Luke 17:11-19
Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!”
When he saw them, he said, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were cleansed.
One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan.
Jesus asked, “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.”
As I read this passage the other day, I found myself reflecting on the question that Jesus himself felt needed to be asked: Why is it that only the despised Samaritan has returned to give him thanks? Why, indeed?!?
It's a question I want to return to, but let's first digress for a moment to consider another question: Why were nine (I presume?) Jews hanging out with a despised Samaritan in the first place? Why, indeed?!?
The answer to that second question is pretty clear: shared suffering forges solidarity among people who wouldn't otherwise be mingling. Suffering is the ice-breaker in the party of life.
We've all seen this happen in small ways. A snowed-in airport, a long line at that terminal counter. As the minutes stretch into hours, the ordinary barriers break down. Conversations begin. But when the weather breaks and the delayed planes finally arrive? The passengers resume their solitary journeys.
Our story here follows a similar trajectory that differs only in scale and significance. We have not indifferent travelers but rather bitter enemies. Not delayed planes but rather a shared life-threatening and socially alienating illness. The alliance is dissolved not by the arrival of planes but rather by the arrival of miraculous healing.
The final distinction between the plane analogy and our ten lepers reaches into the heart of the question that Jesus asked. The folks at the airport amicably part ways in order to reach different (but neutral) destinations. Our lepers, however, have parted ways on a plane tinged with moral significance. Our story ends with nine Jews heading to Jerusalem. And one Samaritan heading to Jesus. (I'm going to assume the other nine lepers were Jews, but I grant this is an assumption.)
When reading this passage in the past, I have focused simply on the lack of gratitude that the nine Jews displayed. Here I ask a disquieting question: Is it possible that the Samaritan was different from his peers not because he was, out of the gate, a more grateful person? Is it possible that his better choice was driven at least in part by (relative to his fellow travelers) a poorer set of next-move options?
Here's why I ask that question. The nine Jews (once free and clear of leprosy) had something that the Samaritan did not have. Status. Privilege. When they went to the temple, they were going to a place where they were welcome. They were, after all, Jews. The Samaritan, by way of contrast, was (needless to say) not a Jew. What does that tell us about his ordinary options? Perhaps it is good to return to another passage for a reminder.
John 4:19-20
“Sir,” the woman said, “I can see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.”
This passage is from a conversation Jesus had with a Samaritan woman at a well. It should be noted that she blurts out this locale-of-worship observation immediately after she perceives that Jesus is a Jewish spiritual leader. In other words, the question of where one worships was very much a hot-button topic between Jews and Samaritans.
Does that reality inform our thoughts when we revisit the options facing our ten lepers? I think so! Prior to the healing, none of them was welcome in Jerusalem, let alone the temple. After the healing? Nine of them were welcome. That, we must acknowledge, tips the balance more than a bit. It's probably not such a wonder that it is the Samaritan who suddenly decided to return to thank Jesus. He wasn't welcome at the temple anyway, but he knew he was welcome with Jesus.
In suggesting this I am not seeking to detract from what our Samaritan did! He made the right choice! No, my preoccupation here lies with the disquieting suspicion that I, like nine Jews so many years ago, have too often found myself in hot pursuit of things that in and of themselves are not bad—but which are nevertheless a poor trade for time at the feet of Jesus.
It must be said, before proceeding, that the nine who proceeded on to the temple were following Jesus' explicit instructions. And yet! Jesus is disappointed that nine lepers followed his instructions. Jesus saw the Samaritan's choice as the better one. And notice that Jesus didn't remind the Samaritan of his to-do list item. It's not even clear if the Samaritan ever returned to the temple at all!
In short, I am wondering how often my rights and privileges can be a hindrance to something that is even better still. Can anything beat falling down in a grateful heap at feet of Jesus? No. But if I'm not careful, my choices may suggest otherwise. In fact, they often do.
Monday, October 24, 2016
Monday, October 17, 2016
A Special Kind of Manure (II of II)
I thought I had covered the topic here, but our story continues...
Luke 17:1-3
Jesus said to his disciples: “Things that cause people to stumble are bound to come, but woe to anyone through whom they come. It would be better for them to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around their neck than to cause one of these little ones to stumble. So watch yourselves.
“If your brother or sister sins against you, rebuke them; and if they repent, forgive them.
This story is familiar enough to most of us, but something about it jumped out at me during our church service yesterday morning. Here's why. In my last post I shared what I had discovered after researching Jesus' cryptic words about salt in Luke 14. But there were a few nuances that I left out. "Oh, well," I thought to myself, "the post was already too long, so I'll just let that go."
But here I was in church, and the selected text for the sermon was from Luke 17. I'm not there yet in my own reading, but the two passages aren't far apart. What's more, the thoughts our pastor shared were strongly reminiscent of the thought that I had left out of my prior post on salt.
So what did I leave out? This.
When applied properly, salt will kill surface weeds while allowing more deeply rooted plants and grass to thrive.
That phrase (from this same article I quoted in my last post) kept rattling around in my head over the past few days because it hints at a role that goes beyond fertilization. If salt clears weeds, it's also a disinfectant for soil. It roots out bad stuff. That's why I sat up and took note when my pastor, working with this passage in Luke 17, began to say the very same thing with different words.
For starters, the pastor drew our attention to this: "So watch yourselves" is not an instruction to be taken individually.
Whops! I didn't know that!
Jesus meant for these words to be understood as instructions for a group to apply collective. As in, we need to (together!) watch ourselves. I need to watch not only myself, but also my neighbor! The next sentence works well with this new understanding. If during my vigilant watching I see that my neighbor has sinned against me...
Yes, this all made sense. What's more it resonates deeply with the notion that we as a church are to be (in a fuller sense) salt in the earth. That's the notion I had left out of the prior post. Yes, as manure we do help bring forth life, but it's more than that. As a disinfectant in the manure, we also keep the soil free and clear of weeds.
And just as I was sitting there, reflecting on the proximity of these two passages from Luke (coincidence?) and on how the pastor's comments applied so tightly to this notion of the church being salt in the earth, he suddenly and emphatically asserted something that yanked me back into the sanctuary where I sat.
