Wretched Man That I Am!
Who will deliver me from this body of death?

Mar

12

Satan’s Hour -> Christ’s Hour

Filed Under Easter

The battle started when I was 12 years old and in 7th grade. My next oldest brother was 14 and in 9th grade. This was back in the day of Junior High School (not middle school) so 7-9th grade went to the same school. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him at all. We got along well on Sundays and Holidays. It was just that, well… he was 14 and I was 12.

There was the fact that I didn’t like the way he ate.

Take breakfast.

He wouldn’t just eat Cap’n Crunch. He was repugnant. He would take a big spoonful of cereal, put it in his revolting 14 year old mouth and first, suck all the milk out (”Sllluuurp… slurp…”), then he would mush the remaining sugar bombs in his mouth (”Smack… smack”). Finally, he would swallow it, but even that wasn’t quiet (”GULP… gurgle… ” <small burp>). One bite down, only about 20 to go. But even then, when I thought my torment was ending, he would pick up the box and pour another bowl. All this while I quietly sat eating my very quiet Cream of Wheat.

Normally, I could make it through breakfast, but this time I flew across the table… “STOP IT!!!” Bowls, spoons, the Cap’n, and Cream of Wheat all flew through the air–ever notice that dried Cream of Wheat is much like concrete? I knew he was eating like that just to bug me and I couldn’t take it anymore. He just sort of laughed, looked at me, asked “WHAT is wrong with you?” and walked off to change clothes.

Some other ways that he demonstrated his awful, sick and unholy ways were:

The list could go on for pages.

Throughout my 7th grade year, I picked fights with him about four days a week (many times it was five). Generally I would have a friend or two over at the time. My friend(s) would simply step aside and watch while my brother and I went at it, knowing this was just part of the afterschool routine at my house (did I mention I was a latch-key child?).

Usually, we both ended up bleeding; sometimes a lot. We tore brand new clothes. We broke dishes and shelves and walls. I threw books and bats and shoes. I would always come very close to beating the hell out of him, but never quite got there. Sometimes we would stop on our own, or my friends would step in and break us up, but more often than not my brother just turned and walked away.

This went on for months.

I knew the day was going to come, though, when victory was mine. I would leave him laying in a bloody pool of teeth and flesh while I played the video games and always won, ate the food (quietly) that I wanted and pirated all the good parts off of his bike and put them on my own.

Late in the Spring the day came. He either had a real bad day. Someone must have stolen or scratched his new Journey album… I’m not sure. Or maybe it was just time.

The whole thing took about 2 minutes.

In one of my, then patented, insane little brother attacks, I charged at him full speed, drool flying out of my mouth, small tick in my left eye. When I was almost to him, he simply stuck up his leg and kicked. I dropped instantly. No air in my body… and none to be found. I gasped for air, all the while planning my counter-attack… broken ribs or not. As he leaned over me, making sure I was humbled but alive, my moment came. I grabbed him by the hair and scratched and head butted and kicked as wildly as I could. In about 10 seconds he had me on my back and had landed about 10 direct punches to my poor little 7th grade face.

I was a crying, bruised, swollen, bloody and humbled mess. After toying with me for months, his time had come. There was a certain amount of order that was to be maintained in our home (or at least between the two of us). I had been in denial for months. I figured I could whoop him… if not today, then tomorrow. My illusions came to a grinding halt that afternoon.

Okay, I apologize. That was a long trip to get here… where am I going with this?

While reading The Cross He Bore (buy this book and read it, it will be the best 4 dollars you may ever spend), by Frederick S. Leahy I read the following regarding “Satan’s Hour” while Christ was praying in the garden.

In this dread hour Satan had free rein. In the case of Job God set a limit to Satan’s activity. In the experience of Christ there were no limits to Satan’s onlaught. He was free to do his worst and he did.

Gethsemane and Calvary marked high noon in the world’s long day, and God’s permission was absolute as Satan mustered his legions for the decisive encounter. The first Adam had been easy prey. How would he fare with this Adam? As Satan entered the battlefield he did so fully conscious of the Word of God: “He shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.” Did he recall his cynical contempt for God’s Word earlier when he asked, “Yea, hath God said?” (Gen. 3:1). Or did he fear the sentence passed in Eden? Doubtless he did. But the hour was fixed. It was decreed by God. When tempting Christ in the wilderness, Satan had done his utmost to deflect him from this hour, to take some other road than the way of the cross, but all in vain. Now the battle had commenced in earnest. Nothing could stop it (my emphasis).

Okay, I know the analogy is very, very weak, horrible even. Christ more than likely did not eat noisily or listen to Journey. And my brother was certainly no Jesus, nor did he believe anyone would be saved by him beating me to a pulp.

It was however, Springtime when he finally kicked my butt (there may have even been Easter Lilies in one of the vases I threw at him). More importantly, I was a little 12 year old Satan and as I read this passage, me and my brother came to mind. So two parallels are enough.

Anyway… my brother could have killed me anytime he wanted, but he just waited for the right time, and he took a lot of beatings while he bided his time.

Again from Leahy:

The struggle in Gethsemane had been fierce. Soon the struggle would be fiercer still. “That old serpent, called the Devil and Satan” had uncoiled and had bared his fangs, poised to strike again and again with all the venom of which he was capable. Trampling on serpents is a most painful experience, especially for the heel.”

Yes, this was Satan’s Hour, but it was at the same time, Christ’s Hour. “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son that your Son may glorify you… ” (John 17:1).

And the battle would soon be over.

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