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...
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Saturday, June 7, 2014
His Happiest Moment
I recently asked what Jesus would have called his proudest moment.
That was, as my daughter sometimes says, "a toughie."
I soon found myself asking this follow-up question:
"OK, and what was his happiest moment?"
That one is much easier to answer, so this reflection will be short.
Luke 10:21
At that time Jesus, full of joy through the Holy Spirit, said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this is what you were pleased to do.
Of all the deeds and words that have been recorded by Gospel writers, I gather that this is the passage that shows Jesus to be most full of joy.
When does it take place? It takes place after the disciples he sent out (in his own name) return — with exciting news to report.
Luke 10:17
The seventy-two returned with joy and said, “Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name.”
So Jesus' joy follows on the heels of his disciples' joy.
And why are they themselves so joyful?
The disciples are full of joy because they discovered that the power of Jesus went with them, even when Jesus was not around.
So why is this the high point in Jesus' three years of ministry?
I think Jesus was beside himself with joy because he was, for the first time, watching his Church in action.
Granted, the church is properly understood to have its birth in Acts, but Jesus wasn't around for that part. Not bodily, at least.
So Jesus was getting the sneak preview. Watching the movie trailer. And he was beside himself with joy, in anticipation of the upcoming full-screen release.
Not everyone is always happy to hear the word "church". Frankly, I understand why. I've had a few "church" run-ins, myself.
But while "little c" church antics can wreck us on rocks of despair...
It's good for all of us (myself especially) to remember this:
The happiest moment in Jesus' life (that we have recorded, anyway) was when he saw his true Church in action for the first time.
May God help me to be part of that joy-inducing Church.
...And give Jesus another good reason to smile.
Saturday, May 24, 2014
His Proudest Moment
"It was my proudest moment..."
We've all heard variations on these words. It's a common phrase.
It occurred to me the other day, however, that I've never seen those words applied to Jesus. What was Jesus' proudest moment? I'd never thought about it before. Hmmmm.
Good Friday came to mind quickly. Was it his dying on the cross? Who can overstate how much Jesus accomplished on Good Friday?
But then I began to think about what defines our own proudest moments. It seems fair to say that they involve days or moments when by means of skill, hard work and perhaps a bit of luck we rise above our ordinary level of achievement in some sphere of life.
These criteria don't work so well with Jesus. He always did everything right, and it never had anything to do with luck. Good Friday was just like any other day for Jesus on that score. Meaning... Jesus did everything flawlessly on the uneventful days too. He didn't rise to the occasion on Good Friday. He was simply ready for the occasion on Good Friday.
So that got me thinking more.
So. Was every day the same to Jesus, so to speak? Would he rank them differently? Give some days a better grade than others? Feel better about some miracles than others? Hmmm.
The more thought I gave to this question, the fewer answers I had. I have no idea how Jesus "ranked" his experiences.
But here's my hunch. In some senses, I wonder if it's a bit like me playing simpler versions of Duet. (Duet's been my mindless distraction game of late, as noted in another recent blog.)
When I play the easiest version of Duet, I have no proud moments. I succeed. But I don't get worked up about it.
As I go to higher levels, it's more of the same thing... I continue to succeed, but I don't care about it.
It's only when I succeed at the stages I struggle with that I have my happy moments.
I wonder how it was for Jesus. He "succeeded" at every level. He was perfectly able to do the little things right. The bigger things. The amazing things. He was able to do them all. Perfectly.
I wonder if perhaps Jesus felt the same about all of them. Giving a smile to the beggar. Sight to the blind. Life to the world.
Jesus may not have had a proudest moment. At the risk of taking this reflection too far, I suppose if he did have such a thing, it would be when he felt the Father's pleasure was greatest. If Jesus had one goal, it was to honor, serve, and obey his heavenly father.
So inextricably, if there even could be such a thing as Jesus' proudest moment, he would have let God the Father pick it.
Does/did God the Father have an opinion on this matter? Who am I to say. but I have a hunch God was simply endlessly proud of his son, and not for any one thing.
When Jesus looks back at the entirety of his life here on earth, he can rightly say that he made God the Father proud. All the time.
Now that's something to be proud of.
To be continued...
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Jesus Sees Us
I noted in my last blog that I like Mark's word choice in his gospel account of Jesus walking on the water.
Mark 6:45-52
Immediately Jesus made his disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to Bethsaida, while he dismissed the crowd. After leaving them, he went up on a mountainside to pray.
When evening came, the boat was in the middle of the lake, and he was alone on land.
He saw the disciples straining at the oars, because the wind was against them. About the fourth watch of the night he went out to them, walking on the lake. He was about to pass by them, but when they saw him walking on the lake, they thought he was a ghost. They cried out, because they all saw him and were terrified.
Immediately he spoke to them and said, "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid." Then he climbed into the boat with them, and the wind died down. They were completely amazed, for they had not understood about the loaves; their hearts were hardened.
Everybody knows the bit about Jesus walking on the water, but what fixates me from this passage is not so much that miracle (though it is cool!), but ironically pretty much everything else in the passage. Each phrase is a glittering treasure.
When evening came, the boat was in the middle of the lake, and he was alone on land. This part is gorgeous because it sets the impossible prelude. It's dark. Where's Jesus? Up on a mountain. Where are the disciples? In the middle of the lake. The impossible question: can any mortal see that far in the dark? No. In the days before electricity, you'd be lucky to see more than a few hundred yards.
But we're talking about Jesus, and his giftings do not begin and end with the ability to walk on water. He saw the disciples straining at the oars, because the wind was against them. Jesus can also see in the dark. A long way.
In John's account of this event (chapter 6) he notes not only that it was dark, but that the disciples had rowed some 3.5 miles out into the middle of the lake. John pointedly notes also that "Jesus had not yet joined them." This is a none-too-subtle reminder that, while Jesus sees them, they do not see him.
About the fourth watch of the night he went out to them, walking on the lake. The disciples think they are fighting this storm alone. But they're not. Jesus has been watching them the whole time. Now Jesus is coming to them. Help is on the way. But they still don't even know he's aware of their problem, let alone that he is coming.
He was about to pass by them, but when they saw him walking on the lake, they thought he was a ghost. They cried out, because they all saw him and were terrified. The phrase "pass them by" hints at a divine revelation — God's majesty revealed to mere men. So what happens when God shows up? The disciples are stricken with panic.
So we are on the horns of a dilemma. We panic when we're alone. And we panic when God shows up. The irony is that we were never alone, and God's arrival is good news – not bad news.
Immediately he spoke to them and said, "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid." This refrain is everywhere in the Bible. God says it. Angels say it. Prophets say it. Jesus said it. Repeatedly. Why? Because we frail humans just have a hard time believing it.
Then he climbed into the boat with them, and the wind died down. In this story, there is a literal storm, and it literally dies down. In my life, the storms are usually less tangible. A situation. A problem. But when I let Jesus into my boat, the storm dies down. The problem might not go away quickly – it may not go away at all! But if the peace of Christ is with me, the storm in my heart dies down.
They were completely amazed, for they had not understood about the loaves; their hearts were hardened. When will we ever learn that God sees us... that he's not leaving us alone?
The God who created the universe can make bread multiply.
The God who can multiply the loaves of bread can also walk on water.
And He can see us in the dark.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Superior In Every Way: Part II (Service)
OK, so this series of reflections is moving ahead slowly. I wrote Part I in March.
Be that as it may, I was reflecting on true service, and am reminded again of Jesus. Superior in every way.
There are so many ways to look at Jesus as a servant, and how he, God incarnate, was better at serving than those who owe their very existence to him, let alone their salvation. We live because of him... and yet cannot even serve him well. And yet he serves us.
The scriptures are full of examples of how Jesus served others, and I suppose the most famous passage would be the last supper, where he got down on his knees to wash the feet of the other disciples. He took the job his disciples were too proud to take. But today I am drawn to another passage: Matthew 14-15.
In Celebration of Discipline Richard Foster notes, "When we choose to serve, we are still in charge.... but when we choose to be a servant, we give up the right to be in charge. There is great freedom in this."
The other day I was with a good friend and saw a call come through on my cell phone. It was a needy soul, and I wasn't in the mood to break away. I let it go to voice mail and called the fellow back a day or two later. On my own time. By my schedule. When it was convenient for me.
Now a case can be made for such decisions. Nevertheless I found myself reflecting on whether the timing of our conversation was best for my friend... or just best for my calendar and my desires. I won't say it was entirely the latter, but it certainly wasn't entirely the former either. I didn't feel like answering the call. My service button was in the "off" mode.
For a sharp contrast, we need go no further than Matthew 14-15. Jesus' own cousin John the Baptist has just been beheaded by King Herod. The text then reads...
Matthew 14:12-14
John's disciples came and took his body and buried it. Then they went and told Jesus.
[His cousin just died. He's grieving. Does Jesus try to "take a break" from ministry? Yes.]
When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place.
[Do the needy people leave Jesus alone in this time of deep sorrow? No.]
Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns.
