The Womb of Faith

April 18, 2025April 18, 2025 / Greg Asimakoupoulos

**Calligrapher Timothy R. Botts renders my Easter poem**

This year my birthday falls on Good Friday. That reality has found me reflecting on the that fact while I’m contemplating my birth seventy-three years ago, Christians around the world are contemplating the death of Christ.

As a follower of Christ, I am also aware that what makes Good Friday good is at the core of what Christians believe. The one I worship was willing to die an undeserved death. And because he was, it makes possible the eternal life he promised when my day for dying eventually comes. In death, there’s life. That spiritual transaction rooted in what took place on that old rugged cross is what many call being “born again.” And so, on a day my family celebrates my physical birth, I am celebrating what made my spiritual rebirth possible.

But here’s the kicker. Our knowledge of what makes Good Friday good was not apparent when the events of that weekend took place. Clearly, what we refer to as Good Friday was not a good day for the One whose death defined it. It was day dominated by a tragic miscarriage of justice. It was a tragic day overshadowed by the torture of an innocent man eventually executed by Roman crucifixion (the most barbarous form of capital punishment of the day).

Jesus’ friends fled in fear hiding from the authorities. Grief-struck women wandered aimlessly without direction. Countless followers of the carpenter-turned-rabbi who had pinned their hopes on this charismatic prophet were devastated. As the result of his death, his teachings, that had fueled thoughts of a messianic kingdom, were called into question.

The body of the popular prophet was wrapped in a linen shroud and buried in a borrowed grave. The cave and the corpse were sealed. The Jewish Sabbath that ushered in that year’s Passover began against the backdrop of unexpected sorrow and undeserved death. As the sun set on Saturday and that sacred Sabbath ended, the long shadows of sadness draped the hearts of Christ’s disciples. There was no reason to suspect anything would alter what appeared to be the new norm.

And then came Sunday. Women brought spices to neutralize the stench of death. But the fragrances they bore were not needed. The grave was open. But no odor needed to be covered. Life had replaced death. Grave clothes were left on the stone slab where the corpse had been positioned. The unexpected sorrow of Friday was now replaced by unexpected celebrations of Sunday.

It wasn’t until the events of Sunday played out that Friday was cast in a positive light. Friday could now be seen as good. Christ’s death was not in vain. With his resurrection there was a validation of his sacrifice two days before.

A few years ago a phrase came to my mind as I contemplated the mystery of the Easter message. The empty tomb is the womb of faith where faith is born anew. I liked the play on words between tomb and womb. Grave and birth. Death and life. In other words, Christ’s resurrection is what grounds our belief system. Easter is the tap root of the Christian faith. To quote the Apostle Paul, if Christ has not been resurrected our faith in his words and the meaning of his death are worthless.

But thanks be to God, Christ is risen. He is risen, indeed! Hope is born anew!

In addition to each week’s post on this website, Greg Asimakoupoulos offers daily video devotionals on his YouTube channel. Here is a sample video. If you are interested in receiving these devotionals Monday through Friday, you can subscribe on Greg’s channel.

It’s Easter Sunday, Again!

May 3, 2024April 30, 2024 / Greg Asimakoupoulos

**The Wounded Lion Monument is one of the most popular attractions in Lucerne, Switzerland**

This weekend Orthodox Christians around the world are celebrating the resurrection of Jesus. Because the Orthodox Church bases its observance of Easter on the ancient Julian calendar (in contrast to the Gregorian calendar followed by Western Christians), the most holy day of Christendom is celebrated on different days. Typically, the two Easters are a week apart. This year there is more than a month separating the two observances.

As a Protestant pastor with Greek ancestral roots, I have historically celebrated both the traditional Easter with my congregations and the Orthodox Easter with my family. When I was a young boy, my dad taught me the Greek Easter greeting. And to this day our family greets one another with “Christos anesti! Alithos anesti!”

This year finds me celebrating both Western and Orthodox Easter in Lucerne, Switzerland. And for both occasions there is the perfect spot in town at which to sit and contemplate the cornerstone of the Christian faith.

If you have ever visited Lucerne, you likely have stopped at the Wounded Lion Monument. This amazing rock sculpture, designed by famed Danish artist Bertel Thorvaldsen, commemorates the 760 members of the Swiss Guard who lost their lives protecting the King of France during the French Revolution in 1792. The monumental effort to carve the gigantic lion in the side of a sandstone cliff began in 1819 and was completed two years later.

The lion, who measures 20 feet high and is 33 feet long, lies with a broken spear in his back and his head bowed. He is obviously dying. Mark Twain called it “the most moving and mournful piece of stone in the world.”

I first saw the Lucerne Lion in-person six weeks ago while approaching Holy Week. As I stared at the beautiful (yet haunting) work of art, I couldn’t help but think of the Christ-like figure in the first of C. S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia.