"If we as a church are going to be light and salt, we need to..."
In light of the thoughts running through my mind, his choice of words was so shocking that I actually lost how he finished the sentence! Be that as it may... there it was. Salt had inserted itself directly into this sermon on Luke 17.
And so I resolved myself to do this last insight justice and get it down as an additional reflection. Perhaps these two posts together will prove worth their salt.
Luke 17:1-3
Jesus said to his disciples: “Things that cause people to stumble are bound to come, but woe to anyone through whom they come. It would be better for them to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around their neck than to cause one of these little ones to stumble. So watch yourselves.
“If your brother or sister sins against you, rebuke them; and if they repent, forgive them.
This story is familiar enough to most of us, but something about it jumped out at me during our church service yesterday morning. Here's why. In my last post I shared what I had discovered after researching Jesus' cryptic words about salt in Luke 14. But there were a few nuances that I left out. "Oh, well," I thought to myself, "the post was already too long, so I'll just let that go."
But here I was in church, and the selected text for the sermon was from Luke 17. I'm not there yet in my own reading, but the two passages aren't far apart. What's more, the thoughts our pastor shared were strongly reminiscent of the thought that I had left out of my prior post on salt.
So what did I leave out? This.
When applied properly, salt will kill surface weeds while allowing more deeply rooted plants and grass to thrive.
That phrase (from this same article I quoted in my last post) kept rattling around in my head over the past few days because it hints at a role that goes beyond fertilization. If salt clears weeds, it's also a disinfectant for soil. It roots out bad stuff. That's why I sat up and took note when my pastor, working with this passage in Luke 17, began to say the very same thing with different words.
For starters, the pastor drew our attention to this: "So watch yourselves" is not an instruction to be taken individually.
Whops! I didn't know that!
Jesus meant for these words to be understood as instructions for a group to apply collective. As in, we need to (together!) watch ourselves. I need to watch not only myself, but also my neighbor! The next sentence works well with this new understanding. If during my vigilant watching I see that my neighbor has sinned against me...
Yes, this all made sense. What's more it resonates deeply with the notion that we as a church are to be (in a fuller sense) salt in the earth. That's the notion I had left out of the prior post. Yes, as manure we do help bring forth life, but it's more than that. As a disinfectant in the manure, we also keep the soil free and clear of weeds.
And just as I was sitting there, reflecting on the proximity of these two passages from Luke (coincidence?) and on how the pastor's comments applied so tightly to this notion of the church being salt in the earth, he suddenly and emphatically asserted something that yanked me back into the sanctuary where I sat.
"If we as a church are going to be light and salt, we need to..."
In light of the thoughts running through my mind, his choice of words was so shocking that I actually lost how he finished the sentence! Be that as it may... there it was. Salt had inserted itself directly into this sermon on Luke 17.
And so I resolved myself to do this last insight justice and get it down as an additional reflection. Perhaps these two posts together will prove worth their salt.
Friday, October 14, 2016
Out of the Compost Pile and into the Ground (I of II)
Luke 14:25-35
Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple. And whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.
“Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? For if you lay the foundation and are not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule you, saying, ‘This person began to build and wasn’t able to finish.’
“Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Won’t he first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples.
“Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is fit neither for the soil nor for the manure pile; it is thrown out.
“Whoever has ears to hear, let them hear.”
This story is familiar enough to most of us, but something stuck out and left me puzzled. Stated as a question, it goes like this: "What was that again about the manure pile?"
I have a water softener in my house, and it uses vast quantities of salt. When I clean the retaining tank out on my driveway, the place where the salty gook flows to quickly becomes an agricultural wasteland. No shock, right? Salt is well-known as a great way to ruin farmland. So... come again about that manure pile? Why on Earth (this turns out to be a pun) would I put salt in a manure pile?
Well? Shoot. You tell me! If it's a pile with no intended use, why would I bother salting it? And if it's going to be used as fertilizer, why again would I throw salt into it? That would make it useless as fertilizer!
Thus began the investigation. My first discovery was that googling things like Jesus salt of the earth is not going to give you any satisfactory answers. I find that gap a bit puzzling, seeing it doesn't require a rocket scientist to ask this question. But let's digress for a moment and look at the ordinary explanations you'll find. They start and end with comments like this: "Salt is also important as a preservative and a seasoning." Even my NIV Bible says that. ONLY that. On and on. Here's a screenshot of the kind of stuff you'll see near the top a google search...
So this repeated mantra regarding preservatives and seasoning is all great—so far as it goes—but it says absolutely nothing about Luke's manure pile.
Why?
I think the short answer to that question is that everyone is working primarily with Matthew's version of the same text. Here's how it reads:
Matthew 5:13
“You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people's feet.
We talk seasonings and preservatives because these interpretations still suit modern sensibilities, and Matthew's text conforms to the interpretations we understand. Salt. Taste. Surely Matthew is talking about table salt, right? Of course! And so from this text we arrive at these sorts of images and expressions...
Those of us who were exposed to Christian books in the eighties might even remember a pretty popular book titled Out of the Saltshaker and into the World. It was a good book, but where salt is concerned it only reinforced the prevailing understanding as captured in the above image and text.
But is table salt the whole story? Not even Matthew can be reconciled (only) to that interpretation, because we don't throw table salt gone bad out onto the roads and pathways where people walk. What do we do with that part of the verse? Enter the preservative angle. The notion that salt can be used to keep food from going bad is still with us, even if the practice disappeared with the advent of the refrigerator. (The phrase "salted pork" hasn't left the English language just yet!) Several of the disciples were fishermen, so perhaps Jesus was imagining a scene from a local fish market?
And that is where our creativity comes to rest. We presume that Jesus is saying that we are, by extension of the analogy, a source of preservation and/or seasoning for our culture and the world around. That's the understanding I grew up with, and that's what you'll find on Google if you don't refine your search.