[Does Jesus tell them all to back off and leave him alone? No.]
When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.
As noted in the verses which follow, Jesus continue all day to minister all day long to a vast crowd of needy people.
And it doesn't stop there. After a no-doubt emotionally draining day of service to a host of needy people, Jesus again tries to slip away again. Remember, his cousin just got beheaded. He's probably wanting just a wee bit of alone time.
[Here I switch over to the Gospel of Mark's rendition of the same day, simply because I love his word choice...]
Mark 6:45-51
Immediately Jesus made his disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to Bethsaida, while he dismissed the crowd. After leaving them, he went up on a mountainside to pray.
When evening came, the boat was in the middle of the lake, and he was alone on land.
He saw the disciples straining at the oars, because the wind was against them. About the fourth watch of the night he went out to them, walking on the lake. He was about to pass by them, but when they saw him walking on the lake, they thought he was a ghost. They cried out, because they all saw him and were terrified.
Immediately he spoke to them and said, "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid."
On the one day he needs to escape, he instead continues to serve. And serve. And serve.
Superior in every way.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Chasing Jesus
Chasing Jesus.
Those two words roll around in my mind and on my tongue like honey.
As soon as I gather my thoughts around those two words, I can almost hear his rustling robes and smell the warm, dusty Mediterranean air. No wonder crowds followed him wherever he went. Life was with him and Life went forth from him. "Stay near that man!" my heart sings.
But then I get on with my preferred activity.
The other day I blogged about Chasing Pharisees. And the truth is, I do it an awful lot. In the blog I dealt mostly with the action of chasing Pharisees. I used to do that pretty regularly, but have wised up a bit on that score in recent years.
The problem is, I still do it in my head all the time. What I no longer indulge with my body and tongue I continue to nurture in my thoughts.
Words fail me as I contemplate how many hours and days of cumulative wasted time I have spent chasing Pharisees in my head. Winning arguments. Pointing out errors. Watching evildoers squirm. Conducting scathing interviews with people who aren't even part of my life anymore.
Chasing Pharisees.
It's a bitter game with a bitter taste – and my spirit becomes bitter within seconds when I indulge the poisonous thought pattern.
Chasing Jesus is so much better. So much better. When I place the two phrases side by side, it is nothing short of amazing that I waste my time entertaining the alternative. I might as well say that chasing death is preferable to chasing Life.
Or I might as well say that I prefer to look backward than to look forward. When I chase Jesus, I am running forward after the one who can give me Life... Life Abundant! When I chase Pharisees, I am returning back to those who by my reckoning have been taking life and poisoning hearts. As a dog returns to vomit... Why would I want to do that?
I don't know. But I do it in my head every day. Not a day goes by when I don't reminisce and re-live a painful experience with someone who hurt me. Once I enter that rabbit hole, it's usually several minutes before I come back out – and it is amazing how much life can get sucked out of me after so short a time. A few minutes of poison can leave me heart-sick for hours.
Chasing Jesus. It's equally amazing how much Life can seep into me when I spend those spare minutes in fellowship with the Lord of Life. I know this because every now and then I get it right – and rapturous joys are indeed available when we turn our eyes upon him and conduct real conversations with the Lover of our Souls and the Lord of our Life. Periodic conversations like that can redeem the whole day.
Chasing Jesus!
And the best thing is?
Unlike the Pharisees, Jesus like to be caught.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Three Deadly Horsemen of Worry
Ok, so I think there were four horsemen, but whatever...
I was reflecting upon my blog posted yesterday, and I think there are three basic sources of worry, and they are not all about "suffering" as I made them out to be in that blog. Jesus faced them all, and through it all he never ceased to exhibit a peace "that endurethed."
(I think the only time he showed any sign of lacking such peace was when he was alone with God on Gethsemane and knew a time was coming when God himself would reject him. No doubt that was a worthy moment to be troubled!)
But consider the rest of the life of Jesus as recorded in the gospels...
1) Jesus wasn't afraid to suffer.
That part I noted yesterday. Too often we worry because we're afraid we will suffer. How ironic is that? We signed up for suffering when we pledged ourselves as his! Never mind the fine print... didn't we read the big print?? Those not-so-subtle comments about having to take up our crosses and follow him?? But we worry nevertheless. Is a cross coming? When will this one be taken from me? When we expect crosses and are not surprised by them... when we bear them without complaint... I think most of our worries will become a thing of the past.
2) Jesus wasn't afraid he wouldn't get everything done.
The world always had more for Jesus to do than he had time to do as a single man. Why we think we can do better than he did I don't know. But we do. And usually the cure is to revel in our limitations and let God accomplish, through us, more than we can ask or imagine, to quote that scripture verse. When we expect to not get everything done, but trust instead that God will help us to do exactly what needs to be done (by us), a big chunk of our remaining worries will also become a thing of the past.
3) Jesus didn't fret about things not placed under his control.
He no doubt grieved over every poor choice he saw anyone make. Note his lament, for example, over Jerusalem. ("O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing.") But I don't think Jesus worried (strictly speaking) at all about Jerusalem and her wayward children. Worry of this sort involves a certain amount of unhealthy clinging... clinging to an unhealthy desire to exercise control over domains not meant to be under our control. Jesus never did that. If we cast aside worries of this sort, I do believe the last of our sources of worry would be conquered.
And if we did all that, I do believe indeed his peace would be given to us in abundance... a peace beyond understanding and of the sort the world can never offer us.
The Peace of Christ!
Give me more of it!
I was reflecting upon my blog posted yesterday, and I think there are three basic sources of worry, and they are not all about "suffering" as I made them out to be in that blog. Jesus faced them all, and through it all he never ceased to exhibit a peace "that endurethed."
(I think the only time he showed any sign of lacking such peace was when he was alone with God on Gethsemane and knew a time was coming when God himself would reject him. No doubt that was a worthy moment to be troubled!)
But consider the rest of the life of Jesus as recorded in the gospels...
1) Jesus wasn't afraid to suffer.
That part I noted yesterday. Too often we worry because we're afraid we will suffer. How ironic is that? We signed up for suffering when we pledged ourselves as his! Never mind the fine print... didn't we read the big print?? Those not-so-subtle comments about having to take up our crosses and follow him?? But we worry nevertheless. Is a cross coming? When will this one be taken from me? When we expect crosses and are not surprised by them... when we bear them without complaint... I think most of our worries will become a thing of the past.
2) Jesus wasn't afraid he wouldn't get everything done.
The world always had more for Jesus to do than he had time to do as a single man. Why we think we can do better than he did I don't know. But we do. And usually the cure is to revel in our limitations and let God accomplish, through us, more than we can ask or imagine, to quote that scripture verse. When we expect to not get everything done, but trust instead that God will help us to do exactly what needs to be done (by us), a big chunk of our remaining worries will also become a thing of the past.
3) Jesus didn't fret about things not placed under his control.
He no doubt grieved over every poor choice he saw anyone make. Note his lament, for example, over Jerusalem. ("O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing.") But I don't think Jesus worried (strictly speaking) at all about Jerusalem and her wayward children. Worry of this sort involves a certain amount of unhealthy clinging... clinging to an unhealthy desire to exercise control over domains not meant to be under our control. Jesus never did that. If we cast aside worries of this sort, I do believe the last of our sources of worry would be conquered.
And if we did all that, I do believe indeed his peace would be given to us in abundance... a peace beyond understanding and of the sort the world can never offer us.
The Peace of Christ!
Give me more of it!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
You're Kidding, Right Jesus?
I was struck by a funny thought on Sunday night. I logged it away as a blog idea and quickly forgot about it, but was reminded of it again today when I read this morning's lectionary gospel reading, which includes this verse:
John 14:27
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.
OK, so on the face of it, there's nothing particularly hilarious about this verse. It often comes to mind when I'm harried, troubled and/or tired. I desire peace. So.... what's so funny?
The thing I found so funny that night is the irony of the setting. The last verse of that same chapter has Jesus saying, "Come now; let us leave." Where is Jesus going? To the garden of Gethsemane. To do what? To be arrested, tried, beaten, whipped, mistreated, and then brutally executed. Jesus knows exactly where he's heading. And yet he instructs his disciples to not be afraid.
And he offers them his peace.
So Jesus is heading out to meet his death. But it's not like he was coming from Lake Placid, either! During his three years of ministry Jesus was relentlessly ridiculed, maligned, slandered, mistreated and hated by an awful lot of powerful people. He had to stay on the move just to avoid getting killed!
And yet Jesus tells us not to be afraid. And he offers us his peace.
OK, most of us are not at risk of being murdered, but we all know what it's like to be under pressure from family, friends, and sometimes strangers. Are we stressed by the pressures of ordinary life? Jesus knows about that too.
Jesus faced all we faced and more. His family thought he was insane. His friends just wanted to ride on his coat-tails to power. Crowds just wanted him to give them free meals. Sick people wanted him to heal them. He was a wanted man in every sense of the word — harried and pursued relentlessly. More so even than Hollywood actors and actresses.
