The Shroud of Turin - Is It the Lord?

Then Simon Peter, who was behind him, arrived and went into the tomb. He saw the strips of linen lying there, as well as the burial cloth that had been around Jesus’ head. The cloth was folded up by itself, separate from the linen. John 20:6-7

Jesus Christ was beaten. He was scourged. He was nailed to a wooden cross and raised into the air to die. And when it was over his friends removed his body from the cross, wrapped him in a burial cloth, and laid him to rest in a tomb. And it was done. But what his disciples found when they returned that first Easter morning changed the world. The tomb was empty. Except for one thing. The piece of fine white linen in which they’d placed his body…it was still there.

*

Today an ancient artifact exists that many believe to be that cloth. Others disagree. But no one knows for sure, because its origin remains unknown. The Roman Catholic Church considers it a holy relic, others a clever hoax. It’s a true mystery. It’s called The Shroud of Turin.

“What we are doing here,” said Dr. John Jackson, U.S. Air Force Academy, leader of the Shroud of Turin Research Project (STURP), “is seeking the truth…we want to apply the scientific method.”

And they did just that. Forty specialists traveled to Turin, Italy from all over the world. They unloaded crate after crate of scientific equipment, and spent five exhausting days examining the Shroud. They used microscopes and spectrographs. They removed pollen samples from the threads. They used visible light, ultraviolet, x-ray and infrared. Produced undistorted photographs, as precise as optics allow. And they applied the scientific method, never stopping to rest, while the weight of global responsibility weighed heavy on their shoulders. And in the end their work proved priceless, for what they found dazzled the world.

The Shroud is a well-preserved linen cloth 14’ 3” long and 3’ 7” wide. It bears the sepia-colored image of a nomadic shepherd, an anatomically correct likeness of a man tortured in every way consistent with the scriptural account of Christ’s passion. At arm’s length the form appears hazy and indistinct, but from a distance it takes on the shape of a man, his face and bodily features remarkably real, riddled with bloody wounds that paint a ghastly portrait of death.

Upon completion of their work, Jackson and his team took their findings back to their research facilities and labs, and over the course of three years developed the following statement:

“We can conclude for now that the Shroud image is that of a real human form of a scourged, crucified man. It is not the product of an artist. The bloodstains are composed of hemoglobin and also give a positive test for serum albumin. The image is an ongoing mystery and until further chemical studies are made, perhaps by this group of scientists, or perhaps by some scientists in the future, the problem remains unsolved.”

Could the Shroud be the burial cloth that covered the Lord Jesus Christ? Well over the next few weeks I will share with you some of my discoveries. Knowledge I gained on a journey that began thirty years ago when, for sixteen remarkable weeks, I worked in the shadows of geniuses—Dr. John Jackson, Leader of STURP, and Professor Vernon Miller, Brooks Institute of Photography, the Chief Scientific Photographer for STURP. These two remarkable men took me under their wings, taught me the meaning of scientific discovery, and shared with me riches I will treasure the rest of my life.

The Shroud of Turin—Is It The Lord?

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The Wonder of Easter Morning

"They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!" John 20:2

Anguish. Pain. Traumatic shock. Death! Do you understand what Jesus Christ did for you? The price he paid for your soul? Well let’s take a look and see what happened, because it’s Easter once again. And it’s time you knew the truth…

He knew what was coming: His darkest hour. A time of unbridled evil the likes of which the world had never known. It was his appointed time, time to stand alone against the forces of darkness, and the thought of what was coming was more than he could bear.

"Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me, yet not my will, but yours be done."

Surely his heart pounded as he uttered that prayer. His head throbbed, his chest ached, and his blood pressure rose so high that a mixture of bloody sweat and oil oozed to the surface of his skin. He shivered as he knelt in that shadowy garden, cold, alone, and frightened, aware of the excruciating death that awaited him, now just hours away.

"Father," he prayed, "the time has come."