In “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,” the first of Lewis’ chronicles, Aslan the lion willingly lays down his life to lift the curse that has held the Kingdom of Narnia captive. The lion’s lifeless body lies cold and still on a giant stone table.

Using his palette of language, C. S. Lewis paints an unforgettable picture that conjures up the events of Good Friday. This gifted wordsmith conveys the suffering that provides the backdrop for the glorious message of the resurrection.

In his book as the symbolic story unfolds, Lewis pictures Easter Sunday as well. The stone table is discovered by the children without any sign of Aslan. They soon encounter the lion fully alive. Aslan has returned from the dead. The children also realize that Narnia has returned to its original glory.

The land that had been labeled “as always winter but never Christmas” was once again blooming in springtime glory. The visible and invisible evidence of Immanuel (God-with-us) provided Narnia with proof of a redeemed kingdom.

Although I have long believed that the truth of Easter is an ongoing reality and not simply a single day on the liturgical calendar, this year it is all the more in focus. With the two Easter observances of the Christian Church being more than a month apart, there is cause to contemplate the fact the resurrection can be celebrated continuously.

If you’re like me, hardly a week goes by without learning of someone you know (or know of) who has passed away. Death dominates the landscape of our lives. The shadow of sorrow creeps across our hopes and dreams. Grief is an ever-present reality. Parents die. Spouses receive a terminal diagnosis. Siblings leave us prematurely. Even our children are not exempt.

And given the grim reality of the Grim Reaper’s unsolicited visits to our families, knowing that death has been defeated once and for all is something I can’t celebrate enough. Having two Easters is just fine. In fact, I would welcome even a few more. Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!

An Easter Godwink in Switzerland

April 5, 2024March 26, 2024 / Greg Asimakoupoulos

**The entrance sign to the International Church of Lucerne**

Some might call it a coincidence. I choose to call it a Godwink!

After the first of the year, my wife and I were contacted about possibly serving the International Church of Lucerne in Switzerland. Their pastor had just retired and they were looking for someone like to me to provide pastoral leadership for three months until the new pastor from The Netherlands would arrive.

The opportunity was too good to pass up. In addition to seeing a new part of the world, accepting the job would allow me to do what I love. Having recently retired, I was excited to be able to preach again. And on Easter Sunday no less. After all, Easter Sunday is my very favorite occasion to lead God’s people in worship. For me it’s the most important day in the Christian calendar.

About the time I accepted the invitation to go to this English-speaking congregation in the Alps, something else was happening I knew nothing about. The headmaster of Whittier Christian High School in Southern California was finalizing the itinerary of a study tour in Europe for his students, staff and parents.

When Carl Martinez learned from the travel agency that his group would be in Lucerne on Easter Sunday, he went on an internet search to see if there was an English-speaking congregation in the city. Upon discovering the International Church of Lucerne online, he contacted the church who extended a gracious invitation to join them.

As Wendy and I prepared to leave for Switzerland, the church chairman let me know that my third Sunday in Luzern would be a rather unusual one. She indicated that the size of the congregation would likely double with a school group from the United States attending ICL for Easter worship.

When I learned the name and location of the school that would be coming, I was immediately intrigued. My wife Wendy had taught at Whittier Christian School forty-eight years ago. What were the odds that a group like that would be worshipping with us during our short stay? I couldn’t help but wonder if one of the parents or faculty traveling with the group might have been a student in my wife’s third grade class back in 1976.

After landing in Switzerland, I began to work on the details for Easter Sunday at ICL. I decided to Facetime with the headmaster of the Whittier School. I expressed delight that his group would be joining us to celebrate Christ’s resurrection. I also indicated my wife’s connection to his school. Mr. Martinez told me that although the campus at which my wife had taught had closed some years ago, it was entirely possible that one of the parents or staff from his group might have attended Wendy’s school at the time.

I told Mr. Martinez that we were looking forward to having a group from Southern California with us. I related our family’s connection to the area. My wife’s ninety-three year old parents have lived in Orange County for over fifty years. Additionally, I told him that my wife’s brother lives in Yorba Linda, California and attends the Evangelical Free Church there.

“Wait!” Mr. Martinez interrupted. “Your brother-in-law is a member of the Free Church in Yorba Linda? That’s where I’ve attended for the past twenty years. What’s his name?”

When I told Mr. Martinez my wife’s brother was Dave Steven, he informed me they were part of the same men’s ministry. It was simply amazing! Of all the hundreds of churches there are in Southern California, how likely would it be that this headmaster who was bringing his school group to our church in Switzerland was part of my brother-in-law’s church?

Before we hang up the headmaster said, “Oh there’s one more thing, Pastor Greg. You might be interested in knowing that our original itinerary had us in Stuttgart on Easter. A recent change means we’ll be in Lucerne.”