And yet he offers us his peace.
Thus my surreal moment of hilarity. Jesus? Give me his peace? Offered peace like that, I might just prefer the alternatives! But Jesus was clear about it. So was the Apostle Paul. And Peter. And the author of Hebrews. If we opt for life with Jesus Christ, we'll indeed get his peace — and we'll also share in his sufferings. It's a package deal. I can't ask for his peace and decline his sufferings.
No wonder Jesus said his peace was not of the sort the world had to offer! And no wonder so few of us know the peace of Christ. We don't know the peace of Christ precisely because we're worried we might have to face the sufferings of Christ. But his peace is exactly revealed and made real when we willingly endure trials of all kinds.
But I preach to myself here as much as to anyone else. I frequently feel I lack the peace of Christ. Why? Why do we so often feel that we don't have peace when our lives are a whirlwind? I think it's because we mistake the peace Jesus offers with outer serenity.
Jesus never promised me outward serenity, but I guess I'm still in thrall to the notion that the good life includes (is defined by?) quiet afternoons in the sunshine with a good book. A brief review of the New Testament gospels and epistles reveals that neither Jesus nor Paul had any such life. Why do I want what they didn't seem to seek or have?
Do I want the peace Jesus offers? I think I do. But with Jesus as guide, I guess I need to let go of some notions about what it looks like to have it.
** Upon reflection (that is, after all, the title of my blog!) I think this blog deserves a bit of revision... but instead of fixing this one, I'll just throw up a few amendments in a new blog...)
John 14:27
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.
OK, so on the face of it, there's nothing particularly hilarious about this verse. It often comes to mind when I'm harried, troubled and/or tired. I desire peace. So.... what's so funny?
The thing I found so funny that night is the irony of the setting. The last verse of that same chapter has Jesus saying, "Come now; let us leave." Where is Jesus going? To the garden of Gethsemane. To do what? To be arrested, tried, beaten, whipped, mistreated, and then brutally executed. Jesus knows exactly where he's heading. And yet he instructs his disciples to not be afraid.
And he offers them his peace.
So Jesus is heading out to meet his death. But it's not like he was coming from Lake Placid, either! During his three years of ministry Jesus was relentlessly ridiculed, maligned, slandered, mistreated and hated by an awful lot of powerful people. He had to stay on the move just to avoid getting killed!
And yet Jesus tells us not to be afraid. And he offers us his peace.
OK, most of us are not at risk of being murdered, but we all know what it's like to be under pressure from family, friends, and sometimes strangers. Are we stressed by the pressures of ordinary life? Jesus knows about that too.
Jesus faced all we faced and more. His family thought he was insane. His friends just wanted to ride on his coat-tails to power. Crowds just wanted him to give them free meals. Sick people wanted him to heal them. He was a wanted man in every sense of the word — harried and pursued relentlessly. More so even than Hollywood actors and actresses.
And yet he offers us his peace.
Thus my surreal moment of hilarity. Jesus? Give me his peace? Offered peace like that, I might just prefer the alternatives! But Jesus was clear about it. So was the Apostle Paul. And Peter. And the author of Hebrews. If we opt for life with Jesus Christ, we'll indeed get his peace — and we'll also share in his sufferings. It's a package deal. I can't ask for his peace and decline his sufferings.
No wonder Jesus said his peace was not of the sort the world had to offer! And no wonder so few of us know the peace of Christ. We don't know the peace of Christ precisely because we're worried we might have to face the sufferings of Christ. But his peace is exactly revealed and made real when we willingly endure trials of all kinds.
But I preach to myself here as much as to anyone else. I frequently feel I lack the peace of Christ. Why? Why do we so often feel that we don't have peace when our lives are a whirlwind? I think it's because we mistake the peace Jesus offers with outer serenity.
Jesus never promised me outward serenity, but I guess I'm still in thrall to the notion that the good life includes (is defined by?) quiet afternoons in the sunshine with a good book. A brief review of the New Testament gospels and epistles reveals that neither Jesus nor Paul had any such life. Why do I want what they didn't seem to seek or have?
Do I want the peace Jesus offers? I think I do. But with Jesus as guide, I guess I need to let go of some notions about what it looks like to have it.
** Upon reflection (that is, after all, the title of my blog!) I think this blog deserves a bit of revision... but instead of fixing this one, I'll just throw up a few amendments in a new blog...)
Friday, April 2, 2010
An Interview With Jesus
So I was sitting in bed a few days ago, gathering my thoughts together for the new day. Or was I perhaps winding down a day already drawing to a close? Whichever the case, there was a tall-backed office chair next to the desk by the bed and I imagined for a moment that Jesus was sitting there in it, looking at me.
It being an office chair, somehow Jesus turned into a bit of an executive in my mind's eye... a rather imposing CEO. I suddenly began to feel like a job applicant. Or perhaps a mail room clerk.
"What do you have to offer me?" Jesus asked.
I should have known better, but I found myself looking for things to offer him. Talents. Money. Faithfulness. But each thing I thought to throw before that chair suddenly turned as if to dust before I could get it to him. Nothing I had to offer seemed to be even worth offering. This man before me holds the universe in his hands. Even if I were to consider only his "human" resources, he'd still have men and women all over the world who surpass me in any way one could consider. And, let's be real about this... He's God.
I had nothing to offer Jesus. And we both knew it.
Things were not looking good. But my spirits rose. "Jesus," I said, "wherever I go, I would like you to have free rein to do what what you want to do through me. I'll do my best to honor this commitment."
It was my best offer, and we both knew it. He didn't press for more. In fact, I think I saw a twinkle in his eye. "Now you're talking," his small smile seemed to say.
But this odd little time with the Lord had one other interesting facet to it all. CEOs in black swivel chairs are usually of average height or taller. The more I looked at him, the more I realized that this Jesus sitting in front of me was short. Really short. He was only about five feet tall.
Now I'd never really given it much thought, but the logic was impeccable. (I do admit this was not a divine visitation. I was definitely constructing a vision in my mind's eye.) But my imagination had taken me to an odd nexus. I'd never really thought before about how short Jesus was when he walked the earth. But average heights have been rising for perhaps millenia. Just a few hundred years ago I think the average male European male was only about 5'-6". If Jesus were of average height 2,000 years ago, he'd surely have been a very short man by today's standards.
So there I was, looking at my short CEO. My five-foot Lord and God. For the first time in my life, I felt extremely biased and afflicted with heightism. What does it mean to serve a midget and call him your Lord? Perhaps those in the temple dealing with an 11-yr old Jesus were struggling with similar feelings. Who is this little fellow?
It was definitely a mind-bender, but Jesus grinned and his eyes now seemed to ask, "And do you still call me Lord?"
I did. But it was definitely a strange encounter. Food for thought. As if God indwelling a five-foot body could be any less (dare I say?) "belittling" than doing so in a six-foot one. The fact that I have to ask the question at all reveals how very little appreciation I have for the crushing humility of God's decision to take on human flesh. For me to quibble about the height of the body he indwelt is to miss the point entirely.
The more I reflect on it, the more I think I have not really learned in my heart the lessons on offer from the scriptures surrounding Samuel's selection of David to be Israel's second king. Saul, their first king, was tall. Very tall. And an utter failure — a wreck of a man. David, the man God chose to be Israel's second king, was "not so tall." But God had to talk some sense into Samuel who, like me, had some hidden and unhealthy reservoir of respect for height. Samuel was quite ready to anoint one of David's older (and taller) brothers as Israel's next king. God had other plans.
1 Samuel 16:7
But the LORD said to Samuel, "Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart."
So little David went on to be king of Israel. Perhaps some Israelites had to get used to having a less stately looking king. Now I realize that I must do the same.
It being an office chair, somehow Jesus turned into a bit of an executive in my mind's eye... a rather imposing CEO. I suddenly began to feel like a job applicant. Or perhaps a mail room clerk.
"What do you have to offer me?" Jesus asked.
I should have known better, but I found myself looking for things to offer him. Talents. Money. Faithfulness. But each thing I thought to throw before that chair suddenly turned as if to dust before I could get it to him. Nothing I had to offer seemed to be even worth offering. This man before me holds the universe in his hands. Even if I were to consider only his "human" resources, he'd still have men and women all over the world who surpass me in any way one could consider. And, let's be real about this... He's God.
I had nothing to offer Jesus. And we both knew it.
Things were not looking good. But my spirits rose. "Jesus," I said, "wherever I go, I would like you to have free rein to do what what you want to do through me. I'll do my best to honor this commitment."
It was my best offer, and we both knew it. He didn't press for more. In fact, I think I saw a twinkle in his eye. "Now you're talking," his small smile seemed to say.
But this odd little time with the Lord had one other interesting facet to it all. CEOs in black swivel chairs are usually of average height or taller. The more I looked at him, the more I realized that this Jesus sitting in front of me was short. Really short. He was only about five feet tall.