An angry mob arrived bearing swords and clubs. They surrounded him, arrested him, and then led him quickly away. He stood for their questioning, their mockery and their scorn, and then submitted to their cruel sharp whips as they beat him again and again. His torturers laughed and cursed, striking him without end until his battered skin fell away in ribbons of bloody flesh. "Hail, King of the Jews," they taunted, throwing a purple robe across his back. They thrust a crown of thorns upon his head and struck it with their staffs. The blows jarred his senses and drove the needle sharp thorns deep into his scalp. Then half-dead and humiliated he was led before his judge and forced to stand in submission as Pilate announced his fate.

"Crucify him!"

Oh, what horrific images must have ricocheted through his mind. He was to be crucified, nailed to the very piece of wood that they were strapping across his back. He picked up the heavy patibulum—the upper beam of the cross—and started to walk, but his tortured body could take no more. His knees buckled. He fell. The timber pushed him down and pinned him to the ground, shoving his face into the dirt and crushing the bridge of his nose. His nostrils filled with hot dusty soil. Agony gripped his soul.

"You," the chief guard shouted, pointing into the crowd. "Pick it up! You’ll carry it the rest of the way!" A stout African stepped forward and lifted the heavy board. "Now get up," the guard shouted, striking Christ atop the head. "Get going. Move!"

Christ struggled to rise. He dragged his tortured body through the city gate and up the steep dirt path that led to the top of the hill, Golgatha, that horrible sun-bleached mountain that bore the face of a skull. Could he hear the enemy taunting him, I wonder, whispering in his ear? Could he see the other two crucified there? The post to which he’d be nailed? How awful must that sight have been. But how remarkable his courage. Up the hill he trudged, each step harder than the last, until he made it to the top and paused to catch his breath. But his executioners showed no mercy. Wasted no time. They knocked him to the ground, pinned his hands and feet, and then placed a spike against each wrist and let the hammers fly.

Clang! Clang!

The cold steel spikes pierced his hands and pushed the bones apart, and fiery jolts of energy shot inward to his chest. Agonizing was the pain. Paralyzing the effect. Spasm after spasm gripped his core. His trunk began to quiver, his teeth to chatter and cringe.

"Raise him," the chief guard shouted. "Get him up there, now!"

The soldiers grunted as they lifted the heavy beam with Christ attached. He hung by the nails in his freshly pierced wrists. And the pain was blinding. The agony beyond belief. Six feet high they raised him, seven, maybe more, until the patibulum dropped into position atop the mighty post.

"Grab his feet."

The soldiers bent his legs, held his feet against the post. Clang! Jesus cried out in agony. Clang! Excruciating pain crippled his core. His heart pounded, his mind screamed for reason. His tortured feet quivered, his hands grew cramped and numb. The soldiers backed away. The people mocked and scorned. And Christ was left to hang on the post—

"Crucified!"

His chest wall, paralyzed by painful impulses and the weight of his outstretched arms, spasmed and heaved. He stood up on his impaled feet to catch a breath of air, but the pain was overwhelming. Relief impossible to find.

"My God…why have you forsaken me?"

Jesus hung on the cross for hours, battling to breathe, while soldiers gambled for his clothes and animals nipped at his feet. And slowly but surely, deep in shock, weak from blood loss and pain, the human Christ began to wither as his body slipped away. His heart became congested with blood, his lungs heavy and stiff. And soon the act of breathing, even shallow gulps of air, became impossible. The carbon dioxide in his blood reached toxic levels. Soon organs systems began to fail, and tissues began to die.

Most human beings would have lost consciousness by this point, but Jesus? He was more than a simple man. He was the Son of God. And somehow, miraculously, he stayed lucid to the end. He gazed down upon the crowd, at his enemies and his friends, then he drew a shallow breath and murmured his final prayer.

"It is finished."

Finished. All the anguish and pain. That terrible asphyxiating death. Yes, finished. Completed. Jesus Christ paid for our sins, paid the debt in full. But all that would be meaningless if not for Easter morning…

*

"Come! Quickly," Mary Magdalene shouted. "I have seen the Lord!"

