Several things come to mind when one thinks of gardens: Nature. Life. Flourishing. Fruit. Vegetables. Pollinators. Beauty. Colors. Fragrances.

And in the Bible: New beginnings. In the opening pages of Genesis is a garden—within the newness of the entire earth, which is within the newness of the entire cosmos. In the final pages of Revelation is a garden—fed by a stream emanating from the throne of God, flowing out into the entire world, to which all who are thirsty may come and drink.

Are still disciples. It’s not only those who follow Jesus most openly, out in the daylight for all to see who are following him. Sometimes the faithful and devoted just keep it quieter.

Consider Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus. Joseph was only a disciple in secret. Nicodemus only came to Jesus at night so that he wouldn’t be spotted.

Yet it was these two who cared for Jesus’ body after the crucifixion, and at significant personal material cost. While they may have followed Jesus in the shadows while he was alive, in his death they took a risk by giving him a proper Jewish burial. While they may have previously been timid before others on the ruling council, they at least had strong enough stomachs to deal with such a brutalized body.

Is 20/20, as the saying goes. Which is often true in the Bible as well.

The creative way in which many of the New Testament writers utilize the Old Testament is often not so much a matter of what we would call “good hermeneutics,” at least by 21st century standards, (and depending on which branch of the Church you find yourself in), but I would call it “prophetic hermeneutics.” Not “prophetic” in a flat, telling-the-future way, but more like the past helping to make sense of the present.

And not only to make sense of the present, but to give language that allows one to talk about the present to others in a way that is compelling, eye-opening, and life-giving.

Or at least that’s what we know to be conventionally true.

Each of the Gospel writers give a lot of details in the account of Jesus’ arrest, torture, and execution. All of which helps to illustrate one basic important fact: Dead is dead. Roman soldiers were extremely good at their business. And their business was death. No one could survive all that the Empire had to dish out.

A final spear to the side served as confirmation.

Which, I know, is a really hard thing to believe as Americans. We have oh so many oh so important things to accomplish and such little time to do it in.

What do we want? Success! And when do we want it? Yesterday!

Our calendars are our idols. They rule us like gods, rather than us utilizing them like tools. The problem with idols is that they make big promises about success and happiness, but then—after they have exacted their exorbitant fees from us—all they deliver is damage and sorrow.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus started his public ministry at a wedding party. He turned ordinary water into the most delicious wine. This was “the first of the signs through which he revealed his glory.”

In the same Gospel, Jesus finished his public ministry at a more grotesque public display. Right before he took his final breath he was given a low-class drink of wine vinegar to drink. “It is finished.” This was the last of the signs through which he revealed his glory.

Causes can bond people together. So can our values. An inspiring mission or vision can rally people. Sometimes a good, clear goal can do it. The thrill of some exciting shared moment can have a lingering, unifying effect.

Those are all good things, don’t get me wrong. But the bonds they forge are usually rather fleeting. And maybe that’s fine as far as it goes. Let us give thanks.

If you’re gambling for last place, for the thing no one really wants, only to see who walks away with the most unwanted prize, then you might be playing the wrong game with the wrong crowd.

If you’re the Roman soldier who goes home at the end of the day bragging to his wife, saying, “Look, Honey! I won a criminal’s briefs in a Craps game!” Well, then you deserve all the scorn she has to dish out.

He was king. Pilate was more right about this than he knew. Although, in a different way than he or anyone expected. So they missed it.

His authority and glory were not the audacious claims of a madman, as the religious leaders believed. His exercise of power and justice was not the steel-fisted heavy-handedness of Rome. The installation of his government was not by the usual political and forceful means that even his own disciples expected and hoped for.

Is essential to being understood. It does you little good to say anything at all if you’re only speaking your own language that the other person can’t interpret.

This is what all parents know. The babbling of a baby can be cute and all, but when real communication with actual intelligible words begins to happen, it’s a game-changer.

This is what all good public communicators know. An audience can only receive what is being expressed if it’s in words that they know, words they are familiar with and mostly use in their daily life.