Now I'd never really given it much thought, but the logic was impeccable. (I do admit this was not a divine visitation. I was definitely constructing a vision in my mind's eye.) But my imagination had taken me to an odd nexus. I'd never really thought before about how short Jesus was when he walked the earth. But average heights have been rising for perhaps millenia. Just a few hundred years ago I think the average male European male was only about 5'-6". If Jesus were of average height 2,000 years ago, he'd surely have been a very short man by today's standards.
So there I was, looking at my short CEO. My five-foot Lord and God. For the first time in my life, I felt extremely biased and afflicted with heightism. What does it mean to serve a midget and call him your Lord? Perhaps those in the temple dealing with an 11-yr old Jesus were struggling with similar feelings. Who is this little fellow?
It was definitely a mind-bender, but Jesus grinned and his eyes now seemed to ask, "And do you still call me Lord?"
I did. But it was definitely a strange encounter. Food for thought. As if God indwelling a five-foot body could be any less (dare I say?) "belittling" than doing so in a six-foot one. The fact that I have to ask the question at all reveals how very little appreciation I have for the crushing humility of God's decision to take on human flesh. For me to quibble about the height of the body he indwelt is to miss the point entirely.
The more I reflect on it, the more I think I have not really learned in my heart the lessons on offer from the scriptures surrounding Samuel's selection of David to be Israel's second king. Saul, their first king, was tall. Very tall. And an utter failure — a wreck of a man. David, the man God chose to be Israel's second king, was "not so tall." But God had to talk some sense into Samuel who, like me, had some hidden and unhealthy reservoir of respect for height. Samuel was quite ready to anoint one of David's older (and taller) brothers as Israel's next king. God had other plans.
1 Samuel 16:7
But the LORD said to Samuel, "Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart."
So little David went on to be king of Israel. Perhaps some Israelites had to get used to having a less stately looking king. Now I realize that I must do the same.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Superior In Every Way: Part I (Suffering)
Isaiah 53:3
He was despised and rejected — a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.
We turned our backs on him and looked the other way.
He was despised, and we did not care.
These are fitting words to ponder during the season of lent. The whole of chapter 53 is worth memorizing. But here I focus on the first phrase in the verse — acquainted with deepest grief.
I started this blog some months ago with the intent of getting some thoughts about Jesus down on "paper" — and yet I find I have not gotten far on that project yet. This entry is meant to begin the process of rectifying the situation!
My intent was, and is, to reflect on the superiority of Jesus Christ. In particular, I have been pondering for years about how he overcame in his life what we succumb to in our own lives.
What does it mean to say that Jesus was acquainted with grief?
My hunch is that, in essence, Jesus faced all the basic kinds of pain and suffering anyone ever faces. And triumphed over them all. My thesis is that we have a Lord who knows every kind of suffering and was familiar with all of our griefs. There is no kind of evil we face that he did not face too — and frequently under circumstances worse than our own.
Truth be told, I don't know that this is true. It's indelicate to say the words, but did Jesus endure sexual molestation as a child? Probably not. But I do hope to eventually wander the full landscape of suffering and reflect on how Jesus may (or may not have) endured it. Perhaps in the final analysis the core woundings involved in sex abuse are wounds he did receive, even if perhaps not by that route.
For today, however, I begin with something simpler: the loss of loved ones. Simpler? Yes. Easy? Far from it.
My mother passed away when I was 24 years old, just a month after I got married. Losing a mother when you are "relatively" young is not something I'd wish upon anyone. I shudder to think of losing her when I was 14. Worse still at the age of 4.
Some time ago I became intrigued by the silence in the matter of Jesus' father Joseph. The last we hear of Joseph is that Joseph and Mary took Jesus to the temple when Jesus was eleven years old. After that? Silence.
Where scriptures are silent we must of course trod with care — but it has always seemed rather obvious to me that Joseph must have died some time after that. Perhaps he died while Jesus was quite young. Perhaps much later. But I think it is safe to assume that Joseph passed away some time prior to the beginning of Jesus' ministry. In my thoughts below I'm going to assume this was the case, though it is granted that we presumably can never be sure of it.
Losing a parent is a great and terrible loss. I still mourn that my natural mother never had the chance to see my children grow up. I grieve that here on Earth my children will never meet my mother. But I had no choice in the matter. Cancer took my mother, and I had no power to stop it.
Not so for Jesus. Jesus had a choice. When his father Joseph died, Jesus could have raised him from the dead. Supposing there was a period of illness involved — Jesus could have healed him at any time. Jesus could, in fact, have prevented the onset of illness. He knew it was coming.
But he didn't do any of these things. Why?
Well... I don't know. But my suspicion is this: Jesus came to live among us, and to share in our suffering. Watching a loved one die is one of the worst agonies we as humans ever face. If Jesus had bypassed this dark valley, he would not have not been familiar with our sorrows or grief. He'd have been a bit more of a celestial tourist than a fellow sojourner if he'd taken a pass on this experience.
So Jesus knew what it's like to lose a parent. In fact, he endured what I endured... and more. I had to watch my mother die. He had to let his father die. I had no options in the matter. He did.
Superior in every way.
He was despised and rejected — a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.
We turned our backs on him and looked the other way.
He was despised, and we did not care.
These are fitting words to ponder during the season of lent. The whole of chapter 53 is worth memorizing. But here I focus on the first phrase in the verse — acquainted with deepest grief.
I started this blog some months ago with the intent of getting some thoughts about Jesus down on "paper" — and yet I find I have not gotten far on that project yet. This entry is meant to begin the process of rectifying the situation!
My intent was, and is, to reflect on the superiority of Jesus Christ. In particular, I have been pondering for years about how he overcame in his life what we succumb to in our own lives.
What does it mean to say that Jesus was acquainted with grief?
My hunch is that, in essence, Jesus faced all the basic kinds of pain and suffering anyone ever faces. And triumphed over them all. My thesis is that we have a Lord who knows every kind of suffering and was familiar with all of our griefs. There is no kind of evil we face that he did not face too — and frequently under circumstances worse than our own.
Truth be told, I don't know that this is true. It's indelicate to say the words, but did Jesus endure sexual molestation as a child? Probably not. But I do hope to eventually wander the full landscape of suffering and reflect on how Jesus may (or may not have) endured it. Perhaps in the final analysis the core woundings involved in sex abuse are wounds he did receive, even if perhaps not by that route.
For today, however, I begin with something simpler: the loss of loved ones. Simpler? Yes. Easy? Far from it.
My mother passed away when I was 24 years old, just a month after I got married. Losing a mother when you are "relatively" young is not something I'd wish upon anyone. I shudder to think of losing her when I was 14. Worse still at the age of 4.
Some time ago I became intrigued by the silence in the matter of Jesus' father Joseph. The last we hear of Joseph is that Joseph and Mary took Jesus to the temple when Jesus was eleven years old. After that? Silence.
Where scriptures are silent we must of course trod with care — but it has always seemed rather obvious to me that Joseph must have died some time after that. Perhaps he died while Jesus was quite young. Perhaps much later. But I think it is safe to assume that Joseph passed away some time prior to the beginning of Jesus' ministry. In my thoughts below I'm going to assume this was the case, though it is granted that we presumably can never be sure of it.
Losing a parent is a great and terrible loss. I still mourn that my natural mother never had the chance to see my children grow up. I grieve that here on Earth my children will never meet my mother. But I had no choice in the matter. Cancer took my mother, and I had no power to stop it.
Not so for Jesus. Jesus had a choice. When his father Joseph died, Jesus could have raised him from the dead. Supposing there was a period of illness involved — Jesus could have healed him at any time. Jesus could, in fact, have prevented the onset of illness. He knew it was coming.
But he didn't do any of these things. Why?
Well... I don't know. But my suspicion is this: Jesus came to live among us, and to share in our suffering. Watching a loved one die is one of the worst agonies we as humans ever face. If Jesus had bypassed this dark valley, he would not have not been familiar with our sorrows or grief. He'd have been a bit more of a celestial tourist than a fellow sojourner if he'd taken a pass on this experience.
So Jesus knew what it's like to lose a parent. In fact, he endured what I endured... and more. I had to watch my mother die. He had to let his father die. I had no options in the matter. He did.
Superior in every way.
Monday, February 22, 2010
You Think Your Dad Was Hard?
A portion of today's gospel reading really caught my attention.
Mark 1:9-11
One day Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee, and John baptized him in the Jordan River. As Jesus came up out of the water, he saw the heavens splitting apart and the Holy Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice from heaven said, “You are my dearly loved Son, and you bring me great joy.”
Aw, shucks! Sounds great, doesn't it? What a loving Father Jesus had! Can we collectively feel the love? And is now a great time to remember that this same heavenly Father loves us too? Warm sighs all around and happy expectations.
But there's this little problem. It's called verses 12 and 13.
Mark 1:12-13
The Spirit then compelled Jesus to go into the wilderness, where he was tempted by Satan for forty days. He was out among the wild animals, and angels took care of him.
