The Heartbeat of Jesus
Lying back on Jesus’ chest was one of His disciples, whom Jesus loved.
(John 13:23)
Over two thousand years ago this Thursday, Jesus’ best friend leaned against His chest and undoubtedly felt, sensed, heard the beating heart of God. It’s a strange and intimate detail not evident in every translation of this passage, but it is there. I wonder what John, self described as “the disciple who Jesus loved” heard in that moment. Was Jesus’ heart nervous and thumping loudly? Or was it resolute, regular, and strong—steady enough to calm the anxiety John was undoubtedly feeling as he listened to his beloved Rabbi predict his immanent death?
Over two thousand years ago this Thursday, Jesus felt his own heart beating and breaking as he broke bread with a close friend who would betray him in a matter of hours. “This is my body, broken for you.” Jesus, brave and beautiful with sorrow, did you look Judas in the eyes as you said those words? Did Judas know that the heart of God was broken for him before he drew his first breath? Did he even suspect that the heart of God ached to be more than enough for him, even when he received the thirty pieces of silver in exchange for his Rabbi’s life?
Though it is nothing compared to what the son of God suffered, I have felt the surprise of my own heart not working as it is supposed to this week. An afternoon spent in the ER with wires attached to my chest and wrist, monitoring my arrhythmic heartbeat, served as a simple and timely reminder that the son of God’s heart broke open for all of humanity upon the cross. That Jesus suffered in his human, 33-year-old body.
Having carried the story of Jesus’ death in me from early childhood, I’ve found it’s easy to become desensitized to the tragedy and horror, to the humanity and sorrow, of the crucifixion. Like Jesus’ disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane, I fall asleep at the moment Jesus most needs me to be awake and keep watch with him. In an attempt to wake us up to the horror of Good Friday, Dr. Cahleen Shrier, professor of biology and chemistry at Azusa Pacific University, describes the physical and psychological torture Jesus experienced on the cross in her graphic article “The Science of the Crucifixion”:
The collapsing lungs, failing heart, dehydration, and the inability to get sufficient oxygen to the tissues essentially suffocate the victim. The decreased oxygen also damages the heart itself (myocardial infarction) which leads to cardiac arrest.
In severe cases of cardiac stress, the heart can even burst, a process known as cardiac rupture. Jesus most likely died of a heart attack.
Jesus most likely died of a heart attack. What does it mean that someone loves us enough to be broken in body, heart, and spirit for us two thousand years before we were born? What does it mean that Love broke its own heart to heal us by giving us new hearts, keeping his ancient promise to the point of death?
“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.”
(Ezekiel 36:26)
It was and is our wounds Jesus bore, heavily pregnant with our collective and individual brokenness. Perhaps it will take an eternity for us to fully live into what that kind of love means. Maybe Jesus even forgives our lack of understanding what it truly cost him to carry such love in his body—to feel the excruciating reality of his own heart breaking—each year as we honor his death and celebrate his resurrection. Perhaps poetry is the only thing that can come close to articulating the depth of his blood-blossoming love for us:
I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine; he browses among the lilies.
(Song of Songs 6:3)
My sister Jeanine shared this poem by James A. Pearson with me recently; I invite you to read it through the holes in Jesus’ hands and feet:
All That’s Required of You
Did you know
there will be poppies
again this year?
It’s true. I’ve seen
their muted green fractals
stockpiling sunlight,
distilling it down
to its purest essence
before igniting into slow motion fireworks.
In the end, isn’t this all
that’s required of you?
To drink in what you love,
to concentrate it
in the crucible of your body,
and, finally, to bloom.
Beloved, the One who called out, “I thirst,” from the cross drank in His love for us, concentrating it in the crucible of his body as his wounds bloomed with blood and living water. No matter where we find ourselves this Easter weekend, may we lean in close enough to listen for the heart of Jesus—fervent unto death, silenced by the grave, reborn into resurrected life—broken and beating for us.
In the end, isn’t this all
that’s required of you?
Going Deeper: On Easter Sunday, listen to “His Heart Beats” by Andrew Peterson.
His heart beats, His blood begins to flow
Waking up what was dead a moment ago
And His heart beats, now everything is changed
'Cause the blood that brought us peace with God
Is racing through His veins
And His heart beats . . .