End of story? No! Luke doesn't make this reading of the text very easy to arrive at. Luke mentions manure and soil. That ain't fish and salted chips. What on Earth is Luke talking about? Let's not settle for those other answers. Let's keep digging. (Ya gotta love these earthy puns...) Here's what me and Google found out together on the deeper dive...
Jesus calls us to be the manure of the Earth.
(Ironically, the above article came out just a few weeks ago! No planning on my part with that. I was just reading the gospel of Luke...)
Yes, that's right. We're not a dainty enhancement to the dinner table. We are not a preservative for dinner meats. No, my friends. We're an additive to manure. The details behind that realization are kind of boring—the stuff only a farmer could love—but here's a paragraph from that link that sums it up well enough for our purposes:
An old article in the journal Biblical Archaeology, “Salt, Soil, Savior,” stands the test of time. Eugene P. Deatrick, former head of the soils department at West Virginia University, argued that in Matthew 5:13, Mark 9:50, and Luke 14:34–35, Jesus was speaking not primarily of salt’s household use but of its agricultural use. According to Deatrick, several kinds of salt are found in Palestine that are different from the kind we’re familiar with. There is rock salt, salt evaporated from Dead Sea water, salt pits (Zeph. 2:9), and more. Additionally, Deatrick writes that “agricultural literature abounds in references to the use of salt as a fertilizer.” In quoting another source, he noted that “the value of salt in small quantities appears to have been known in ancient times—Cato, Virgil (and others) record its power of improving herbage of pastures.”
Let's digest that thought one more time. Jesus didn't say we are a good table spice nor even a good preservative. He said we are good fertilizer, a valuable addition to the manure pile. And once we've made our peace with that aromatic conclusion, the phrase "salt of the Earth" makes even more sense than it did before. It becomes plain English instead of poetic license. (And oh-by-the-way it also reads fine with Matthew's rendition. The fertilizer that isn't useful? It gets spread around underfoot and walked on by farm workers. So much for table salt and fresh fish.)
Does the fertilizer imagery change our takeaway from this passage? Absolutely! Jesus wasn't really talking about food, but about life, and as God's fertilizer we are now not merely agents of preservation and improvement of life. No, it's more than that. We're God's agents to bring forth new life where there was no life before. That should be a great encouragement for all of us because life doesn't always feel very much like a banquet. Frequently it feels more like a desert. It's comforting to me to remember that some soil brings forth life only after the arrival of manure.
Becky Pippert should have titled her book Out of the Manure Pile and into the Ground. It doesn't sound as catchy (and the book-cover artwork would prove problematic!) but that would have been a lot more accurate. And let's face it. In light of what Jesus said in the verses that precede Luke 14:34-35, why should we be surprised? If we're carrying crosses, turning our back on family allegiances, and counting the cost... did we really expect to be on display in a beautiful glass saltshaker, sitting on a clean table?
So here's to the faithful work of manure, my friends. Fertilize the ground where you're laid.
1 Corinthians 3:7 (with a bit of poetic license of my own)
So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters [nor even the one who fertilizes] is anything, but only God, who makes things grow.
Postscript: I hadn't planned on a follow-up to this reflection, but as it turns out, I have something more to say on this topic!
Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple. And whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.
“Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? For if you lay the foundation and are not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule you, saying, ‘This person began to build and wasn’t able to finish.’
“Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Won’t he first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples.
“Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is fit neither for the soil nor for the manure pile; it is thrown out.
“Whoever has ears to hear, let them hear.”
This story is familiar enough to most of us, but something stuck out and left me puzzled. Stated as a question, it goes like this: "What was that again about the manure pile?"
I have a water softener in my house, and it uses vast quantities of salt. When I clean the retaining tank out on my driveway, the place where the salty gook flows to quickly becomes an agricultural wasteland. No shock, right? Salt is well-known as a great way to ruin farmland. So... come again about that manure pile? Why on Earth (this turns out to be a pun) would I put salt in a manure pile?
Well? Shoot. You tell me! If it's a pile with no intended use, why would I bother salting it? And if it's going to be used as fertilizer, why again would I throw salt into it? That would make it useless as fertilizer!
Thus began the investigation. My first discovery was that googling things like Jesus salt of the earth is not going to give you any satisfactory answers. I find that gap a bit puzzling, seeing it doesn't require a rocket scientist to ask this question. But let's digress for a moment and look at the ordinary explanations you'll find. They start and end with comments like this: "Salt is also important as a preservative and a seasoning." Even my NIV Bible says that. ONLY that. On and on. Here's a screenshot of the kind of stuff you'll see near the top a google search...
So this repeated mantra regarding preservatives and seasoning is all great—so far as it goes—but it says absolutely nothing about Luke's manure pile.
Why?
I think the short answer to that question is that everyone is working primarily with Matthew's version of the same text. Here's how it reads:
Matthew 5:13
“You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people's feet.
We talk seasonings and preservatives because these interpretations still suit modern sensibilities, and Matthew's text conforms to the interpretations we understand. Salt. Taste. Surely Matthew is talking about table salt, right? Of course! And so from this text we arrive at these sorts of images and expressions...
Those of us who were exposed to Christian books in the eighties might even remember a pretty popular book titled Out of the Saltshaker and into the World. It was a good book, but where salt is concerned it only reinforced the prevailing understanding as captured in the above image and text.
But is table salt the whole story? Not even Matthew can be reconciled (only) to that interpretation, because we don't throw table salt gone bad out onto the roads and pathways where people walk. What do we do with that part of the verse? Enter the preservative angle. The notion that salt can be used to keep food from going bad is still with us, even if the practice disappeared with the advent of the refrigerator. (The phrase "salted pork" hasn't left the English language just yet!) Several of the disciples were fishermen, so perhaps Jesus was imagining a scene from a local fish market?
And that is where our creativity comes to rest. We presume that Jesus is saying that we are, by extension of the analogy, a source of preservation and/or seasoning for our culture and the world around. That's the understanding I grew up with, and that's what you'll find on Google if you don't refine your search.