And if those words weren't bad enough, Luke reports in his gospel that Jesus ate nothing during those forty days in the desert. So... what happened to the warm fuzzies? On the face of it, one could be forgiven for questioning the benefits of an indwelling Holy Spirit! A Trojan dove! And if Jesus gets this kind of treatment after a baptism of the Holy Spirit, what kind of treatment might we expect?
Pentecostals usually seek the baptism of the Holy Spirit. Well and good — but how many of them are looking for that forty-day stint in the desert? Health-and-wealth gospel folk think a ticket with Jesus is a ticket to comfort. Perhaps they should take a closer look where this gravy train leads.
I have heard it said that our true character is most clearly revealed when we are in pain and/or tired. When our resources are stripped bare and we have no energy for pretense... that is when the real me goes on display for all to see. Forty days without food left Jesus stripped of all human energy — and yet his character changed not a bit. He decimated Satan's lies with scriptures and turned his back on the worst temptations Satan could throw at him. Luke records that a defeated Satan finally gave up and went away. And who did he leave behind? A triumphant Jesus.
Luke 4:14
Then Jesus returned to Galilee, filled with the Holy Spirit’s power.
The power of God. This is why a loving, doting God would send his Son into the wilderness. To grow him up and make him strong. The desert is the spiritual equivalent of bodily vitamins. It may not taste good, but it makes you strong. Eat up! Even Jesus needed his spiritual vitamins.
Hebrews 5:8
Even though Jesus was God’s Son, he learned obedience from the things he suffered.
So... health-and-wealth folk can seek prosperity. Those in it for the good feelings can pursue that next mountaintop high. St. Paul preached something else.
Philippians 3:10
I want to know Christ and experience the mighty power that raised him from the dead. I want to suffer with him, sharing in his death, so that one way or another I will experience the resurrection from the dead!
"Punish me that way!" Usually we joke in this manner when we want something nice that someone else got. Punish me with a winning lottery ticket. But this is different. To be completely honest, I find myself afraid God might take me up on it. Am I ready for what might come? I am finding it hard to utter these words with complete zeal. But I know I should. Can I mean it?
Punish me that way, God!
Mark 1:9-11
One day Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee, and John baptized him in the Jordan River. As Jesus came up out of the water, he saw the heavens splitting apart and the Holy Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice from heaven said, “You are my dearly loved Son, and you bring me great joy.”
Aw, shucks! Sounds great, doesn't it? What a loving Father Jesus had! Can we collectively feel the love? And is now a great time to remember that this same heavenly Father loves us too? Warm sighs all around and happy expectations.
But there's this little problem. It's called verses 12 and 13.
Mark 1:12-13
The Spirit then compelled Jesus to go into the wilderness, where he was tempted by Satan for forty days. He was out among the wild animals, and angels took care of him.
And if those words weren't bad enough, Luke reports in his gospel that Jesus ate nothing during those forty days in the desert. So... what happened to the warm fuzzies? On the face of it, one could be forgiven for questioning the benefits of an indwelling Holy Spirit! A Trojan dove! And if Jesus gets this kind of treatment after a baptism of the Holy Spirit, what kind of treatment might we expect?
Pentecostals usually seek the baptism of the Holy Spirit. Well and good — but how many of them are looking for that forty-day stint in the desert? Health-and-wealth gospel folk think a ticket with Jesus is a ticket to comfort. Perhaps they should take a closer look where this gravy train leads.
I have heard it said that our true character is most clearly revealed when we are in pain and/or tired. When our resources are stripped bare and we have no energy for pretense... that is when the real me goes on display for all to see. Forty days without food left Jesus stripped of all human energy — and yet his character changed not a bit. He decimated Satan's lies with scriptures and turned his back on the worst temptations Satan could throw at him. Luke records that a defeated Satan finally gave up and went away. And who did he leave behind? A triumphant Jesus.
Luke 4:14
Then Jesus returned to Galilee, filled with the Holy Spirit’s power.
The power of God. This is why a loving, doting God would send his Son into the wilderness. To grow him up and make him strong. The desert is the spiritual equivalent of bodily vitamins. It may not taste good, but it makes you strong. Eat up! Even Jesus needed his spiritual vitamins.
Hebrews 5:8
Even though Jesus was God’s Son, he learned obedience from the things he suffered.
So... health-and-wealth folk can seek prosperity. Those in it for the good feelings can pursue that next mountaintop high. St. Paul preached something else.
Philippians 3:10
I want to know Christ and experience the mighty power that raised him from the dead. I want to suffer with him, sharing in his death, so that one way or another I will experience the resurrection from the dead!
"Punish me that way!" Usually we joke in this manner when we want something nice that someone else got. Punish me with a winning lottery ticket. But this is different. To be completely honest, I find myself afraid God might take me up on it. Am I ready for what might come? I am finding it hard to utter these words with complete zeal. But I know I should. Can I mean it?
Punish me that way, God!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
The Judah Substitution
While following a rabbit trail today I found myself reading Genesis 44. This passage takes place within the wider narrative of Joseph, of course, but here it is Judah who captivates me. He pleads with an Egyptian official to set his brother Benjamin free:
"Your servant my father said to us, '...If you take this one from me too and harm comes to him, you will bring my gray head down to the grave in misery.'
"So now, if the boy is not with us when I go back to your servant my father and if my father, whose life is closely bound up with the boy's life, sees that the boy isn't there, he will die. Your servants will bring the gray head of our father down to the grave in sorrow. Your servant guaranteed the boy's safety to my father. I said, 'If I do not bring him back to you, I will bear the blame before you, my father, all my life!'
"Now then, please let your servant remain here as my lord's slave in place of the boy, and let the boy return with his brothers. How can I go back to my father if the boy is not with me? No! Do not let me see the misery that would come upon my father."
The Egyptian official of course turns out to be Joseph in disguise, and Joseph again recaptures main stage in the verses which follow. Out of fifty chapters in Genesis, nearly ten of them are devoted to the story of Joseph. By way of comparison, Judah has up to this point gotten very little coverage.
What do we know about Judah so far? Well, let's see. We know that Judah came up with the bright idea of selling his own brother Joseph as a slave to some traders heading to Egypt (Genesis 37:26-27). Very nice. What else? We also know that that Judah first rudely neglected, and then passionately impregnated, his own daughter-in-law (Genesis 38). But here Judah did have a very good excuse for having gotten her pregnant — he had mistakenly believed her to be a local prostitute. So that's all fine.
Reality TV cannot beat this kind of sludge, though not for lack of trying. But we obviously have not seen the whole of Judah yet, and here is a reminder for people like me who too easily judge a man's life by two massive moral failures. In this passage, Judah rises above his past. Are we ready to let him?
And what a rise it is. Because he cannot bear the thought of what the loss of Benjamin would mean to their father Israel, Judah offers his own life as a substitute. In doing so Judah shows true colors forged in a furnace we know nothing about. Judah's father Israel does know of Judah's true character, however, and he speaks to it when prophesying blessings and curses on each of his sons.
Genesis 49:8-12
“Judah, your brothers will praise you.
You will grasp your enemies by the neck.
All your relatives will bow before you.
Judah, my son, is a young lion
that has finished eating its prey.
Like a lion he crouches and lies down;
like a lioness—who dares to rouse him?
The scepter will not depart from Judah,
nor the ruler’s staff from his descendants,
until the coming of the one to whom it belongs,
the one whom all nations will honor.
He ties his foal to a grapevine,
the colt of his donkey to a choice vine.
He washes his clothes in wine,
his robes in the blood of grapes.
His eyes are darker than wine,
and his teeth are whiter than milk."
A few verses later Israel declares Joseph to be a prince among his brothers — but it is Judah whom Israel names king. This prophecy is fulfilled partially when Judah's descendant David assumes the throne of Israel. The final and perfect fulfillment, however, is in Jesus Christ, a descendant of both David and Judah. It is Jesus who rules forever and it is Jesus who will forever be honored by all nations.
The fact that Jesus completes the kingly line of Judah is no secret. The authors of Hebrews and Revelation make this connection clear. Substitutionary theology is likewise anything but new. What is new for me is this substitutionary link between Jesus and his ancestor Judah.
I recently reflected on how God's testing of Abraham (with the sacrifice of Isaac) richly foreshadowed the sacrifice of Jesus, God's own son, for all of humanity. Isaac walked free, but Jesus, God's son, was indeed sacrificed. I see here a similar parallel here with the story of Judah and Benjamin. Judah also walked free, but the substitutionary offer Jesus made was accepted. Jesus completed the unfinished sacrifice of his ancestor Isaac and the unfinished substitution of his ancestor Judah.
The more I stare at Old Testament stories like these, the more I see (along with the author of Hebrews) that they were dim previews of good things to come.
Hebrews 10
The old system under the law of Moses was only a shadow, a dim preview of the good things to come, not the good things themselves. The sacrifices under that system were repeated again and again, year after year, but they were never able to provide perfect cleansing for those who came to worship....
...For it is not possible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins. That is why, when Christ came into the world, he said to God,
“You did not want animal sacrifices or sin offerings.
But you have given me a body to offer.
