The Greatest Miracle

unny how close the end of the tax year and Easter can be. Sometimes coinciding. always within a couple of weeks. With apologies to the Inland Revenue, one seems very heavenly, the other very earthly. One minute it's Calvary, the next it's the calculator. One is a reminder of how God paid it all, the other a reminder of what we owe the government. But then again, if the cross doesn't make sense in a common week full of common tasks, when does it make sense? That is the beauty of the cross. It occurred in a normal week involving flesh-and-blood people and a flesh-and-blood Jesus.

Of all the weeks for Jesus to display his powers, his final week would be the one. A few thousand loaves or a few dozen healings would do wonders for his image. Better still a few Pharisees struck dumb would make life simpler. Don't just clean the temple, Jesus, pick it up and move it to Jericho. When the religious leaders mutter, make it rain frogs. And as you are describing the end times, split the sky and show everyone what you mean.

This is the week for razzle-dazzle. This is the hour for the incredible. You can silence them all, Jesus. But he doesn't. Not in Jerusalem. Not in the upper room. Not on the cross. The week, in many respects, is run-of-the-mill. Yes, it’s festive, but its celebrations are due to Passover, not Jesus. The crowds are large, but not because of the Messiah. Jesus wasn't displaying his power. It was an ordinary week.

Nature gave no clue that the week was different than any of a thousand before or after it. The sun took its habitual route. The clouds puffed through the Judean sky. The grass was green and the flowers danced in the wind. Nature would groan before Sunday. The rocks would tumble before Sunday. The sky would put on a black robe before Sunday. But you wouldn't know it by looking at Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday, or even Thursday. The week told no secrets.
The people gave no clue either. For most it was a week of anticipation; a weekend of festivities was arriving. Food to be bought, houses to be cleaned. Their faces gave no forecast of the extraordinary for they knew of none. And most importantly, Jesus gives no clue. His water doesn't turn to wine. His donkey doesn't speak. The dead stay in their graves and those blind on Monday are still blind on Friday.

You'd think the heavens would be opened. You'd think trumpets would be sounding. you'd think angels would be summoning all the people of the world to Jerusalem to witness the event. You'd think that God himself would descend to bless his Son. But he doesn't. He leaves the extraordinary moment draped in the ordinary. A predictable week. A week of tasks, meals, and crying babies. A week which might be a lot like yours. Doubtful that anything spectacular has happened in your week. No great news, no horrible news. No earthquakes shaking your house. No windfalls. Just a typical week of chores and children and checkout lines. It was the same for the people of Jerusalem. On the edge of history's most remarkable hour was one of history's most unremarkable weeks. God is in their city and most miss him.

Jesus could have used the spectacular to get their attention. But he didn't. Even when he emerged from the tomb on Sunday morning, he didn't show off. No angelic choir announcing the event. He simply walked out. Mary thought he was a gardener.

Do you see the point?

God calls us in a real world. He doesn't communicate by performing tricks. He doesn't communicate by stacking stars in the heavens. He's not going to speak to you through voices in a cornfield or a little fat man in a land called Oz. It doesn't make any difference if you are an Aquarius or Capricorn or if you were born on the day Kennedy was shot or England won the World Cup. God's not a trickster. He's not a genie. He's not a magician or a good luck charm or the man upstairs. He is, instead, the Creator of the universe who is right here in the thick of our day-to-day world who speaks to you more through cooing babies and hungry stomachs than he ever will through horoscopes, zodiac papers, or weeping Madonnas.

In the final week those who demanded miracles got none and missed the one. They missed the moment in which a grave for the dead became a throne of a king. Don't make their mistake.
It's ironic isn't it that the Tax Year and the empty tomb come so close together. Maybe it's appropriate. Don't they say that the only two certainties in life are death and taxes? Knowing God, he may speak through something as common as the second to give you the answer for the first.