End of story? No! Luke doesn't make this reading of the text very easy to arrive at. Luke mentions manure and soil. That ain't fish and salted chips. What on Earth is Luke talking about? Let's not settle for those other answers. Let's keep digging. (Ya gotta love these earthy puns...) Here's what me and Google found out together on the deeper dive...
Jesus calls us to be the manure of the Earth.
(Ironically, the above article came out just a few weeks ago! No planning on my part with that. I was just reading the gospel of Luke...)
Yes, that's right. We're not a dainty enhancement to the dinner table. We are not a preservative for dinner meats. No, my friends. We're an additive to manure. The details behind that realization are kind of boring—the stuff only a farmer could love—but here's a paragraph from that link that sums it up well enough for our purposes:
An old article in the journal Biblical Archaeology, “Salt, Soil, Savior,” stands the test of time. Eugene P. Deatrick, former head of the soils department at West Virginia University, argued that in Matthew 5:13, Mark 9:50, and Luke 14:34–35, Jesus was speaking not primarily of salt’s household use but of its agricultural use. According to Deatrick, several kinds of salt are found in Palestine that are different from the kind we’re familiar with. There is rock salt, salt evaporated from Dead Sea water, salt pits (Zeph. 2:9), and more. Additionally, Deatrick writes that “agricultural literature abounds in references to the use of salt as a fertilizer.” In quoting another source, he noted that “the value of salt in small quantities appears to have been known in ancient times—Cato, Virgil (and others) record its power of improving herbage of pastures.”
Let's digest that thought one more time. Jesus didn't say we are a good table spice nor even a good preservative. He said we are good fertilizer, a valuable addition to the manure pile. And once we've made our peace with that aromatic conclusion, the phrase "salt of the Earth" makes even more sense than it did before. It becomes plain English instead of poetic license. (And oh-by-the-way it also reads fine with Matthew's rendition. The fertilizer that isn't useful? It gets spread around underfoot and walked on by farm workers. So much for table salt and fresh fish.)
Does the fertilizer imagery change our takeaway from this passage? Absolutely! Jesus wasn't really talking about food, but about life, and as God's fertilizer we are now not merely agents of preservation and improvement of life. No, it's more than that. We're God's agents to bring forth new life where there was no life before. That should be a great encouragement for all of us because life doesn't always feel very much like a banquet. Frequently it feels more like a desert. It's comforting to me to remember that some soil brings forth life only after the arrival of manure.
Becky Pippert should have titled her book Out of the Manure Pile and into the Ground. It doesn't sound as catchy (and the book-cover artwork would prove problematic!) but that would have been a lot more accurate. And let's face it. In light of what Jesus said in the verses that precede Luke 14:34-35, why should we be surprised? If we're carrying crosses, turning our back on family allegiances, and counting the cost... did we really expect to be on display in a beautiful glass saltshaker, sitting on a clean table?
So here's to the faithful work of manure, my friends. Fertilize the ground where you're laid.
1 Corinthians 3:7 (with a bit of poetic license of my own)
So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters [nor even the one who fertilizes] is anything, but only God, who makes things grow.
Postscript: I hadn't planned on a follow-up to this reflection, but as it turns out, I have something more to say on this topic!
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Imperatives That Are Not
Luke 10:38-41
As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”
“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
This story is familiar enough to most of us, but something stuck out and made me chuckle a bit as I read this passage the other day. Luke treats Martha pretty generously! He doesn't suggest that Martha was engaged in pointless distractions. To the contrary, Luke writes is that she was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. They weren't optional. Until they were. They were necessary preparations by Luke's telling, but then Luke informs us that Jesus himself said they were not.
So which one is it?
Well the safe bet is to trust Jesus on this one, but it's fun to note that Luke has it going both ways. And after we're done smiling, the harder work begins. What things in our lives are imperatives? Which things do we think must be done? And have we asked Jesus about those things? Some imperatives are, it turns out, not. I really mean that.
2,000 years later, we still see this tension where hospitality is concerned. Being male, I'm pretty comfortable inviting the world into my home "as it is" and to relax amidst a bit of clutter. Not Imperative. My wife, however, is perfectly normal in wanting to get our home cleaned up before guests come. Imperative. It's clearly something that's wired into men and women quite differently, generally speaking. Martha, in this story, is perfectly normal. And Jesus is, too, if we'll let him be male. Mary is the exceptional woman acting like a man. Notch a victory for the boys because Jesus sides with Mary, who focuses on the company more than on the state of the house.
But before we close the books on this one and leave Martha feeling more than a little misunderstood, let's come back at this passage from a completely different angle. What if, let us ask ourselves... What if Martha and Mary had both sat at the feet of Jesus? What if? Here's where the boys might need to start fidgeting. A lot. Why? Two reasons. Both are liberating to women, and one (if not both) might be cause for great alarm among men.
For starters, it's important to understand that the sight of Mary sitting at the feet of Jesus would have been quite shocking to the average Jew of that day. Sitting there as she did was tantamount to declaring, "I am a disciple of Jesus." Mary was rather bold to bail on her household duties, but doubly bold to sit alongside the other disciples as a rabbi-in-training. Women simply were not permitted to become rabbis. No exceptions.
But Jesus takes the prohibited and makes it possible. Once again the rules are upended. Jesus approves of Mary's behavior so much so that he chides Martha for trying to drag Mary back to her other matronly responsibilities. This might trouble other Christian men (especially those less inclined to allow women behind the pulpit) but this is not troubling stuff for me. It's wonderful. I love that Jesus set women free to become true ministers of the word alongside their male counterparts. Others, such as Junias, would follow in Mary's footsteps. Awesome.
But before I rest on my liberating laurels, let's move to the second way Jesus liberates Mary here. (Gentlemen, you may want to sit down or, failing that, find something to hold onto tightly.) Let us return once again to that question we asked earlier. What if Martha and Mary had both sat at the feet of Jesus? What if?
Well, per Luke, these were things that really did have to be done. So I'm assuming Martha wasn't dusting the mantelpiece for a third time. No, the general assumption seems to be that Martha was preparing the meal. And it would be a big one, too. Thirteen men and two women, at a bare minimum. Probably more.