You were not pleased with burnt offerings
or other offerings for sin.
Then I said, ‘Look, I have come to do your will, O God —
as is written about me in the Scriptures.’”
"Your servant my father said to us, '...If you take this one from me too and harm comes to him, you will bring my gray head down to the grave in misery.'
"So now, if the boy is not with us when I go back to your servant my father and if my father, whose life is closely bound up with the boy's life, sees that the boy isn't there, he will die. Your servants will bring the gray head of our father down to the grave in sorrow. Your servant guaranteed the boy's safety to my father. I said, 'If I do not bring him back to you, I will bear the blame before you, my father, all my life!'
"Now then, please let your servant remain here as my lord's slave in place of the boy, and let the boy return with his brothers. How can I go back to my father if the boy is not with me? No! Do not let me see the misery that would come upon my father."
The Egyptian official of course turns out to be Joseph in disguise, and Joseph again recaptures main stage in the verses which follow. Out of fifty chapters in Genesis, nearly ten of them are devoted to the story of Joseph. By way of comparison, Judah has up to this point gotten very little coverage.
What do we know about Judah so far? Well, let's see. We know that Judah came up with the bright idea of selling his own brother Joseph as a slave to some traders heading to Egypt (Genesis 37:26-27). Very nice. What else? We also know that that Judah first rudely neglected, and then passionately impregnated, his own daughter-in-law (Genesis 38). But here Judah did have a very good excuse for having gotten her pregnant — he had mistakenly believed her to be a local prostitute. So that's all fine.
Reality TV cannot beat this kind of sludge, though not for lack of trying. But we obviously have not seen the whole of Judah yet, and here is a reminder for people like me who too easily judge a man's life by two massive moral failures. In this passage, Judah rises above his past. Are we ready to let him?
And what a rise it is. Because he cannot bear the thought of what the loss of Benjamin would mean to their father Israel, Judah offers his own life as a substitute. In doing so Judah shows true colors forged in a furnace we know nothing about. Judah's father Israel does know of Judah's true character, however, and he speaks to it when prophesying blessings and curses on each of his sons.
Genesis 49:8-12
“Judah, your brothers will praise you.
You will grasp your enemies by the neck.
All your relatives will bow before you.
Judah, my son, is a young lion
that has finished eating its prey.
Like a lion he crouches and lies down;
like a lioness—who dares to rouse him?
The scepter will not depart from Judah,
nor the ruler’s staff from his descendants,
until the coming of the one to whom it belongs,
the one whom all nations will honor.
He ties his foal to a grapevine,
the colt of his donkey to a choice vine.
He washes his clothes in wine,
his robes in the blood of grapes.
His eyes are darker than wine,
and his teeth are whiter than milk."
A few verses later Israel declares Joseph to be a prince among his brothers — but it is Judah whom Israel names king. This prophecy is fulfilled partially when Judah's descendant David assumes the throne of Israel. The final and perfect fulfillment, however, is in Jesus Christ, a descendant of both David and Judah. It is Jesus who rules forever and it is Jesus who will forever be honored by all nations.
The fact that Jesus completes the kingly line of Judah is no secret. The authors of Hebrews and Revelation make this connection clear. Substitutionary theology is likewise anything but new. What is new for me is this substitutionary link between Jesus and his ancestor Judah.
I recently reflected on how God's testing of Abraham (with the sacrifice of Isaac) richly foreshadowed the sacrifice of Jesus, God's own son, for all of humanity. Isaac walked free, but Jesus, God's son, was indeed sacrificed. I see here a similar parallel here with the story of Judah and Benjamin. Judah also walked free, but the substitutionary offer Jesus made was accepted. Jesus completed the unfinished sacrifice of his ancestor Isaac and the unfinished substitution of his ancestor Judah.
The more I stare at Old Testament stories like these, the more I see (along with the author of Hebrews) that they were dim previews of good things to come.
Hebrews 10
The old system under the law of Moses was only a shadow, a dim preview of the good things to come, not the good things themselves. The sacrifices under that system were repeated again and again, year after year, but they were never able to provide perfect cleansing for those who came to worship....
...For it is not possible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins. That is why, when Christ came into the world, he said to God,
“You did not want animal sacrifices or sin offerings.
But you have given me a body to offer.
You were not pleased with burnt offerings
or other offerings for sin.
Then I said, ‘Look, I have come to do your will, O God —
as is written about me in the Scriptures.’”
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Run, Don't Walk...
I think I first heard this humorous turn of phrase while chatting with a divorced woman a few months ago. Her former husband had been a terribly, terribly abusive man. A good friend, upon perceiving the true state of the marriage, gave her this advice:
Run, don't walk, to the nearest divorce lawyer.
Divorce is ugly business — but the phrase, it must be said, was catchy and memorable.
A week ago a good friend of mine landed a very promising new job. His current employer tried to counter. Knowing just how dysfunctional his current workplace situation is, my advice to him was this:
Run, don't walk, to that new job.
This morning I had to get up early. Way early. As my befuddled mind tried to start the day aright, with greetings to my Lord, the attempt was rather meandering. As my thoughts wandered, I found myself thinking of that friend of mine who got a new job. A moment later I heard, as if from a distance, a voice saying...
Run, don't walk, to Jesus.
The voice of God? My imagination continuing to run its course? I suppose a bit of both. After all, God breaks into our own thoughts through our own minds! If you think about it, it's a tautological truth.
Divine promptings and mundane machinations — our thoughts are the playground of God and man. And, for completeness, I must sadly note that our thoughts are also the playground of the devil himself. Lord, help us to know the difference!
As for this particular thought, I'm inclined to treat it with a bit of reverence. I was befuddled and groggy! Eminently sane and sagacious advice arriving at that hour deserves the honor. So as the fog of sleep began to clear, I began to meditate on the words I'd heard.
Run, don't walk, to Jesus.
The more I think about it, the more I am struck by how insulting it is to God when I walk, don't run, to him. It implies... no... it indicates that I don't have a clue just how desperate my situation, nor how badly I need Jesus. God's advice to us is this:
Run, don't walk, to Jesus.
So each morning, dearest Lord, let me run, not walk, to you. And stay with you all day.
Run, don't walk, to the nearest divorce lawyer.
Divorce is ugly business — but the phrase, it must be said, was catchy and memorable.
A week ago a good friend of mine landed a very promising new job. His current employer tried to counter. Knowing just how dysfunctional his current workplace situation is, my advice to him was this:
Run, don't walk, to that new job.
This morning I had to get up early. Way early. As my befuddled mind tried to start the day aright, with greetings to my Lord, the attempt was rather meandering. As my thoughts wandered, I found myself thinking of that friend of mine who got a new job. A moment later I heard, as if from a distance, a voice saying...
Run, don't walk, to Jesus.
The voice of God? My imagination continuing to run its course? I suppose a bit of both. After all, God breaks into our own thoughts through our own minds! If you think about it, it's a tautological truth.
Divine promptings and mundane machinations — our thoughts are the playground of God and man. And, for completeness, I must sadly note that our thoughts are also the playground of the devil himself. Lord, help us to know the difference!
As for this particular thought, I'm inclined to treat it with a bit of reverence. I was befuddled and groggy! Eminently sane and sagacious advice arriving at that hour deserves the honor. So as the fog of sleep began to clear, I began to meditate on the words I'd heard.
Run, don't walk, to Jesus.
The more I think about it, the more I am struck by how insulting it is to God when I walk, don't run, to him. It implies... no... it indicates that I don't have a clue just how desperate my situation, nor how badly I need Jesus. God's advice to us is this:
Run, don't walk, to Jesus.
So each morning, dearest Lord, let me run, not walk, to you. And stay with you all day.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Haiti And Siloam
A few days ago a friend of mine informed me of the "fact" that Haitian slaves had made a deal with the devil (so as to escape slavery) some 200 years ago. The devil apparently agreed to the deal and has ruled over that land ever since.
Somehow, my friend insinuated, the earthquake was a direct consequence of this pact with the devil.
Needless to say, my heart grieves when friends speak this way. Some may wonder at the company I keep! But ignorance of this sort is not new. Jesus dealt with the same kind of blind depravity in his own disciples.
John 9:1-7
As [Jesus] went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
"Neither this man nor his parents sinned," said Jesus, "but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life. As long as it is day, we must do the work of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world."
Having said this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man's eyes. "Go," he told him, "wash in the Pool of Siloam" (this word means Sent). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.
Jesus' response is instructive. He didn't abandon his disciples, but he did firmly correct them without hatred or nastiness. Then he proceeded to do the true work of God, which has a lot more to do with healing the world than in condemning it. (Witness John 3:17....)
In this passage, there is only one person who sees clearly in every sense of the word. Jesus. Not by coincidence, I think, does John note that Jesus saw the man. As for the disciples, they were grievously blind in that they mistook an opportunity for grace as an opportunity for blame.
Jesus frequently called the Pharisees blind fools, but sadly all too often his disciples (then and now) are similarly stricken. The original disciples needed more time to understand Jesus and his radical message. What excuse do we as Christians have today for failing to understand?
