How do you get to heaven? Part 3: Piggybacks.

Grace means that… We all need a piggy back.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

So in the last two blogs we’ve established that ultimate reality is about our personal relationship to God, rather than our ranking on the Hitler-Teresa scale, and that Jesus made it very clear that the way to put right our relationship with God isn’t ‘moral goodness’ as we know it. So what is it? What did Jesus say we needed to do to be in a mutual relationship of love with God that starts now and lasts forever? Who’s in that and who’s not?

Now I’m not going to get into here the whole question of people who don’t know anything about Jesus. That’s an important and complicated question but it’s one for another blog, because anyone who is reading this right now, has heard about Jesus. So we’ll leave that question for another day and think about what Jesus demands of us. And what he seems to demand, as we read the stories of his interactions with people, is a particular kind of response to him.

Jesus’ message, from start to finish, was this: “The kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news.” (Mark 1:15)

The kingdom of God has come near because he has come near. The theologian Glen Scrivener puts it like this: “Jesus is like a walking, talking garden of Eden – a sphere of paradise on earth. With him wrongs are righted, darkness is dispelled and everything that’s twisted gets smoothed out again.” He walks around being the kingdom of God, bringing the kingdom of God, revealing that he is God come amongst us to put things right. And the response he’s looking for is to ‘repent’ and ‘believe’. Or as a friend of mine translates it: to ‘turn’ and to ‘trust’.

To ‘repent’ means to turn around. It means realising that I’ve turned my back on God and tried to ignore him, and that that has grieved him. It means recognising that that was wrong. It means deciding to turn around and follow him instead.

And to ‘believe the good news’ is to trust him, and what he’s done for me. It means saying, ‘Yes, I trust you when you say that you love me. I trust you when you say that I had messed up the relationship between us so badly that you had to die to put it right. I trust that when you died, you took all of the pain that I deserve on yourself. I trust that you came back from the dead, genuinely, so I know that if I’m willing to trust your death for me then I can share your impossible life as well.

And in a really important way, it’s as simple as that. Repent, and believe; turn and trust: that’s all he asks.

Of course though, just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it’s easy or painless. Repenting hurts, because it takes a deeply uncomfortable level of humility. The people Jesus was always warning, were the ‘good’ people. The ones who didn’t think they needed anything more than advice from him, certainly not him dying on their behalf. It’s why he leaves the older brother outside in the story (from the last blog, in Luke 15) – he’s saying, ‘Look, you’re going to have to swallow your pride and come inside.’ You’re going to have to admit there’s something wrong before I can put it right.

I know a Christian who says, “All you need is nothing, but a lot of people don’t have it.”

If you run up to someone in the street saying, “Thank goodness I’ve found you!” but they don’t think they’re lost, they’ll just look at you like you’re a lunatic, and that’s exactly what ‘good’ people did to Jesus and still do today. They declared him a madman, or they just smiled and politely ignored him. He can’t find someone if they insist they’re alright where they are. He can’t save a drowning person who shakes off his hand and assures him they can swim just fine. This is the tragedy that followed Jesus all his life. It’s what made him weep when he looked over Jerusalem. And the same tragedy makes him weep today.

Turning and trusting Jesus means admitting that we need help – it means refusing to trust ourselves – which means wanting to follow him instead of following our own plans and preferences, which is a pretty big step.

So what does this actually look like? Luke gives us two dramatically different examples.

Early on in Luke’s biography Jesus comes across a guy called Levi – later called Matthew, the one who wrote Matthew’s gospel. Jesus says to him, “Follow me.” And he does. He leaves everything – profession, home, family – and goes with Jesus. Why? Because there’s nothing better. Because from what he’s seen of this guy, he wants to be close to him. Because he wants to be more like him. Because this guy seems to be living a life that is properly human – human like it was meant to be – and so close to God it’s like being in the Garden of Eden all over again and Levi wants in. He wants in so much he’d give anything for it. And Jesus comes and just says, “Follow me.” No entrance exam, no initiation. The only qualification he needs is that he wants it.

Towards the end of Luke’s book Jesus has allowed himself to be mocked, spat on, and nailed to a cross to die. People are calling out – laughing at him – “Save yourself!” “If you’re really the Son of God, you could get down from that cross whenever you want!” And he could. But he won’t because he’s saving them. He’s dying the hellish death that they and I and we deserve. He’s experiencing the agony of separation from the Father he never even rejected, so that we wouldn’t have to. And as he’s dying, there’s a criminal dying next to him. He’s lived a terrible life – he admits that he deserves the death sentence he’s received. But he does admit it. And as he struggles for breath, biting back the pain, he looks at Jesus and asks,
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
He’s saying, Help. You’re the King, I know that. I’m going to die and I’m not sure that’s going to be the worst of it. Please have mercy on me, I want to be with you in your kingdom.
He knows he’s helpless. There’s literally nothing he can do now but die. No chance left for good deeds, no chance left to earn his way, to pay off everything he’s done. All he has is ‘Please’. All he can do is throw himself at Jesus and trust that somehow this King can save him. And Jesus says:
“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” He says yes.

For both men, it’s the same decision – one with half a life ahead of him, and one with just a few hours more of excruciating pain. The message of Jesus, the message of Christianity, is that ultimately the question is not how many points have you earnt. It’s not some crazy system whereby you could have been on track for an eternity with God but then in your last day you got angry with your mate and said something you shouldn’t have and you slipped beneath the pass mark. Or where you weren’t going to make it but in a rush of last minute fear you gave away all your money just in case it would help you get into heaven and it actually works.

The question Jesus asks of people is, Who are you counting on to get you God’s approval? Yourself? Are you relying on your own merits, achievements, character, record? Do you reckon that you’re probably a good enough person that if there’s a God he should be generally pleased with you? He’s supposed to be pretty forgiving anyway, right?

Or have you looked at Jesus and felt all your good deeds falling apart in your hands – because this is something else entirely. Have you let Jesus show you that you are lost and you don’t even know the way home? Have you thrown yourself at him and said, ‘Jesus, can I rely on you instead? Can I come with you?’

And the answer to that question, when it’s really asked, is always, Yes, child. Yes of course.

Piggy-backs.

Jesus was always picking up little children and telling people that the way to the kingdom of heaven was to be like one of them. Which confused people quite a lot, I think. But I love that idea because when I was a kid, I loved getting piggy-backs. I was asking for piggy-backs all the time. And in everything he did, everything he said, Jesus kept telling people, basically:

You want to come to God? You want to find your way into a relationship of love with him that will last forever? There is a way – absolutely there is. But you’ll need a piggy-back.

And he grins, and crouches down, with one knee on the ground – and he bends his back forward – and it reminds you of how he looked on that day as he staggered, bleeding and faint, under the weight of his own cross. And he looks up and asks:

Do you want to get on?