"Sticking" to Principles

The Sabbath has preoccupied my thoughts greatly in recent months. The more I honor it, the more it becomes obvious to me that in doing so I am blessed, not burdened.

We do not consider it a burden to take time out for food each day.

We do not consider it a burden to take time out for sleep each night.

Why is it that so many people, even among the children of God, consider it too much a burden to obey the call to rest on the Sabbath?

There are a number of good ways to answer that question, and my (well-justified) fear here is that I won't do justice to any of them by attempting in a few words to address a topic that has, no doubt, filled entire books.

Suffice it to say that the American church does not realize
a) that the Sabbath is still one of our Ten Commandments, and that
b) as with all of God's commands, obedience in this matter ushers us more fully into the life God wants us to have.

Because the American church in large part does not recognize this, we are that much more the impoverished for it.

Do I indict the entire American church so quickly? Well...

Yes.

Of course amongst 300 million souls there are many churchgoers who have not forgotten the Sabbath commandment. No doubt this is so.

But consider this: my church, the church I attend now, just yesterday took part in a multi-church event yesterday. Probably about five to ten churches together engaged in an event called Carefest during which worship takes place together and then groups go out to... to... to work.

What kind of work? Landscaping. Yardwork. You name it. Work for various causes and needs.

Are we doing it for free? Yes.

Are we doing it to serve? Yes.

Are we doing it on Sunday? Yes.

Is this a good idea? No!

Here yours truly, a Pharisee in training, is on thin ice. I think it's a terrible idea, but what thin ice it is.

Jesus worked on the Sabbath. And he got really upset with the Pharisees who sought to limit his Sunday service. Am I on the wrong side of the debate?

So hard to say... Because here we are caught between the Scylla and the charybdis.

We're on the wrong side of Jesus if we prevent good works on Sunday.

But we're also on the wrong side of Jesus if we let our human scheduling preferences override the commandments of God.

Jesus got really upset with how the religious leaders of his day allowed the rules of men to supercede the rules of God. There is a difference between addressing needs as they hit you in the face, as Jesus did, and scheduling work for a Sabbath.

A dozen churches in this area of town, including my own, scheduled work for yesterday. They did it that way for one simple reason -- Thousands of busy suburban churchgoers have their Sundays set aside. What better a day to schedule a multi-church work day?

Except for the fact that God told us to rest on the Sabbath.

Scheduling a multi-church work day for Sunday is sooooooo not a good idea.

So our family took the day off from church.

And here is where this rambling post gets a bit interesting.

Among the many relaxing things I did yesterday was a quick jog with a soccer ball. Is jogging work? No... no I needed the exercise and it was wonderful to get out of the house. But I did ponder that thought. No, it's ok. A jog is a good thing.

My young son Luke joined me, so it was two boys with two soccer balls on a Sunday jaunt. On my way back from the park, I was still reflecting on what we were doing and why we were not "working" with the various churches. And feeling good about it. In good ways and bad ways I was feeling good about it.

On the way home, we picked up loose sticks on the ground to use for light our outdoor fire pit. I've been in the habit of doing that for a long time. All fun and easy....

Until a little voice in my head said, "Hey, Brian. Are you gathering firewood?"

Very funny, God. Very, very, funny.

Numbers 15:32-36
While the Israelites were in the wilderness, a man was found gathering wood on the Sabbath day. Those who found him gathering wood brought him to Moses and Aaron and the whole assembly, and they kept him in custody, because it was not clear what should be done to him. Then the LORD said to Moses, “The man must die. The whole assembly must stone him outside the camp.” 36 So the assembly took him outside the camp and stoned him to death, as the LORD commanded Moses.

Nice touch, God. Nice touch.

And so the thin ice gets thinner. And I am reminded that the definition of work can get awful complicated. No wonder that by the time Jesus arrived so many rules had sprung up around the notion of work. Absurd rules. The sort of rules that Jesus had a ball with. Oh yes, Jesus loved to point out the inconsistencies in all the Pharisees did and taught.

And here yours truly was caught in one of his own. Busy condemning the work others were doing, I was gathering firewood on the Sabbath. And dragging my son into the mess.

