Character is born in the crushing.
Unfortunately, this is something that I fear amongst worship leaders – really anyone with a platform. We are seeing more and more leaders in the church gain notoriety seemingly overnight. The platform enlarges, but they lack the strength of character to stand on that platform for long.
Character is born in the crushing.
Those seasons where our hearts are broken before the Lord daily. The times we beg for his yoke while stumbling beneath the back-breaking weight of our own. The days that we cry until our head aches and our skin burn from the salty tears that won’t be held back any longer.
And then we get up and go about our Father’s business with a pocket full of tissues, just in case. We meander through our days, praying for His strength to be enough, and dropping little pieces of our shattered hearts along the way. A heart-shaped breadcrumb trail of our day’s activities. All the while muttering, “Nevertheless, not my will, but Yours be done.”
Character is born in the crushing.
“Nevertheless, not my will, but Yours be done.”
I always think of the Garden of Gethsemane when I consider this. Jesus, fully knowing what was to come, praying in the Garden at the base of the Mount of Olives. Olive trees everywhere – maybe even the very trees the disciples were resting against when the Lord chastised them, “Could you not pray with me for one hour?”
Olives and olive oil are a dietary staple in that area. But to get the oil, the olives had to be crushed. So there Jesus sat, taking in the truth that the time had come for Him to walk the Via Dolorosa, bearing His cross all the way up to Golgotha. Enduring the lashes, the stripping of His skin.
And as He considered all of this, the suffering our Savior was to experience manifested as His sweat poured out like drops of blood.
He was crushed, even in that garden of crushing, before a single hand had been raised against Him. He prayed, “Father, if there be any other way, let this cup of suffering pass from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours be done.”
Jesus’ words reveal that even He had a moment where His will did not align with His Father’s.
Jesus’ words reveal that even He had a moment where His will did not align with His Father’s. So maybe it’s ok that ours doesn’t either.
Character is born in the crushing.
If we are to share in His glory, then we must also share in His suffering. Moreover, it is a privilege to take part in the crushing. For now, thanks to Jesus, we are pressed, but not crushed. Persecuted, but not abandoned. Struck down, but never destroyed.
The crushing brings forth the oil. Gethsemane, where Jesus’ sweat was like drops of blood, means “oil press.” The place is named for the crushing. And there is where our Savior chose to pray. He’s so very intentional.
To get the oil out of the olives, they were first put into an olive crusher. Imagine a massive millstone rolling over the olives in step one of the processing, designed to break the skin of the olives to reveal the oil. From there the oil would be strained through a sieve – another round of pressing until the oil dripped into clay jars, ready for use.
If we are to share in His glory, then we must also share in His suffering. Moreover, it is a privilege to take part in the crushing.
Sometimes that millstone ground the olives two, three, even five times before the skin was broken. Sometimes the product was forced through the tiny holes in the sieve over and over until the oil was pure and ready for use.
Character is born in the crushing.
Over and over… until it is ready for use.
It is not fun. It is not an easy life. Jesus never promised us an easy life on the other side of His resurrection. He only promised life. And He warned us well before any of the pressing occurred: In this world you will – not might – have trouble. But take heart. He has overcome the world. And just like our Lord, our crushing cannot kill us.
Character is born in the crushing. His character. His fruit. For His children. Then we will be ready for use. Ready to be on display for Jesus. Strong enough to bear the weight of our positions. Humble enough to know it’s not our glory we’re after.
Character is born in the crushing. His character. His fruit. For His children.
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