33

I turned 33 a couple weeks ago. That number is pretty significant to me. One reason is that I’ve always liked the oddness of the number. Another reason is Scottie Pippen – my favorite basketball player of all time who wore #33. But more significant than that is the fact that the man who I worship died when he was 33. His name is Joshua.

Joshua (Yeshua) of Nazareth. Nazareth was the town he grew up in – a small town that nobody thought anything of because no one of any significance came from there. He looked like a regular guy. He had a normal name and normal appearance. If anything, he was unlovely.

Joshua was the son of Joseph, a carpenter. Maybe he was called Joshua, the Carpenter’s son. Maybe people just called him Josh. Josh, the son of Joe from Nazareth. Or maybe he was called Joshua the Bastard. Everyone probably heard the story of his supposed “virgin” birth. Most, it seems, did not swallow that story at the time. The Talmud tells us he was referred to as Joshua of Nazareth. It tells a story about a Joshua of Nazareth who was “wanted.” The posters read, Joshua of Nazareth – “WANTED”…

FOR SORCERY.

And they got him. Man, they nailed him. They literally nailed him to a cross and killed him. Joshua got himself killed. Crucified on a cross when he was 33 because he was saying and doing crazy things.

Joshua of Nazareth. Joshua the Carpenter’s son. Josh, Son of Joe. Joshua the Bastard. Joshua the Sorcerer was killed on a cross… This is the guy I worship as God.

But I’m not the only one. There are a couple billion people on the face of the earth right now who claim to be followers of Joshua of Nazareth. And probably a couple billion more Muslims who consider Joshua of Nazareth to be a Prophet of God. Crazy isn’t it?  Half of the world’s population really like this guy!

Well, we Joshua- followers have a different name for him. We call him Jesus – the English translation we got from the King James guys. Jesus Christ. Jesus the Messiah. Jesus, Lord and Savior.

The thing is, a couple years before Jesus turned 33, he started doing and saying crazy, unexplainable things. Things that some people called miracles from above and others called sorcery from below. And he referred to himself as “Son of God,” and “one with God,” and the “Son of Man”. “Son of Man” was his favorite name for himself – a reference from the Book of Daniel for the one who comes before God to receive authority over the nations. Another reason I think he liked that name so much is that He had never been a son of man before. His man-ness was new. He added man-ness to his God-ness and became the one and only God-man.

Why do I call him, God-man? Because Jesus did what only a God-man could do. Among a thousand other things, he died and came back to life. How do you explain that? You won’t find the bones of Jesus in a tomb to mourn over. He isn’t there.

Now that I’m 33, I’ve been thinking about what people will say about me when I die.  Timothy, Son of Thomas, the blue collar worker? Tim, Son of Tom? Tim the Painter? Bastard?

Will I be hated by some and loved by others? Am I cool with that?

What am I doing that matters? What do I want people to say I was all about?

What would they say about you?