So... if Mary and Martha are both sitting at the feet of Jesus, you just know what's gonna happen. Thirteen men are going to look up at about the dinner hour, and they'll be expecting food. It'd better be good, and it'd better be soon. And this is where I have to speculate, because we're in alternative universes now. But I'm going to go out on limb and throw out some wild assertions.
1) Jesus wouldn't have expected Mary and Martha to miraculously crush three hours of preparation into three minutes.
2) Jesus wouldn't have himself done a true miracle that produced the same result. No "Feeding of the fifteen" miracle here, boys...
3) Jesus wouldn't have expected Mary and Martha to "get started", either. (And would the disciples have been able to patiently wait, regardless?)
4) Jesus would have enlisted twenty-four hands to help make a simpler meal happen faster.
Yes, I'm suggesting that Jesus might just have been radical enough to not only liberate a woman *from* the cooking but also to liberate (if that's the word) men to help out with the cooking. And on that note, I'd better head to the kitchen and make myself useful.
As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”
“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
This story is familiar enough to most of us, but something stuck out and made me chuckle a bit as I read this passage the other day. Luke treats Martha pretty generously! He doesn't suggest that Martha was engaged in pointless distractions. To the contrary, Luke writes is that she was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. They weren't optional. Until they were. They were necessary preparations by Luke's telling, but then Luke informs us that Jesus himself said they were not.
So which one is it?
Well the safe bet is to trust Jesus on this one, but it's fun to note that Luke has it going both ways. And after we're done smiling, the harder work begins. What things in our lives are imperatives? Which things do we think must be done? And have we asked Jesus about those things? Some imperatives are, it turns out, not. I really mean that.
2,000 years later, we still see this tension where hospitality is concerned. Being male, I'm pretty comfortable inviting the world into my home "as it is" and to relax amidst a bit of clutter. Not Imperative. My wife, however, is perfectly normal in wanting to get our home cleaned up before guests come. Imperative. It's clearly something that's wired into men and women quite differently, generally speaking. Martha, in this story, is perfectly normal. And Jesus is, too, if we'll let him be male. Mary is the exceptional woman acting like a man. Notch a victory for the boys because Jesus sides with Mary, who focuses on the company more than on the state of the house.
But before we close the books on this one and leave Martha feeling more than a little misunderstood, let's come back at this passage from a completely different angle. What if, let us ask ourselves... What if Martha and Mary had both sat at the feet of Jesus? What if? Here's where the boys might need to start fidgeting. A lot. Why? Two reasons. Both are liberating to women, and one (if not both) might be cause for great alarm among men.
For starters, it's important to understand that the sight of Mary sitting at the feet of Jesus would have been quite shocking to the average Jew of that day. Sitting there as she did was tantamount to declaring, "I am a disciple of Jesus." Mary was rather bold to bail on her household duties, but doubly bold to sit alongside the other disciples as a rabbi-in-training. Women simply were not permitted to become rabbis. No exceptions.
But Jesus takes the prohibited and makes it possible. Once again the rules are upended. Jesus approves of Mary's behavior so much so that he chides Martha for trying to drag Mary back to her other matronly responsibilities. This might trouble other Christian men (especially those less inclined to allow women behind the pulpit) but this is not troubling stuff for me. It's wonderful. I love that Jesus set women free to become true ministers of the word alongside their male counterparts. Others, such as Junias, would follow in Mary's footsteps. Awesome.
But before I rest on my liberating laurels, let's move to the second way Jesus liberates Mary here. (Gentlemen, you may want to sit down or, failing that, find something to hold onto tightly.) Let us return once again to that question we asked earlier. What if Martha and Mary had both sat at the feet of Jesus? What if?
Well, per Luke, these were things that really did have to be done. So I'm assuming Martha wasn't dusting the mantelpiece for a third time. No, the general assumption seems to be that Martha was preparing the meal. And it would be a big one, too. Thirteen men and two women, at a bare minimum. Probably more.
So... if Mary and Martha are both sitting at the feet of Jesus, you just know what's gonna happen. Thirteen men are going to look up at about the dinner hour, and they'll be expecting food. It'd better be good, and it'd better be soon. And this is where I have to speculate, because we're in alternative universes now. But I'm going to go out on limb and throw out some wild assertions.
1) Jesus wouldn't have expected Mary and Martha to miraculously crush three hours of preparation into three minutes.
2) Jesus wouldn't have himself done a true miracle that produced the same result. No "Feeding of the fifteen" miracle here, boys...
3) Jesus wouldn't have expected Mary and Martha to "get started", either. (And would the disciples have been able to patiently wait, regardless?)
4) Jesus would have enlisted twenty-four hands to help make a simpler meal happen faster.
Yes, I'm suggesting that Jesus might just have been radical enough to not only liberate a woman *from* the cooking but also to liberate (if that's the word) men to help out with the cooking. And on that note, I'd better head to the kitchen and make myself useful.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
A Good Samaritan To The Bad Samaritans
Luke 9:51-56
As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem. And he sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem. When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?” But Jesus turned and rebuked them. Then he and his disciples went to another village.
There are so very many places one could go with these verses. The first thing that struck me was the irony that the Samaritans treated Jesus poorly because they knew he was heading to Jerusalem. Let that sink in for a moment. Jerusalem. Where Jesus would in the not-too-distant future be crucified. As verse 51 clearly implies, Jesus is not heading for a pleasure cruise, and he knows it.
So Jesus was getting abuse from both directions. How did he respond? He certainly wasn't interested in doling out fiery judgement, as James and John proposed. But note also that Jesus didn't follow Pilgrim's advice, either. Yours truly has a need for approval matched only by an equally voracious desire to be understood. Yours truly would surely have wanted to explain. "The people in Jerusalem are going to kill me. You're attacking your enemy's enemy! I love you a lot more than those folks in Jerusalem do." But Jesus didn't explain anything. He just quietly moved on.
Considering what Jesus had just recently said to his disciples, maybe this shouldn't surprise us.
Luke 9:23-24
Jesus ... said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.