Looking back, I discovered that the travel agent for the school group made the change in their itinerary about the time my wife and I were contacted about serving the congregation in Switzerland. He knew nothing about the church or the church’s interim pastor. And how appropriate! Easter is all about unexpected turns of events that find us scratching our heads in amazement.

Forsaken by God

March 29, 2024March 26, 2024 / Greg Asimakoupoulos

**A Good Friday meditation originally published in the Pentecostal Evangel in April 1990**

Deserted. Forgotten.
Stood up. Let down.

“Forsaken, my God, by You. Why?”

A piercing cry from swollen lips
by one hung out to die.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

A shepherd king first complained these words while
being hunted,
being sure that God was on his side,
being sure he’d been anointed.
But confused and disappointed,
he hung his head.
He closed his eyes and prayed.

Drained of strength (too pained to sleep)
he smelled the scent of death. (His own).
He heard the sounds of enemies approaching:
the scoffing jeers,
the searing jokes of sneering folks.

The wounds of words were indistinguishable from
the agony of betrayal:
Betrayed by friends.
Betrayed by loyal subjects.
Betrayed by God?
Where was this God in whom the king had trusted?

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

This time the same cry is heard beneath a Roman cross.
Not from a shepherd who would be king,
but from a King who called Himself a Shepherd.

A Worker of wood.
A Worker of good.
A Worker of words.
A Worker of wonders.
A Worker who wonders,
“Where’s the One with Whom I’m one?”
Somehow, some way
the questioning cry of King David seemed appropriate
from his Son a thousand years thereafter.

A Man of Sorrows
acquainted with grief,
acquainted with alienation,
rejected by an innkeeper,
maligned by His own brothers,
misunderstood by “the righteous,”
forgotten by the five thousand miraculously fed,
framed by the fickle crowd
whose palms lay withered…dead.

In addition,
He was betrayed by one He had helped.
He was deserted by another who promised,
“Though all others flee, I always will stand true.”

Like David of old.
Like you and me.
He knew rejection’s pain.

But God forsaken?
Surely not!
Not One who came from heaven.
Not One who claimed God’s name.

All the same,
hear the words ascribed to Him
by those who heard Him speak.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Of all the pain inflicted…
the crown,
the whip,
the nails,
the loneliness of friendship failed,
the ridicule from those for whom He came.

Yet of all the pain inflicted,
the worst was when for one brief moment
God the Father turned away from His suffering Son
(agonizing for His Son)
He watched and wept for a while.

But a holy God could not allow Himself to gave upon
the cross,
the loss of innocence,
the sin of all people
of all places
of all time past, present and future
placed upon His perfect Son.

As in the day of David,
the crowd looked on
to watch and wag their heads.
But not the Father
who closed His eyes and turned His back
and heard His begotten pray…

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Yet forsaken not forever.
Amid the rumble of the thunder
and the darkness of the day,
the Son was heard to whisper words
which offered hope before He passed away…

“Father, into Your hands I commit my Spirit.”

He knew that God was there
strangely satisfied with what He’d seen
(and what He couldn’t see)
all present and accounted for.

The forsaken Son
(forsaken no longer)
with confidence looked up
and reached out
to you and me.

That lonely separation
(albeit all so brief
yet altogether all sufficient)
means that we never have to voice that ancient question

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

A Wardrobe in Disguise

April 7, 2023April 7, 2023 / Greg Asimakoupoulos

**C. S. Lewis wardrobe housed at The Wade Center of Wheaton College**

A Wardrobe in Disguise

“It won’t be long now,”
you said with a smile
your emotions under control.
And I marveled at your calm.
But when you got that call that said
all had been done (and all was not enough),
didn’t it take a while for your ready smile
to find your face again?

You are never quite ready
for the end to come, are you?
Even when you’ve had wind of the end
for a while.

When you finally face that familiar face
inside that greedy box,
your resignation to what you thought
you were prepared for
quickly bolts out the door,
leaving you alone with the lonely truth
that life will never, ever, really be the same.

But as Paul Harvey was wont to say…
“And now for the rest of the story!”

Death’s only glory is that overpriced coffin
in which it thinks it’s sealed our fate
(and that of those we loved).
But Death forgets its box is but a wardrobe.
through which the Risen Lion leads us
(and all those with faith)
into the Land of Narnia
where Death
(even if it could be remembered)
would only be a bad dream.

Long live, Aslan!
Deep be Your peace!

Christ is risen!
He is risen, indeed!

In “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,” the author invites us to enter the land of Narnia through an old-fashioned bedroom wardrobe. That standing wooden box is the means by a new world is experienced. Have you ever thought of a casket as a wardrobe? For the Christian, a simple pine box is a time-capsule to eternal life. If you have never read this classic story by C. S. Lewis, why not commit to reading it this year?