Jesus’ disciples raced to the cave. They peered inside the tomb. "Where is he?" they must have whispered, stepping inside the room. "I don’t see him anywhere. He’s not here!" But on the bench where Jesus’ body had been placed they saw the linen burial cloth, and another piece of cloth that had been wrapped around his head. It was folded up by itself, lying neatly to one side.
Folded up? Lying neatly to one side? Is this a picture of violence? Unbridled evil or rage? What happened inside that tomb? We may never know, but we do know this, that tomb could not contain the Lord. For Easter morning is not about pain or suffering. It’s not about sorrow and death. It’s about life. Resurrection. The culmination of God’s ultimate plan. It’s about that wonderful day that Jesus Christ rose, to overcome death forever.

Do you see now? Do you understand the crucial price that Christ paid for your sins? Well raise your hands and rejoice, for Jesus Christ is risen. He’s alive! It’s the wonder of Easter morning.

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Exactly What He's Doing

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on our own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight. Proverbs 3:5-6

If someone had told me nineteen years ago that I’d still be a paramedic today, and a teacher, I would have said, "No way. I have bigger plans for my life." But thank God, He knew better…

Tricia was an outstanding student. So dedicated. So sincere. Seventeen years old with the warm, bubbly personality of a high school cheerleader and some of the best study habits I had ever seen, but try as I may, I just couldn’t imagine her elbows deep in a bloody EMS call. She looked too fragile. She’d never make it on the street. So I could hardly believe what I was about to hear.

"Mr. Patterson, you’ll never believe it!"

"What?"

"You remember how you taught us to do the Heimlich maneuver? On a conscious person with an obstructed airway?"

"Yeah?"

"Well it works," she exclaimed. "I saved a man’s life!"

"You what?"

"I’m serious! We were at Taco Bell eating lunch? And this man? He stood up at the next table grabbing his throat? And it was, like, so obvious he was choking, you know? So I asked him, ‘Can you cough? Can you talk?’ He shook his head. ‘I know the Heimlich Maneuver,’ I said. ‘Turn around!’ He did. And then I just did what you taught us—I wrapped my arms around him and gave him five abdominal thrusts. And guess what, this big wad of food came shooting out of his mouth! Can you believe it? I mean, I really did it! I saved somebody’s life!"

*

Yes, I had a plan for my life, but God knew better. And He used little Tricia to prove it. He led me down a different path than the one I would have chosen, and while we were walking He used me in ways I never could have imagined—to teach people, to mentor them, and amazingly, even to help them save a few lives.

Do you have big plans? Well before you spend another day chasing your dreams, seek the Lord. Acknowledge Him and see where He leads you. And then one day if you realize that He used you to accomplish mighty deeds, don’t be surprised—He’s an awesome God! And He knows exactly what He’s doing.

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Wake Up, Lord. Save Me!

The disciples went and woke him, saying, "Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!" He replied, "You of little faith, why are you so afraid?" Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm. Mt 8:25-27

"How long was she under?"

"Five minutes?" the teenager cried. "Maybe more, I don’t know!"

I scooped my patient out of the water and laid her on a dry portion of cement beside the pool. The pretty little pig-tailed girl with chubby cheeks and dimples looked to be about eight years old, and as cute as a button, but her lightly freckled face looked dull and colorless, her eyes as lifeless as a plastic baby doll’s.

"I only took my eye off of her for a minute," her sister exclaimed. "I’m so sorry! Is she going to be all right?"