People carrying around crosses don't get to explain or justify. They get to die. They absorb insults and spittle. And move on. That doesn't sit well with this Pilgrim. Perhaps I have some adjusting to do?
Moving on, but not without a brief tangent. Back in Luke 7 Jesus does some mind-boggling stuff. Heals from a distance. Raises the dead. And yet, amazingly, John the Baptist is dissatisfied. Enough so that he sends a message to Jesus essentially asking Jesus, "Did I blow the bugle for the wrong guy?" If the red carpet beneath Jesus' feet wasn't yanked, it was certainly tugged. So how does Jesus respond? With a compliment. He calls John the Baptist the greatest among men. Just when John falls down, Jesus lifts him up. Why do I mention that now? Because Jesus does the same thing here.
At a distance of 2,000 years we outsiders tend to vastly underestimate the level of animosity between Samaritans and Jews. James and John may seem to be overreacting in our minds, but that just goes to show how far removed we are from that conflict. My commentary noted that "Samaritans and Jews had detested one another's holy sites. Samaritans later tried to defile Jerusalem's temple. They were also known to heckle pilgrims to Jerusalem, a practice that occasionally led to violence." Reading these words, I suddenly found myself wondering when the parable of the Good Samaritan shows up in Luke. Oh. Chapter 10. All I had to do was turn one page.
Let that sink in. Jesus had just walked out of Samaria and a situation so charged with animosity that two of his disciples literally wanted to blow up a town. And here we are, one chapter later, hearing the parable that forever changed the meaning of the word Samaritan. To our ears today, Samaritan means only one thing. A Samaritan is a wonderful person. A godly man. The truly good person who upstages pious blow-hard religious fakes.
Jesus had every right to be angry with his cousin John, but he responded with undeserved grace. So here with Samaria. Jesus could have used Samaria as the centerpiece of a story about poor hospitality. Instead he did the opposite. He forever lifted Samaria up. He changed their identify forever.
In my last blog I asked rhetorically, Do I really have to love my enemies? The answer, of course, is Yes. Which enemies? The ones that I don't want to love today, obviously. This Pilgrim was not thinking about the Samaritans yesterday when writing those words, and yet here it is in front of me. Who were Jesus' enemies in chapter 9? The Samaritans. What did Jesus do in chapter 10? Love them.
If we want to see what loving enemies looks like in practice, We need only look to Jesus. Jesus, who while travelling on the road was rejected by unkind Samaritans—and whose response was to make a Samaritan the centerpiece of his story about kindness to strangers on the road.
Hebrews 1:1-2a
In the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son...
As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem. And he sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem. When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?” But Jesus turned and rebuked them. Then he and his disciples went to another village.
There are so very many places one could go with these verses. The first thing that struck me was the irony that the Samaritans treated Jesus poorly because they knew he was heading to Jerusalem. Let that sink in for a moment. Jerusalem. Where Jesus would in the not-too-distant future be crucified. As verse 51 clearly implies, Jesus is not heading for a pleasure cruise, and he knows it.
So Jesus was getting abuse from both directions. How did he respond? He certainly wasn't interested in doling out fiery judgement, as James and John proposed. But note also that Jesus didn't follow Pilgrim's advice, either. Yours truly has a need for approval matched only by an equally voracious desire to be understood. Yours truly would surely have wanted to explain. "The people in Jerusalem are going to kill me. You're attacking your enemy's enemy! I love you a lot more than those folks in Jerusalem do." But Jesus didn't explain anything. He just quietly moved on.
Considering what Jesus had just recently said to his disciples, maybe this shouldn't surprise us.
Luke 9:23-24
Jesus ... said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.
People carrying around crosses don't get to explain or justify. They get to die. They absorb insults and spittle. And move on. That doesn't sit well with this Pilgrim. Perhaps I have some adjusting to do?
Moving on, but not without a brief tangent. Back in Luke 7 Jesus does some mind-boggling stuff. Heals from a distance. Raises the dead. And yet, amazingly, John the Baptist is dissatisfied. Enough so that he sends a message to Jesus essentially asking Jesus, "Did I blow the bugle for the wrong guy?" If the red carpet beneath Jesus' feet wasn't yanked, it was certainly tugged. So how does Jesus respond? With a compliment. He calls John the Baptist the greatest among men. Just when John falls down, Jesus lifts him up. Why do I mention that now? Because Jesus does the same thing here.
At a distance of 2,000 years we outsiders tend to vastly underestimate the level of animosity between Samaritans and Jews. James and John may seem to be overreacting in our minds, but that just goes to show how far removed we are from that conflict. My commentary noted that "Samaritans and Jews had detested one another's holy sites. Samaritans later tried to defile Jerusalem's temple. They were also known to heckle pilgrims to Jerusalem, a practice that occasionally led to violence." Reading these words, I suddenly found myself wondering when the parable of the Good Samaritan shows up in Luke. Oh. Chapter 10. All I had to do was turn one page.
Let that sink in. Jesus had just walked out of Samaria and a situation so charged with animosity that two of his disciples literally wanted to blow up a town. And here we are, one chapter later, hearing the parable that forever changed the meaning of the word Samaritan. To our ears today, Samaritan means only one thing. A Samaritan is a wonderful person. A godly man. The truly good person who upstages pious blow-hard religious fakes.
Jesus had every right to be angry with his cousin John, but he responded with undeserved grace. So here with Samaria. Jesus could have used Samaria as the centerpiece of a story about poor hospitality. Instead he did the opposite. He forever lifted Samaria up. He changed their identify forever.
In my last blog I asked rhetorically, Do I really have to love my enemies? The answer, of course, is Yes. Which enemies? The ones that I don't want to love today, obviously. This Pilgrim was not thinking about the Samaritans yesterday when writing those words, and yet here it is in front of me. Who were Jesus' enemies in chapter 9? The Samaritans. What did Jesus do in chapter 10? Love them.
If we want to see what loving enemies looks like in practice, We need only look to Jesus. Jesus, who while travelling on the road was rejected by unkind Samaritans—and whose response was to make a Samaritan the centerpiece of his story about kindness to strangers on the road.