Ironically, the reference to Siloam in this passage from John brings another passage to my mind. It is from Luke, and it is equally applicable, if not more so, to recent events in Haiti.
Luke 13:1-5
Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. Jesus answered, "Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish."
My friend got his dubious Haitian history from Pat Robertson, a spiritually blind televangelist. People interested in God's perspective on the situation in Haiti would do better to spend less time entertaining undocumented legends and more time studying these two passages from scripture which clearly show that Jesus took a dim view of our human tendency to draw dotted (or solid) lines between sin and people's suffering. Many towers fell in Haiti — are we so sure that those who died there were more guilty than we who live elsewhere? Jesus emphatically (can you hear his anger?) says the answer is No!
I don't know why God allowed so many Haitian people to die in one horrible minute. All I know with certainty is that God is sovereign and good — and that my job as a follower of Christ is to help alleviate the suffering that the earthquake left behind. If all followers of Christ step up to this task, the work of a sovereign and good God will indeed be displayed in our lives.
Somehow, my friend insinuated, the earthquake was a direct consequence of this pact with the devil.
Needless to say, my heart grieves when friends speak this way. Some may wonder at the company I keep! But ignorance of this sort is not new. Jesus dealt with the same kind of blind depravity in his own disciples.
John 9:1-7
As [Jesus] went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
"Neither this man nor his parents sinned," said Jesus, "but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life. As long as it is day, we must do the work of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world."
Having said this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man's eyes. "Go," he told him, "wash in the Pool of Siloam" (this word means Sent). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.
Jesus' response is instructive. He didn't abandon his disciples, but he did firmly correct them without hatred or nastiness. Then he proceeded to do the true work of God, which has a lot more to do with healing the world than in condemning it. (Witness John 3:17....)
In this passage, there is only one person who sees clearly in every sense of the word. Jesus. Not by coincidence, I think, does John note that Jesus saw the man. As for the disciples, they were grievously blind in that they mistook an opportunity for grace as an opportunity for blame.
Jesus frequently called the Pharisees blind fools, but sadly all too often his disciples (then and now) are similarly stricken. The original disciples needed more time to understand Jesus and his radical message. What excuse do we as Christians have today for failing to understand?
Ironically, the reference to Siloam in this passage from John brings another passage to my mind. It is from Luke, and it is equally applicable, if not more so, to recent events in Haiti.
Luke 13:1-5
Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. Jesus answered, "Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish."
My friend got his dubious Haitian history from Pat Robertson, a spiritually blind televangelist. People interested in God's perspective on the situation in Haiti would do better to spend less time entertaining undocumented legends and more time studying these two passages from scripture which clearly show that Jesus took a dim view of our human tendency to draw dotted (or solid) lines between sin and people's suffering. Many towers fell in Haiti — are we so sure that those who died there were more guilty than we who live elsewhere? Jesus emphatically (can you hear his anger?) says the answer is No!
I don't know why God allowed so many Haitian people to die in one horrible minute. All I know with certainty is that God is sovereign and good — and that my job as a follower of Christ is to help alleviate the suffering that the earthquake left behind. If all followers of Christ step up to this task, the work of a sovereign and good God will indeed be displayed in our lives.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Strike The Rock, And Water Will Come Gushing Out
Exodus 17:6
"Strike the rock, and water will come gushing out"
I guess I never noticed these words before, but they were in my readings for today. How amazing is the tapestry which God wove in our holy scriptures, through dozens of writers over thousands of years.
And yet it all holds together.... miraculously so.
From the ancient scriptures of the Old Testament, we read so many prophecies pointing us to Christ. A few of them are as follows...
Here, one of a gazillion foreshadowings of the Christ to come...
Psalm 118:22
The stone the builders rejected
has become the capstone;
Here, a mystical foretelling of days to come, and the kingdoms yet to be seen....
Daniel 2:34-35
While you were watching, a rock was cut out, but not by human hands. It struck the statue on its feet of iron and clay and smashed them. Then the iron, the clay, the bronze, the silver and the gold were broken to pieces at the same time and became like chaff on a threshing floor in the summer. The wind swept them away without leaving a trace. But the rock that struck the statue became a huge mountain and filled the whole earth.
Here, a prediction that his disciples would flee at his darkest hour...
Zechariah 13:7
"Awake, O sword, against my shepherd,
against the man who is close to me!" declares the LORD Almighty.
"Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered,
and I will turn my hand against the little ones....
So much for the Old Testament. And of course this is just a small sampling...
On to the New Testament. The Christ finally does appear, and Jesus lives up to these and so many other scriptural prophecies. Among so many things he did and said which confirmed them, he had also these words to share:
John 4:10
Jesus answered her, "If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water."
And, of course, the Apostle Paul must have his say too!
(an explicit reference to Exodus...)
1 Corinthians 10:4
They all ate the same spiritual food and drank the same spiritual drink; for they drank from the spiritual rock that accompanied them, and that rock was Christ.
And yet. And yet. And yet.
After all these things, most of which I was familiar with... I still never noticed until today the simple hidden message here:
Exodus 17:6
"Strike the rock, and water will come gushing out"
And indeed, that is exactly what happened. The rock (that was Christ) was indeed struck... and living water has been gushing out ever since, just as God promised all along.
"Strike the rock, and water will come gushing out"
I guess I never noticed these words before, but they were in my readings for today. How amazing is the tapestry which God wove in our holy scriptures, through dozens of writers over thousands of years.
And yet it all holds together.... miraculously so.
From the ancient scriptures of the Old Testament, we read so many prophecies pointing us to Christ. A few of them are as follows...
Here, one of a gazillion foreshadowings of the Christ to come...
Psalm 118:22
The stone the builders rejected
has become the capstone;
Here, a mystical foretelling of days to come, and the kingdoms yet to be seen....
Daniel 2:34-35
While you were watching, a rock was cut out, but not by human hands. It struck the statue on its feet of iron and clay and smashed them. Then the iron, the clay, the bronze, the silver and the gold were broken to pieces at the same time and became like chaff on a threshing floor in the summer. The wind swept them away without leaving a trace. But the rock that struck the statue became a huge mountain and filled the whole earth.
Here, a prediction that his disciples would flee at his darkest hour...
Zechariah 13:7
"Awake, O sword, against my shepherd,
against the man who is close to me!" declares the LORD Almighty.
"Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered,
and I will turn my hand against the little ones....
So much for the Old Testament. And of course this is just a small sampling...
On to the New Testament. The Christ finally does appear, and Jesus lives up to these and so many other scriptural prophecies. Among so many things he did and said which confirmed them, he had also these words to share:
John 4:10
Jesus answered her, "If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water."
And, of course, the Apostle Paul must have his say too!
(an explicit reference to Exodus...)
1 Corinthians 10:4
They all ate the same spiritual food and drank the same spiritual drink; for they drank from the spiritual rock that accompanied them, and that rock was Christ.
And yet. And yet. And yet.
After all these things, most of which I was familiar with... I still never noticed until today the simple hidden message here:
Exodus 17:6
"Strike the rock, and water will come gushing out"
And indeed, that is exactly what happened. The rock (that was Christ) was indeed struck... and living water has been gushing out ever since, just as God promised all along.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
He never called it stupid
Life is difficult. We all discover this to be true. Yes, it's tempting to think that a few blessed souls have it easy, but a review of how things turn out for lucky (??) lotto winners ought to give us pause before we assume that our lives could become miraculously free of difficulties were situation X, Y or Z resolved favorably.
So, given that there will always be a situation X, Y or Z, how should we respond to them?
I, for one, easily get frustrated. As a case in point, I am now in the middle of a situation which has proved costly to me in terms of both time and money (to say nothing of the emotional toll). Despite all my efforts over the past year or two, I have yet to escape it. The situation lingers on, like an intrusive and unwelcome visitor in my home. I believe God allowed it to happen for purposes known to him, and I trust God with the matter. I have already seen some good things come about as a result of what I have experienced.
So far, so good. To be able to say these things truthfully is indeed a victory. But it's not a complete one. I know the victory is not complete because of the words which flow from my heart when the topic comes up in conversation.
In prayer, I work hard to find words that indicate trust and love. God is in charge of the situation, and can be trusted with it. With effort, I find that I am able to thank God for what he is teaching me and how he is shaping me through it. It's tricky business, but I am able to find these words and mean them -- when I'm chatting with God.
But my, oh my, how the wording sometimes changes when I give friends or family an update on this same matter. Suddenly from my heart well up words which bear not-so-beautiful testimony to another perspective which I also hold within me. The thing is "stupid." The situation "sucks." I'm "tired" of it. "How I wish I had never met so-and-so, who got me into this mess." "If I had known what I was getting into, I would never have done it!!"
The strange thing is, I am being pretty honest in both situations. I speak with God in one way, and am helped by the knowledge that he is omniscient, omnipotent and loves me too. Why bother complaining to God, that being the case? In the mystery of life, this is how God is choosing to grow me up. I know this to be true, so I may as well talk that way when I'm in a conversation with him.