"Quick," I said tearing open the plastic wrapper for an Ambu-bag. "Get the monitor." My partner grabbed the EKG monitor and removed the electrode cables. "Somebody start compressions." I placed the resuscitator unit over the patient’s mouth and gave the bag a squeeze. Her chest rose and fell. Water trickled from the corner of her mouth. One of the firefighters removed his helmet and knelt by my side. He placed his hands on her chest and started pushing against her breastbone with a verbal cadence of one, and two, and three…

"Folks," I heard my partner say, "please stand back. Give us room." He pulled the backing off of a sticky electrode pad and attached it to one of her legs. He repeated the process on each of her other limbs while the firefighter and I performed CPR. "Okay," he said turning on the unit. The EKG monitor beeped. A harsh, erratic, jumpy yellow line traced across the screen. "Let’s take a look." He placed a hand on the firefighter’s arm. "Hold compressions."

The firefighter stopped. I held my breath. The EKG line flattened out, hiccuped once, and then grew into a regular patern of uniform complexes. Oh, thank you, Jesus!

I gave our patient two more full ventilations and then watched in amazement as she opened her eyes and began to cough and choke. We rolled her onto her side, careful to protect her head and neck as the clear pool water drained from her mouth and nose. "Non-rebreather," I said reaching out and snapping my fingers. Someone placed a hissing oxygen mask into my hand. I placed it over her face and waited, speaking quietly to her and praying silently as I coaxed her back to life. "Come on," I said. "You can do it. Come on back to us, come back." And slowly but surely she did. She pinked up. Her eyes opened. And then as if waking from a nightmare and realizing it was all just a terrible dream she closed those innocent blues again and began to cry. I closed mine too, but I began to pray. "Thank you, Lord. Oh, thank you, Lord."

*

Lord, I’m struggling. I feel like I’m drowning down here. I can see the surface but I just can’t seem to get there. Help me! Give me your hand, Lord. Please save me!

Have you been there? Where the cares of this world make you feel like you’re about to drown? Well next time you find yourself in the midst of a raging tempest with the wind shrieking and waves crashing all around, remember you’re not alone. Jesus is right there with you.
"Save us," his Disciples cried. "We’re going to drown!"

And look what Jesus did. He woke from his sleep. He stood and boldly rebuked the storm. And the wind and waves subsided. And peace fell over the scene.

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Finished But Not Over

But when they came to Jesus and found that he was already dead, they did not break his legs. Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water. Jn 19:33-34

Why did he do it? He could have called down a legion of angels. Destroyed the entire Roman army and easily saved himself. So why didn’t he? What’s this all about anyway? Who was this man, Jesus?

"Cut them down!"

"But, sir, they’re still alive."

"Then get the mallet. Break their legs!"

The cross. It was such an evil game. And the Legionnaires played it well. They knew exactly where to place the nails to elicit maximum pain. The perfect angle to bend the legs. The cruel effects of traumatic shock.

The horrible wooden mallet swung. The convicted criminal’s lower leg bones cracked. He screamed in agony as his battered limbs gave way. His weight fell against his tightly bound wrists and the slow process of suffocation began. The second victim’s death was much the same. The mallet flew. He emitted a terrible scream. His bent legs collapsed beneath him, and his constricted chest could no longer breathe. Asphyxiation set in. But then they came to Jesus…

"This one’s already gone," the Legionnaire exclaimed.

"Make sure of it!"

"Sir, you saw what happened! When he took his last breath. The earth shook. Thunder rolled. The sky turned dark as night. You saw it! Surely this man was the Son of God!"

"Give that to me!" The chief guard grabbed a long sharp spear and thrust the tip into Christ’s bare chest. A mixture of blood and water flowed from his wounded side. But there was no movement. No crying. The spirit had already left his body. Jesus Christ was dead.

"He’s finished," the guard shouted. "Cut him down."

And that was it.

*

Why did he do it? Why? Because he loved us that much. Jesus could have saved himself but he chose to die, to offer himself as a living sacrifice for you and me. He suffered that horrible, painful death so that we might live forever. In the eyes of the world it was over. Jesus lost. But don’t be fooled. It may have been finished when Christ drew his final breath on the cross, but it was NOT over. His death was just the beginning. The best was yet to come! For this man, Jesus Christ? He was the Son of God, and he was about to reveal God’s ultimate plan.

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