The Horror of the Scourge

“Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. The soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on his head. They clothed him in a purple robe and went up to him again and again, saying “Hail, King of the Jews!” John 19:1-3

Do you realize the suffering that Jesus Christ endured for you? The horror of the scourge? As a paramedic I have seen a lot of cruelty, vile cases and a lot of senseless blood, but I have never seen anything to compare with this. Never!

“Spread his arms,” the chief guard roared. “That’s it, now lash them tight. Tight, I said! Tighter!”

He knew what was coming, and the anticipation alone would have been enough to make most men cry for mercy, but not Jesus. He stood like a man. He knew what he needed to do and he did it. He loved us that much.

“Ha! You call yourself a king?” the chief guard growled. “Let’s see what you got!”

Can you picture it? The King of Kings tied to a splintered post? His hands and arms bound with leather straps? An angry mob pushing in on him, longing to see him bleed? You know Jesus told his disciples how he would die—that he would be handed over to the Gentiles, mocked, insulted, spat upon, flogged, and crucified—but they didn’t understood what he meant. Are you beginning to?

The scourgers readied themelves, one to each side, each with an evil grin on his face and a cat-of-nine-tails in his hand. But these men were not simple savages, hungry animals longing to devour human flesh; they were artists. Roman soldiers skilled in the art of torture. They used practiced precision. Inflicted maximum pain. It was a well rehearsed performance, a punishment equal to the crime.

“Ready,” the guard shouted. “Proceed!”

The first scourger stepped forward gripping his lethal weapon. “King of the Jews, huh? Take this, your majesty!”

With all of his might he swung the wicked instrument. The deadly thongs whipped through the air and struck with exacting purpose, ripping and tearing at Christ’s bare flesh. Blood spewed from his wounds. His body writhed with pain. The scourger stepped back grinning and the second one stepped in, repeating the brutal onslaught as if part of a terrible game. And back and forth they went with their sick, sadistic sport, whipping and lashing, and lashing and whipping, and on and on and on…

Christ’s flesh fell away in bloody chunks leaving behind a mural of horrible stripes. His butchered skin swelled and oozed, capillary beds leaked within, and soon hemorrhagic shock began, setting into motion a downward spiral that would ultimately lead to death. Yes, Jesus probably would have died from these wounds alone, but his time had not yet come. He still had one task to complete.

“Enough,” the chief guard roared quickly tiring of the game. “Cut him down. He’s done.”

The soldiers cut Jesus loose. He stood on shaky legs, his physical body robbed of strength, his spirit pushed to its near limit.

“Here,” a guard bellowed stepping forward and placing a purple robe across his back, “a garment fit for a king.”

“No, take mine!” Another guard shoved a crown of twisted thorns upon Christ’s head. “Behold, your majesty—your crown!” And then someone placed a shepherd’s staff in his hands. And they dropped to their knees in a show of mock respect. And they went on with their cruel taunting, mocking and scorning and laughing and striking him with their fists, and then snatching the staff and hitting him over the head with it again and again to drive the needle sharp thorns deep into his scalp. “Hail, King of the Jews,” they shouted. “Hail!”

He could have broken loose at any time and called a thousand angels to come and stand by his side, but Christ chose to remain. To take the punishment. For he understood that you and I needed a savior, and that without his sacrifice we would have been lost forever. He chose to accept our punishment, a lashing to the point of near death. But the scourging was just the beginning of his ordeal, the worst was yet to come—a wooden cross, a terrible lonesome walk up a hill called Golgatha, and three iron spikes to ensure an excruciating death.

Jesus loves you more than you could ever know. So this Easter morning, as you consider your salvation and rejoice in the meaning of everlasting life, remember the price that Christ paid for your sins. The gruesome, painful torture that he endured. But remember, too, that after all of the blood and suffering, the mockery and humilitation, and the last gasping breaths of a dying man nailed to a cross, there came victory. Total victory. For Christ arose, and in doing so, he defeated death once and for all.

Yes, he arose. Hallelujah, Jesus Christ arose!