Hebrews 1:1-2a
In the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son...
Monday, September 12, 2016
Questions We're Afraid To Ask Jesus
Luke 9:44-45
“Listen carefully to what I am about to tell you: The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men.” But they did not understand what this meant. It was hidden from them, so that they did not grasp it, and they were afraid to ask him about it.
As I reflected on these verses this morning, I found myself wondering why the disciples were afraid to ask Jesus to clarify himself.
At first, I remembered those feelings when you're in class and feeling a bit dense. You don't want to admit in front of other students that you don't get it. But this explanation fell short for me, because it appears that all of the disciples were in the dark. When everyone is confused, usually someone will screw up the courage to ask the question on everyone's lips.
And then the thought struck me. "Maybe they were afraid to ask because they didn't really want to know the answer." A wave of understanding began to roll over me, and I began to commiserate with the disciples in a new way. Jesus has said many things that I don't want him to clarify, either.
A Pharisee once made the mistake of asking Jesus a clarifying question. "And who is my neighbor?" Ouch. Ouch precisely because that Pharisee had not really wanted to know the answer. He was just looking for an easy out. By the time Jesus was done, the easy out was nowhere in sight and the Pharisee was answering an uncomfortable question he clearly wished Jesus had left unasked.
So Yes, asking Jesus clarifying questions is dangerous business indeed. I am reminded of these words:
Mark 12:34b
And from then on no one dared ask him any more questions.
But here's the funny thing—that verse from Mark? It concludes a passage recounting how Jesus had responded to a series of questions. Most were asked by his enemies, but the last question came from a teacher of the law who clearly respected Jesus. Jesus clearly liked the teacher's question. The teacher in turn clearly liked Jesus' answer. Jesus responded to that appreciation with the assertion that the man was not far from the Kingdom of God.
This leads me to the uncomfortable hypothesis that it is those most like Jesus and those who most want to be like Jesus that are least afraid to ask Jesus clarifying questions. Because they are already on the road to becoming the person who would like the answer that Jesus will give.
Returning to our disciples in that passage in Luke, it's worth noting that Jesus had been perfectly candid with his disciples on this topic. Quite recently.
Luke 9:21-24
Jesus ... said, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.”
Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.
Yeah, that's not exactly vague or misleading information. Jesus explained to his disciples that he was going to die, and that his followers (if they intended to follow) would need to pick up crosses and follow him to his own execution. Who can blame the disciples for not wanting any more information about that? After all, they themselves were Jesus' most intimate followers. But who they were following? And where he was leading? Those are questions they very much didn't want clarified.
The disciples did believe that they were following the Messiah. That much Peter had just explained in the prior verse. But what kind of a Messiah? Well, there our accounts diverge a wee bit. Jesus had one answer. The disciples had another. And it's clear that the disciples didn't want to bridge the gap in understanding. Right after Jesus reminded his disciples that of his impending doom, look at how the disciples responded! They respond (as we have noted already) first with confusion, and then with silence. And then?
Luke 9:46
An argument started among the disciples as to which of them would be the greatest.
Ah, ignorance is bliss. Let's gloss over what Jesus just said and get back to the important question. When Jesus whups on the Romans, which of us will be his favorite commanding general?
But enough on the disciples. They got their answers. Much later, but they got them. And in the end, they earned their well-deserved prizes. Those disciples did go on to carry crosses. Most of them died as martyrs, just as Jesus had said they would. No, now is not the time to fault the disciples. Now is the time to ask myself two very uncomfortable question.
What questions have I myself been holding back from Jesus. And why?
Sad fact is, I know which questions I'm avoiding. And I know that I'm avoiding them precisely because I'm pretty sure I already know the answers. Let's look have a look at one.
Do I really have to love my enemies? Jesus answered that one already. Factually speaking, I know the answer. The problem is that I don't like the answer. And here I should learn a lesson from that Pharisee. One dodge I should not attempt is this: "And who is my enemy?" Thanks to that foot-in-mouth Pharisee, I already know. My enemy might be my neighbor. And he's certainly that very person in my mind. The one I don't want to love today.
There are, of course, many other questions like the above example. Questions that we as followers of Jesus don't really want to see clarified a whole lot. Some are general. Do I need to do anything about hungry children in Africa? Some are specific to today. Do I need to give time to this individual whom I find annoying?
The questions that most trouble us will vary from person to person, but they seem always to center around crosses we'd rather not bear. Those questions that confound us most are the ones we most want to remain confounding. We struggle with them not because they are so difficult to answer. We struggle with them because the answers are so difficult.
“Listen carefully to what I am about to tell you: The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men.” But they did not understand what this meant. It was hidden from them, so that they did not grasp it, and they were afraid to ask him about it.
As I reflected on these verses this morning, I found myself wondering why the disciples were afraid to ask Jesus to clarify himself.
At first, I remembered those feelings when you're in class and feeling a bit dense. You don't want to admit in front of other students that you don't get it. But this explanation fell short for me, because it appears that all of the disciples were in the dark. When everyone is confused, usually someone will screw up the courage to ask the question on everyone's lips.
And then the thought struck me. "Maybe they were afraid to ask because they didn't really want to know the answer." A wave of understanding began to roll over me, and I began to commiserate with the disciples in a new way. Jesus has said many things that I don't want him to clarify, either.
A Pharisee once made the mistake of asking Jesus a clarifying question. "And who is my neighbor?" Ouch. Ouch precisely because that Pharisee had not really wanted to know the answer. He was just looking for an easy out. By the time Jesus was done, the easy out was nowhere in sight and the Pharisee was answering an uncomfortable question he clearly wished Jesus had left unasked.
So Yes, asking Jesus clarifying questions is dangerous business indeed. I am reminded of these words:
Mark 12:34b
And from then on no one dared ask him any more questions.
But here's the funny thing—that verse from Mark? It concludes a passage recounting how Jesus had responded to a series of questions. Most were asked by his enemies, but the last question came from a teacher of the law who clearly respected Jesus. Jesus clearly liked the teacher's question. The teacher in turn clearly liked Jesus' answer. Jesus responded to that appreciation with the assertion that the man was not far from the Kingdom of God.
