watch while Jesus prayed in the garden. He neither slumbers nor sleeps. God is not like the soldiers of Rome, or the guardian of the tomb who failed at their jobs.
God never fails as a watchman. Both now and forevermore, he stands guard over your life, keeping watching, in total loving and sovereign control.
This Easter – as we look to the crucifixion and resurrection – I want you think of the soldiers who stood at the foot of the cross, these men who are so often a footnote to history. They would have looked up and seen a man bloodied and bruised beyond recognition, a sword pierced through his side, a banner hanging high over his head: Jesus, King of the Jews. I want you to remember that banner that hung over Jesus on that cross, and remember that, Jesus, King of the universe, doesn’t need you as his guardian.
You’ve been relieved of duty. Time to pack your bags.
