Thursday, April 3, 2014


On Saturday Minnesota started melting. Matt and I wrestled the girls into front carriers and Jasper put on his rain boots. We set off on a short walk, racing and puddle jumping around our sunny neighborhood.

For ten blocks, we were very good at this three-kid-thing. We laughed a lot, our toes got wet, and those driving by thought we were downright adorable.

I spend so much of my time cooped up these days giving each girl half of what they need, leaning into family and friends brave/bored/kind enough to help, and declaring to Jasper that he has "two choices". (This conversation has the power to unleash or compose a meltdown, but I never know which until I'm standing in the midst of his emotional puddle.)

I am experiencing my own meltdown in these first weeks of twin-dom. I am watching the sacred cow of my expectations, hormones, and needs being melted down into the biggest puddle at all. I stare at it dripping and pooling, hopeful that it will be remolded and fired into something new and more useful instead. Even a gaudy keychain for my minivan keys would be better than nothing.

Two choices. Ugh. When you are three years old, two choices aren't enough. And I listen to his discouraged, whiny protests while secretly agreeing with him:

I can feed this one or that one.

I have time to brush my teeth or put on deodorant.

I can write thank you notes or a baby book entry.

We can heat up leftovers or bake a Stouffer's lasagna (again).

He's right. Life in the world of two choices totally sucks. So it's no wonder that language around choices are all I can hear in the preaching text for this Sunday: John 19:1-16a.

Jesus gives Pilate two choices: an earthly or heavenly kingdom.

Pilate gives the people two choices: he will free Jesus or Barabbas.

The people give Pilate two choices: kill Jesus or lose your job.

Hinge moments. The nitty gritty. Hard choices. Vested interest. A vast audience. The struggle for control. People convinced they're doing the right thing for the all the wrong reasons. Other people doing the wrong thing for all the right reasons. Jasper is right when he says, "No, I want three - no I want four choices!"

And then there is Jesus.

Maybe he has a choice. Maybe he has two or three or four or a billion choices we don't know about. But in John's gospel, there is only one way for God enfleshed to be. At noon the Passover lambs are sacrificed and so is he. Jesus is robed in purple with a crown of thorns and he moves toward the cross. He speaks the truth - the confounding, frustrating, unceasing, merciful truth in the midst of all these shitty human choices.

I am the Son of God. I have come to take the sin of the world. 
It is the only way.

Then everything begins melting.
Choices and sin and motivations and power and struggle and hope and death and life.

And we stare at it dripping and pooling, hopeful that it will be remolded and fired into something new and more useful instead. And this resurrection ain't no gaudy keychain.

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