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ALL OR NOTHING

In the wonderful story, Flee the Captor, you can read about the life-saving adventures of Christian hero John Weidner. During World War II he and other believers operated an escape network called "Dutch-Paris," which helped more than 1,000 Jews, refugees, and Allied airmen get through the barbed-wire fences of Nazi-occupied France and into Switzerland or England. It's a terrific, thrilling story, and if you've never read this book, Flee the Captor, I highly recommend it.

But there's one scene of agony near the end, where the French Gestapo finally captures Weidner, the "(quote) big fish" of Dutch-Paris. The Nazis are thrilled that they've nabbed such a juicy prize, and they're determined to get out of him all the secrets — the names, the routes, the contact points — of his escape organization. And Weidner describes his emotions as he realizes that these brutal men, these gendarmes, are about to torture him. They're going to beat him, rip his flesh. They've perfected the infamous bathtub torture, where a man is held under water — freezing cold water — until he's about to pass out. And then they scream at him to confess, to tell. If he doesn't talk, more water. More choking. Right up to the point of drowning, over and over. Then combined with electrical shocks, which would create pain of almost unbelievable proportions.

So the men say to him: "We want those names." And here's Weidner's reply:

"I know what you want. If I give you the names of these French people, then you will have them arrested. Some will be tortured; many will be deported to Germany or Poland. Some will be killed. The French people working with us have confidence in me. They know I will never give their names, because my conscience would not let me do so. You can cut my tongue out, put out my eyes — anything — but I will not give their names. I will not betray those people."

That's a brave speech, isn't it? And yet Weidner knows what's ahead. Earlier in the book, he describes how a Christian friend, David Verloop, in Belgium, was also captured. Knowing that the Gestapo was about to torture him to get all his secrets, he suddenly pulled away from his guards and hurled himself headfirst down a long flight of stairs. He was dead by the time he reached the bottom — the kind of suicide where you give your life for others. And now back to Weidner, as he faces down his own captors. The book adds this note:

"As he spoke, Weidner suddenly felt supremely sure that God would give him strength to withstand any torture which might come. He also felt sure that this hour might be the worst he had ever experienced."

Well, without telling the entire story, I can share with you that God delivered Weidner from that hour of torture. He died peacefully right here in Southern California just a few years ago. But I want us to think about that line, where a man knows, absolutely knows, that his very worst day is ahead. Because as we finish up this week regarding a "must-see" Thursday night, we're now in the Garden of Gethsemane. And we don't want to think about the problems of Peter any longer, or the crisis faced by Caiaphas, or the job done by Judas. Today we want to think about Jesus, and what He was going through. Let's read a bit from Luke chapter 22, and this comes after their time together in the upper room, where Jesus had washed the disciples' feet and celebrated the Last Supper with them:

"Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and His disciples followed Him." Judas had already slipped out, you remember, to do his deed of betrayal. "On reaching the place, He said to them, ‘Pray that you will not fall into temptation.' He withdrew about a stone's throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, ‘Father, if You are willing, take this cup from Me; yet not My will, but Yours be done.' . . . And being in anguish, He prayed more earnestly, and His sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground."

In Matthew's account of this moment, Jesus says to His followers:
"My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.""

In Mark:
"He fell to the ground and prayed that if possible the hour might pass from Him."

If you read through these passages in the King James, especially in the book of Luke, you find the word agony:

"And being in an AGONY he prayed more earnestly: and His sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground."

Commentators note that this word, agonia, which does mean what it sounds like, "agony," is only used in the New Testament this one time. Here on this Thursday night, this pivotal evening, Jesus Christ is in agony. He, the strong Leader, the Messiah, the Mighty God, says to His eleven sleepy friends: "I'm dying here. I'm afraid. I'm so filled with sorrow that I'm near death."

Now we have to ask: why? Why was Christ in such anguish? Other Christians have faced death with relative calm, with prayers and singing. Even John Weidner, looking at those devices of torture, was confident that God would see him through. Why was Jesus afraid?
I mentioned a line back on Monday, and I want to return to it here. It's from Dr. Roy Adams' powerful book, The Nature of Christ, and it gives us some perspective:

"The struggle in the Garden of Gethsemane represented the final, titanic showdown of Christ's earthly ministry."

In other words, this was it! The fate of the world was right here! Not Friday, not a week later, not a year later. Right now, this Thursday evening. Would Jesus go through to Calvary, or would He pull out? Would He stay and die for this wretched human race — these Judases, and three-time deniers like Peter, and people like you and me — or would He call for 10,000 angel troops to rescue Him? Which would leave every single one of us eternally lost.

You know, many Christian theologians debate an interesting question, and it's this: Was it even possible for Jesus to sin? Being of holy character, with the Holy Spirit as His Father, was it spiritually possible for Christ to listen to, and fall prey to, His ancient enemy Lucifer? And I have to say this here, with all due respect: If it wasn't possible for Jesus to sin on this Thursday night, then someone forgot to tell Satan about it. Because here in the garden, he hits his adversary with everything he's got. Here's a bit more from Roy Adams' book:

"Recognizing that the game was almost over, the devil pulled out all the stops. That night, the entire attention of the hosts of hell was focused on one place and one place only — the Garden of Gethsemane. Athens was free of devils that evening, I think. And so also were Rome and Corinth and Ephesus and all the cities, towns, and hamlets of the world." And then he quotes from another bestseller writer on the life of Jesus, where the author makes the same point: "The serpent himself made Christ the mark of every weapon of hell."

You know, friend, I could describe for you the graphic details about crucifixion: the pain, the unrelenting agony. Or talk about discouragement — where you've tried for 33 years to rescue people who don't care. I could talk about a hot Jerusalem sun and about blood and a crown of thorns. But the simple fact is that you and I cannot imagine what Jesus went through on that Thursday night when every single dark force, every evil angel in the universe, got down in the dirt and tortured Jesus Christ.

There are no words to describe the horror of that; suffice it to say that even our strong Savior, Jesus, asked God to release Him from it. Even Jesus, who loves us so much, said to His Father, "If there's any OTHER way, then let's take that instead." But then these incredible seven words: "Not My will, but Thine be done." And He got up out of the mud, strengthened by angels, the Bible tells us, and set His face toward Calvary.

And then He did something which can be the most overused, worn-out, tired-and-stale cliché in all of religion, or it can be the most important "must-see" moment of my life and yours. Here it is: Jesus went to Calvary . . . and friend, He died for YOU.

That's all. He died for YOU. He took your place, and He died for YOU. All the agonia, the anguish, of Thursday night, was experienced in your place. The taunts and screams of Lucifer should have come at you . . . but He took them. The death for sin should have come to you . . . but He took it. The separation from God, always caused by sin, should have been experienced by you, but He suffered it instead. For you. And for me too.
And this is not television. This is not NBC, with "must-see" sitcoms. This Thursday night is THE turning point of history, and then there's just one more turning point where you — just YOU, this one radio listener — stops to think about it.

And I close by saying this. What we have here is not sort-of-important. Or . . . kind-of-crucial. The writer C. S. Lewis makes a point which goes right to the heart of this Thursday night.

"One must keep on pointing out that Christianity is a statement which, if false, is of no importance, and, if true, of infinite importance. The one thing it cannot be is moderately important."

And friend, he's absolutely right. The choice you and I make about this thing called the Christian faith, and Calvary, and that universal, monumental decision moment at Gethsemane, is either NOTHING . . . or EVERYTHING.
To me it appears to be everything. It IS everything. How about you, here on July 13, 2001 — how does it look to you?