*

Pay Careful Attention

"We must pay more careful attention, therefore, to what we have heard…How shall we escape if we ignore such a great salvation?"
Hebrews 2:1-3

He had every right to ignore me. He was a grown man, intelligent and responsible. And it wasn’t like he was complaining of crushing chest pain or shortness of breath. It was only indigestion. At least that’s what he thought. Still, I wish he’d paid better attention to me. If he had, things might have been different…

“Son, it’s just a little heartburn. I’ll be fine, really.”

I studied my patient. For seventy years of age he looked about as fit as man could be. He appeared a little anxious and just a wee bit pale, but considering that he’d just received news of a family member’s death I figured the poor man had every reason to have indigestion. But I couldn’t ignore the feeling there was something more going on with him. I just wasn’t convinced.

“I hope you’re right,” I said, “but you need to understand that there’s no way we can know that for sure. The symptoms you’re describing could indicate something more serious than heartburn.”

“You mean a heart attack?”

“It’s possible.”

“Hogwash.”

“Sir, I’ve been a paramedic for a long time. I’ve treated a lot of people. We can’t rule out a cardiac event.”

“I’m not having a heart attack!”

“Okay. All right. You’re not having a heart attack. But something’s wrong or you wouldn’t have called. At least let me ride you to the ER and get a doctor to check you out. Better safe than sorry.”

“I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all. My cousin just died. My wife’s been sick. And I really don’t have the time or energy to sit in that emergency room all night. Thanks for your concern, but you boys can be on your way now.”

I sighed and glanced at my watch—11:15 p.m. We’d been on the scene for almost twenty minutes. It was time to start wrapping things up. “Andy?” I glanced at my partner. “Any ideas?”

Andy nodded and held up his cell phone. “I’ve got the E-R doc on the line for you. It’s Dr. Smith.”

“Oh, good idea.” I thanked Andy and took the phone. “Dr. Smith, we’re treating a seventy-year-old male complaining of substernal pain that began about two hours ago while watching television. He describes it as burning in nature and initially rated it as a ‘six’ on the ‘one-to-ten scale.’ After aspirin and two rounds of nitroglycerin it’s down to ‘two.’ I explained the possibility that he could be experiencing a cardiac event, but he wants to write it off as heartburn. He’s refusing to come with us.”

“How are his vitals?”

“Vital signs are fine, and his ECG looks okay, but—” I paused and glanced at my patient, “—he’s got that pale uncertain look about him. I get the feeling there’s something more going on here than simple indigestion. I was wondering if you’d mind talking to him.”

Dr. Smith agreed. I handed my patient the phone. I watched him and waited patiently as he conversed with the doctor. He nodded a few times, described his symptoms again, and then shook his head from side-to-side and frowned. “You have all been very kind, and I appreciate your concern, but I’m not going to the hospital tonight.” I watched him nod a few more times, and then he looked at me and handed me back the phone. “He wants to speak to you.”

I took the phone. “He’s adamant,” Smith said. “I tried talking some sense into him but he refuses. Have him sign the right forms. There’s nothing else we can do.”

We had him sign the right forms—releasing us from liability—and then walked back to the truck. We stowed our gear and returned to base. Neither one of us said much. I felt heaviness in my heart. I’d done right, tried the best that I could, but who can change the mind of man who’s already decided?

I lay my head on the pillow. The station grew quiet. I slept for three full hours before the shrill screech of the alert tones awoke me. I sat up and pulled on my boots as the PA speaker crackled and came to life. “Medic-seven,” the dispatcher said her voice anxious and sharp. “Cardiac arrest.” She gave the address. I recognized it immediately. The old man’s face popped into my mind—sweaty and stubborn and pale—and I got a sick feeling in my gut. We hurried back to his house and carried our gear inside and did everything we could to save him, but there’s no raising the dead. Only God can do that.

You have every right to ignore God’s call. No one can deny you that. But pay careful attention—Jesus said, “Remember, therefore, what you have received and heard; obey it, and repent. But if you do not wake up, I will come like a thief, and you will not know at what time I will come to you.”

We are all indebted to sin. Everyone destined to die. But the good news is Jesus paid the price for us, so that through his death and resurrection we might receive eternal life. Do you know Jesus Christ? If not, will you accept this priceless gift today? The wages of sin is death, and you will never escape it…if you continue to ignore his call.

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Answering the Call

Inspirational Devotions From a Tested Paramedic.