This leads me to the uncomfortable hypothesis that it is those most like Jesus and those who most want to be like Jesus that are least afraid to ask Jesus clarifying questions. Because they are already on the road to becoming the person who would like the answer that Jesus will give.
Returning to our disciples in that passage in Luke, it's worth noting that Jesus had been perfectly candid with his disciples on this topic. Quite recently.
Luke 9:21-24
Jesus ... said, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.”
Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.
Yeah, that's not exactly vague or misleading information. Jesus explained to his disciples that he was going to die, and that his followers (if they intended to follow) would need to pick up crosses and follow him to his own execution. Who can blame the disciples for not wanting any more information about that? After all, they themselves were Jesus' most intimate followers. But who they were following? And where he was leading? Those are questions they very much didn't want clarified.
The disciples did believe that they were following the Messiah. That much Peter had just explained in the prior verse. But what kind of a Messiah? Well, there our accounts diverge a wee bit. Jesus had one answer. The disciples had another. And it's clear that the disciples didn't want to bridge the gap in understanding. Right after Jesus reminded his disciples that of his impending doom, look at how the disciples responded! They respond (as we have noted already) first with confusion, and then with silence. And then?
Luke 9:46
An argument started among the disciples as to which of them would be the greatest.
Ah, ignorance is bliss. Let's gloss over what Jesus just said and get back to the important question. When Jesus whups on the Romans, which of us will be his favorite commanding general?
But enough on the disciples. They got their answers. Much later, but they got them. And in the end, they earned their well-deserved prizes. Those disciples did go on to carry crosses. Most of them died as martyrs, just as Jesus had said they would. No, now is not the time to fault the disciples. Now is the time to ask myself two very uncomfortable question.
What questions have I myself been holding back from Jesus. And why?
Sad fact is, I know which questions I'm avoiding. And I know that I'm avoiding them precisely because I'm pretty sure I already know the answers. Let's look have a look at one.
Do I really have to love my enemies? Jesus answered that one already. Factually speaking, I know the answer. The problem is that I don't like the answer. And here I should learn a lesson from that Pharisee. One dodge I should not attempt is this: "And who is my enemy?" Thanks to that foot-in-mouth Pharisee, I already know. My enemy might be my neighbor. And he's certainly that very person in my mind. The one I don't want to love today.
There are, of course, many other questions like the above example. Questions that we as followers of Jesus don't really want to see clarified a whole lot. Some are general. Do I need to do anything about hungry children in Africa? Some are specific to today. Do I need to give time to this individual whom I find annoying?
The questions that most trouble us will vary from person to person, but they seem always to center around crosses we'd rather not bear. Those questions that confound us most are the ones we most want to remain confounding. We struggle with them not because they are so difficult to answer. We struggle with them because the answers are so difficult.
Saturday, September 10, 2016
Where Is Your Faith, Indeed?
Luke 8:25
“Where is your faith?” he asked his disciples.
This verse struck me today as I read it. Usually (OK, always) I have read this to be an exasperated Jesus asking why the disciples had so little faith in him. Why they didn't believe in a Jesus powerful enough to save them from the (literal) storm that was about to sink their boat.
And to be fair... that seems to be pretty much the situation, in a nutshell. But another thought struck me this morning, and it doesn't disagree with this first interpretation so much as throw another slant on it. Simply put, Jesus never asked the disciples why they didn't have any faith. He didn't ask them if they had any faith. He asked them where it was.
As I said, this line of thinking isn't going to radically change how I read that exchange. But it's a good rabbit hole to peek down. The disciples did have faith. They had a fair bit of it. There were a number of seasoned fishermen in that boat with Jesus! The problem is, their faith was limited to what they themselves could do. And fishermen don't change the weather.
But Jesus can.
Jesus asked them where their faith was because he was also in the boat. That fact, when taken into account, substantially expands the list of options. We're back to another version of the loaves and fishes food equation. So we must always ask ourselves whether God factors in our calculations of the possible.
Sadly, I'm usually muddling my way through. Doing the best that I can with my limited resources. What's worse, I live as if that's all anyone can do.
I have two hands, but one of them is no longer healthy. I'm amused by the "almighty strength" that the left now has when compared to the right. But before the injury, the right was stronger than the left. I have rather limited faith in my right hand now, but I still have full faith in my left hand. But that's faith in a hilariously limited hand. What about the hand of God almighty actively at work in my life? What can that hand do?
Where is my faith? And where should it be?
“Where is your faith?” he asked his disciples.
This verse struck me today as I read it. Usually (OK, always) I have read this to be an exasperated Jesus asking why the disciples had so little faith in him. Why they didn't believe in a Jesus powerful enough to save them from the (literal) storm that was about to sink their boat.
And to be fair... that seems to be pretty much the situation, in a nutshell. But another thought struck me this morning, and it doesn't disagree with this first interpretation so much as throw another slant on it. Simply put, Jesus never asked the disciples why they didn't have any faith. He didn't ask them if they had any faith. He asked them where it was.
As I said, this line of thinking isn't going to radically change how I read that exchange. But it's a good rabbit hole to peek down. The disciples did have faith. They had a fair bit of it. There were a number of seasoned fishermen in that boat with Jesus! The problem is, their faith was limited to what they themselves could do. And fishermen don't change the weather.
But Jesus can.
Jesus asked them where their faith was because he was also in the boat. That fact, when taken into account, substantially expands the list of options. We're back to another version of the loaves and fishes food equation. So we must always ask ourselves whether God factors in our calculations of the possible.
Sadly, I'm usually muddling my way through. Doing the best that I can with my limited resources. What's worse, I live as if that's all anyone can do.
I have two hands, but one of them is no longer healthy. I'm amused by the "almighty strength" that the left now has when compared to the right. But before the injury, the right was stronger than the left. I have rather limited faith in my right hand now, but I still have full faith in my left hand. But that's faith in a hilariously limited hand. What about the hand of God almighty actively at work in my life? What can that hand do?
Where is my faith? And where should it be?
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