But in conversations with other broken people like me, I so easily move into what we all do so well -- an attitude of complaining. And usually I can count on their sympathy, because we all find it easy to slip into the fallacy of believing that difficulties are evils wrongfully thrust upon our lives -- intrusions on the idyllic existence we thought we ought to have been given as a birthright.
Then there is the example of Christ Jesus. Search the scriptures and see. Jesus never called the cross "stupid." He never said his situation "sucked." Whereas our woes usually jump us from behind (or worse, are the direct result of our own screwed up decisions), Jesus' cross was ever before him, precipitated by our screw-ups (not his)... and yet he knowingly kept walking toward it. With a good attitude. We don't know all the exact words Jesus used, but it appears that he talked about his impending doom in a rather matter-of-fact way with his disciples. The strongest words Jesus had to say about the crucifixion he knew he would endure were that it was a "baptism" he was eager to see to completion. (Luke 12:50)
But to call those his strongest words on the topic would be to ignore his prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. (Luke 22:41-44) Wait a minute. Prayer? So... let me get this straight. Jesus' words about his crucifixion were most "godly" when he was talking to men... And his words on the same topic were most "human" when he was talking with God...
Mystery. A complete reversal of how I talk about my little crosses in life. I save my complaints for people, and my most pious words for God. Perhaps there is a lesson there for me, somewhere.
But one final reflection to add to the mix, making Christ's example for me all the more compelling and challenging.
When unpleasant realities intrude into my life, my worst words are always reserved for those who helped usher them in, and the words come most easily when the offender is a close friend or family member. It's that commonly understood reality -- we are often more polite to strangers than we are to our own spouses or siblings.
For stark contrast, look no further than how Jesus spoke about the cross. Not only did he keep a good attitude about it, but he also never held it over anyone. It's a bizarre image... a painting no one ever painted. Jesus never held his cross over anyone. Imagine how tempting it would have been for Jesus to say in exasperation, "You pathetic people -- I'm going to die a gruesome death, and if it weren't for you, I wouldn't even have to do it! A little gratitude is in order here." But the gospels record no such bitter complaints.
Jesus didn't pop an attitude about the cross. He didn't complain to us about it. He didn't shove our noses in it. And when the burden was almost more than he could bear -- he talked to God about it. And he accepted it without argument or bitterness when God didn't take it away.
God, give me this gracious attitude for the crosses I bear in my life, which don't bear comparison to the cross of Christ anyway.
So, given that there will always be a situation X, Y or Z, how should we respond to them?
I, for one, easily get frustrated. As a case in point, I am now in the middle of a situation which has proved costly to me in terms of both time and money (to say nothing of the emotional toll). Despite all my efforts over the past year or two, I have yet to escape it. The situation lingers on, like an intrusive and unwelcome visitor in my home. I believe God allowed it to happen for purposes known to him, and I trust God with the matter. I have already seen some good things come about as a result of what I have experienced.
So far, so good. To be able to say these things truthfully is indeed a victory. But it's not a complete one. I know the victory is not complete because of the words which flow from my heart when the topic comes up in conversation.
In prayer, I work hard to find words that indicate trust and love. God is in charge of the situation, and can be trusted with it. With effort, I find that I am able to thank God for what he is teaching me and how he is shaping me through it. It's tricky business, but I am able to find these words and mean them -- when I'm chatting with God.
But my, oh my, how the wording sometimes changes when I give friends or family an update on this same matter. Suddenly from my heart well up words which bear not-so-beautiful testimony to another perspective which I also hold within me. The thing is "stupid." The situation "sucks." I'm "tired" of it. "How I wish I had never met so-and-so, who got me into this mess." "If I had known what I was getting into, I would never have done it!!"
The strange thing is, I am being pretty honest in both situations. I speak with God in one way, and am helped by the knowledge that he is omniscient, omnipotent and loves me too. Why bother complaining to God, that being the case? In the mystery of life, this is how God is choosing to grow me up. I know this to be true, so I may as well talk that way when I'm in a conversation with him.
But in conversations with other broken people like me, I so easily move into what we all do so well -- an attitude of complaining. And usually I can count on their sympathy, because we all find it easy to slip into the fallacy of believing that difficulties are evils wrongfully thrust upon our lives -- intrusions on the idyllic existence we thought we ought to have been given as a birthright.
Then there is the example of Christ Jesus. Search the scriptures and see. Jesus never called the cross "stupid." He never said his situation "sucked." Whereas our woes usually jump us from behind (or worse, are the direct result of our own screwed up decisions), Jesus' cross was ever before him, precipitated by our screw-ups (not his)... and yet he knowingly kept walking toward it. With a good attitude. We don't know all the exact words Jesus used, but it appears that he talked about his impending doom in a rather matter-of-fact way with his disciples. The strongest words Jesus had to say about the crucifixion he knew he would endure were that it was a "baptism" he was eager to see to completion. (Luke 12:50)
But to call those his strongest words on the topic would be to ignore his prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. (Luke 22:41-44) Wait a minute. Prayer? So... let me get this straight. Jesus' words about his crucifixion were most "godly" when he was talking to men... And his words on the same topic were most "human" when he was talking with God...
Mystery. A complete reversal of how I talk about my little crosses in life. I save my complaints for people, and my most pious words for God. Perhaps there is a lesson there for me, somewhere.
But one final reflection to add to the mix, making Christ's example for me all the more compelling and challenging.
When unpleasant realities intrude into my life, my worst words are always reserved for those who helped usher them in, and the words come most easily when the offender is a close friend or family member. It's that commonly understood reality -- we are often more polite to strangers than we are to our own spouses or siblings.
For stark contrast, look no further than how Jesus spoke about the cross. Not only did he keep a good attitude about it, but he also never held it over anyone. It's a bizarre image... a painting no one ever painted. Jesus never held his cross over anyone. Imagine how tempting it would have been for Jesus to say in exasperation, "You pathetic people -- I'm going to die a gruesome death, and if it weren't for you, I wouldn't even have to do it! A little gratitude is in order here." But the gospels record no such bitter complaints.
Jesus didn't pop an attitude about the cross. He didn't complain to us about it. He didn't shove our noses in it. And when the burden was almost more than he could bear -- he talked to God about it. And he accepted it without argument or bitterness when God didn't take it away.
God, give me this gracious attitude for the crosses I bear in my life, which don't bear comparison to the cross of Christ anyway.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
In The Beginning...
...Was the Word. (John 1:1)
Worthy words to remember upon this inaugural blogfest. So many words out there, but it begins with the Word -- and ends there too. He is the Alpha (with apologies to those who thought they were) and the Omega too.
I have begun this blogspot for a simple reason. No publisher has yet paid me for my writing, nor has any offered to take it for free. I confess I have not tried very hard. In fact, it would be simplest to say I have not tried at all. But I do have to question the wisdom of all those publishers who never dropped by my house to gain my acquaintance.
In the meantime, I have found this blogspot website (yeah, that was hard) and decided to work off my literary itches.
Yes, I've got a few of those itches. Ideas and thoughts. That is the inspiration (some might question the word-choice there) behind my blog title. Someone else took the URL (uponreflection.blogspot.com) but by the frequency of his/her blogs, my tentative conclusion is that this person has not been reflecting on much of late -- not publicly, at least. I wonder if I will follow the same course. A few blogs into empty space, and then nothing?
But back to the ideas and itches. Now that I have taken the time to create this blog account, I don't want to blow all my money on the first shot, so I will sign out quietly and hopefully gracefully today, only to (perhaps) tomorrow begin with some reflections upon the Word. Jesus. He continues to amaze me, and it is for the sheer joy of reflecting upon who He is that I have even begun this little blog fun.
Worthy words to remember upon this inaugural blogfest. So many words out there, but it begins with the Word -- and ends there too. He is the Alpha (with apologies to those who thought they were) and the Omega too.
I have begun this blogspot for a simple reason. No publisher has yet paid me for my writing, nor has any offered to take it for free. I confess I have not tried very hard. In fact, it would be simplest to say I have not tried at all. But I do have to question the wisdom of all those publishers who never dropped by my house to gain my acquaintance.
In the meantime, I have found this blogspot website (yeah, that was hard) and decided to work off my literary itches.
Yes, I've got a few of those itches. Ideas and thoughts. That is the inspiration (some might question the word-choice there) behind my blog title. Someone else took the URL (uponreflection.blogspot.com) but by the frequency of his/her blogs, my tentative conclusion is that this person has not been reflecting on much of late -- not publicly, at least. I wonder if I will follow the same course. A few blogs into empty space, and then nothing?
But back to the ideas and itches. Now that I have taken the time to create this blog account, I don't want to blow all my money on the first shot, so I will sign out quietly and hopefully gracefully today, only to (perhaps) tomorrow begin with some reflections upon the Word. Jesus. He continues to amaze me, and it is for the sheer joy of reflecting upon who He is that I have even begun this little blog fun.
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