Answering the Call is a collection of inspirational stories based on my experiences as a street paramedic in Durham, North Carolina. Each unique story is written as a devotional with an insightful application section that offers the reader a glimpse into God's Word. Use it for your daily devotions. As a guide for your small group study. Or simply to share in my experiences and better understand the lives of paramedics and other first responders.

Are you seeking a closer walk with God? Wondering what comes next? Answering the Call can help you find your way. It reveals the simple truth that Jesus Christ is Lord, and that to follow him is to find true meaning in life. Christ is calling you now. Will you be answering the call?

“The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call.” Acts 2:39

Answering the Call...Available from Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas: http://www.christiandevotionsbooks.com/

Answering the Call...

Inspirational Devotions from a Tested Paramedic. Jesus said, “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” The First Responders in your community do just that. They sacrifice comfort and safety to protect the lives of others, always waiting, and always wondering when they will find themselves answering the next call. I wrote this book for them, but it applies to anyone who searches for courage and hope, struggles with a difficult relationship, or suffers through pain or loss.

Answering the Call is a collection of inspirational stories based on my experiences as a street paramedic in Durham, North Carolina. Each unique story is written as a devotional with an insightful application section that offers the reader a glimpse into God's Word. Use it for your daily devotions. As a guide for your small group study. Or simply to share in my experiences and better understand the lives of paramedics and other first responders.

Are you seeking a closer walk with God? Wondering what comes next? Answering the Call can help you find your way. It reveals the simple truth that Jesus Christ is Lord, and that to follow him is to find true meaning in life. Christ is calling you now. Will you be answering the call?

“The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call.” Acts 2:39
Answering the Call
Paperback: 200 pages
March 1, 2010
ISBN-13: 978-0-9822065-3-9
Price: $9.95

If you would like to read a sample, please click on the following link: http://answeringthecalldevotions.blogspot.com/2010/02/chapter-1.html. If you have any comments or questions please email me at psquare@nc.rr.com. Thank you and enjoy reading!

We Must Stop the Hemorrhage!

If we deliberately keep on sinning after we have received the knowledge of the truth, no sacrifice for sins is left, but only a fearful expectation of judgment and of raging fire that will consume the enemies of God. Hebrews 10:26

A red blood cell is so tiny that over five million of them exist in every drop of blood. That’s 30-trillion in the average sized adult. Thirty trillion! Now that may seem like overkill, but it’s not. For in the vast ocean of formed elements that fill our arteries and veins every one of those red cells is vital for life, so important in fact that God created a second type of cell, called the platelet, to keep the red cells from leaking out. Platelets are sticky. Tenacious. They work together, to form a tight mesh, and ultimately to stop the hemorrhage…

“EMS report for medic-seven…Hemorrhage.”

The loudspeaker made me jump. We were receiving another dispatch, and I just had removed my boots. I pulled them back on and began to lace them up as the dispatcher continued.

“We’ve got one bleeding at 415 Maple Street. Police on scene request a code-three response. Code-three.”

Code-3 means get there fast, someone’s about to die. I finished tying my boots and hurried toward the ambulance. My partner was already behind the wheel with the engine running when I climbed into the passenger seat. I clicked on my safety belt, then I switched on the emergency lights and keyed the truck’s radio mic.

“Medic-seven en route. Responding Code-three.”

“10-4. Medic- seven,” the dispatcher continued, “be advised, you have a twenty-five year old male bleeding heavily. The caller states he punched his fist through a sheet of plate glass. The patient is not breathing.”

“Ten-four.” I replaced the mic and glanced at my partner. “Sounds bad. Let’s go.”

My partner drove out of the bay and hit the gas. I pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves, hung my stethoscope around my neck, and then sat back to think. Would it be a simple laceration? A horrific bloody mess? I’d seen enough trauma to realize the severity of the call. We’d need to act fast, to stop the bleeding before it was too late.

My partner made a hard turn onto Maple Street and slowed the truck. I switched off the siren and lights. He drove to the end of the street and set the brakes. I jumped out and grabbed an orange bag containing trauma supplies and IV fluids. Then I started for the house with my partner by my side.

Halfway up the sidewalk we heard angry shouting. On the front steps a loud scream. Then a soul piercing wail echoed from within the house. “No, no, nooooo!” I stepped onto the front porch and walked carefully across the broken shards of glass that littered the planks. The door hung on its hinges, its plate glass window smashed. I walked into the house and stopped. My patient lay in the center of the room in a wide pool of blood. His blank eyes stared at the ceiling. His skin looked dull and pale.

“Oh Lord! Oh Lord!” A weak kneed middle-aged woman stood on the other side of the room shouting, supported by family members struggling to hold her up. “God,” she cried, “no, no, no, not my baby boy!”

“She found him about ten minutes ago,” one of the cops reported. “I don’t think you can do anything for him, but we called you just in case.”

“No,” the woman cried, gazing at me through tear-stained eyes. “My boy, my boy, tell me he’s okay. Please tell me he’s not dead!”

But he was dead. There was nothing my partner and I could do. The man’s blood had already been spilt. It was too late to stop the hemorrhage.



You know when God designed the human body he created a marvelous mechanism to control bleeding. Platelets respond to the site of injury. They adhere to one another. They form a tight mesh. And once piled upon by circulating fibers, an impenetrable barrier forms. It’s called clotting. But if the damage is too severe and the clotting mechanisms fail, there’s no stopping the hemorrhage. Death will surely come.

Our life in Christ is much the same. If we grow too attached to the world, if we deliberately continue in sin, our souls begin to bleed. So we must become like those platelets. Sticky and tenacious. Obedient to God’s Word. And we must encourage one another by adhering to our fellow believers and working together to stop the hemorrhage in our lives before it is too late. If we fail to do this, more souls will bleed to death and silently slip away.

Don’t allow that to happen. Stop the hemorrhage in your spiritual life. Christ’s blood was shed on your behalf. Accept his marvelous gift of life, and live.

Follow Me!

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.” Mt 16:24

“Follow you? That’s impossible. I can’t do it!”

On 20 October 1944 the leading elements of the 3d Battalion, 34th Infantry—one of the units of the U.S. Army's 24th Division—hit the Philippine island of Leyte on a beach defended by Japanese soldiers occupying a number of large, well-camouflaged pillboxes. The objective was simple: establish a beachhead in order to take the Philippines and break a vital supply line of the Imperial Japanese Navy.

The soldiers hit the beach and almost immediately they found themselves pinned down by heavy machine gun and rifle fire. The beach landing stalled. Casualties began to mount.

To save his men, Regimental Commander Colonel Aubrey S. Newman rose in the midst of the battle and shouted, “Follow me!” And his men did. They swept forward against the Japanese defenders and crushed them. They took the beach and altered the course of the war.

When I first became a Christian, following Christ seemed easy. I read the Bible and went to church. I prayed every day and tried my best to live a good life. And it felt good. Life was easy. But when the honeymoon ended I began to backslide, and for thirty years I walked around half-blind, seeking whatever I pleased and claiming to be a Christian. I learned to frown. I grew a stiff neck. My heart turned cold to God.

But one day while searching His Word, seeking answers to why my life had grown so meaningless, God spoke to me.

“If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.”

“Follow you?” I cried. “I can’t!”

“You must.”

“But, Lord, you don’t understand. I’ve tried to follow you. I can’t keep up with you!”

“That’s because you’re carrying too heavy a load,” I heard Him say. “Drop everything. Follow me.”

When Colonel Newman’s men hit Red Beach that hot October day they left their families and their worldly possessions behind. They left behind their problems, dropped everything they owned, and picked up their weapons. Then they followed their commanding officer into battle, and the beachhead was won.

The Battle of Leyte raged for seventy-seven more days. American forces suffered a total of 15,584 casualties, of which 3,504 were killed in action. Colonel Newman was critically injured, but in the end his victory on that hot Red Beach proved to be a turning point in the Pacific campaign of World War II. The United States obtained an important foothold in the Philippines, and a vital artery of the Imperial Japanese Naval forces was severed.

To follow Jesus Christ means to live a life of obedience. To put on the full armor of God every day, and then like Colonel Newman’s soldiers, to stand up and follow your commanding officer into battle.

Jesus said, “Follow me.”

He gave a direct order. Will you obey Him? Drop what you are doing today. Take up your cross and follow Him into battle. Victory is assured, for Christ has already won.