Of course this, for me, was not work. The fire pit is FUN! Ah, such thin ice.

Do I think the Sabbath is important? Yes!

Do I still think the American Church has lost sight of it? Yes!

Am I Sabbath Pharisee? Um...

Um...

Yes.

I need mercy, because I am at heart a Pharisee, and it shows up everywhere.

Jesus — Master of Disaster

There are very few places in the gospels where Jesus appears to have lost control — where circumstances seem to guide Jesus rather than the other way around.

The last 24 hours of his life do invite us to entertain such notions, however. He is passed back and forth from one set of violent hands to another, and finally escorted by Roman soldiers to his own crucifixion.

Shall we assume that, in his final hours of life, Jesus was just a wee bit out of the driver's seat, so to speak?

I don't think so. Jesus was in control the whole time.

On one level, it's quite strange that we should think otherwise. During the weeks and months leading up to his death Jesus tried valiantly to clue his disciples in on what was to come — that he would be brutally murdered and yet rise again to life. His disciples didn't have ears to hear his words, but it's hardly the case that Jesus didn't know what he was doing or where he was going. Or what (or whom) was waiting for him in Jerusalem.

But it's one thing to say, "I'm going to throw myself into that swirling, flooded river and then I will drown." It's quite another thing altogether to say, "The currents will swirl me this way, then that way, then other way, and then you'll see a branch brushing by my head about 10 seconds before I go down for the last time."

Most of us don't attribute that much control to Jesus. And it is on this point that I think we sell Jesus just a bit short. We grant that Jesus threw himself into the river, so to speak. But I don't think we understand how much he knew about the river and how it would swirl.

He knew precisely.

Down to the last ripple.

A bit of backdrop first... A few examples of what I' driving at.

• Judas betrays Jesus... but Jesus knew it in advance and, in so many words, told Judas to hurry up and get on with it.

• When soldiers came to take Jesus away... he had already known they were coming.

• When Jesus' disciples desert him, they do so on cue... so much so that Jesus even informs Peter that he would deny association with Jesus three times before the rooster's morning song. (Even stupid roosters fall into line with the plan of God!)

• When Jesus was tried before the Sanhedrin... he was the only person in the room in control of his emotions. His words drove others wild with rage — but not the other way around.

• The Roman governor Pontius Pilate is revealed to be a coward and not much in control... But when he tries to tell Jesus that he (Pilate) is the master of Jesus' fate, Jesus calmly informs him in so many words that it is quite the other way around. (And given that Jesus had intended to die whereas Pontius had hoped to let him live, the fact that Pontius eventually hands Jesus over to death merely confirms who is indeed in control.)

• As Jesus carries his cross to Golgotha, women follow behind him, weeping uncontrollably... and yet like the director presiding over a play that he himself wrote, Jesus turns to his disconsolate audience and warns them that worse is yet to come before the final act concludes.

Yes, Jesus is being carried to his death by angry, powerful men — but on closer inspection it's more than a little obvious that Jesus has himself orchestrated the whole show, end to end.

Jesus was, quite literally, master over the entire disaster.

But this is all backdrop, and familiar stuff to anyone who has read the gospel accounts of Jesus' death.

Here's where things get interesting for me. Suppose I accept that Jesus was "that much" in control. Just suppose. And if he's that much in control... what about a few other things?

For me this line of thought picked up steam at a Good Friday service I attended two days ago. Some readings I received during the service reminded me that a crucified man dies, in the end, of asphyxiation.

On a cross it is easy to breathe air in. Very hard, however, to breathe it back out. One must "stand up" a bit in order to get air out of the lungs. It's not very fun to stand on feet which are bound or nailed to a cross, but a condemned man can do this, with great effort, for quite a while. Even days. (The Romans had truly perfected one of the most awful ways to die.) Eventually, however, the doomed man no longer has the strength to raise himself up enough to breathe out. Starved of new air, he dies for lack of oxygen.

I had heard this before, but a new thought entered my mind on reading this information... Answers to nagging questions I'd been noodling over for years.

The questions arise from these words from John....

John 19:28-30
Later, knowing that everything had now been finished, and so that Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.” A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips. When he had received the drink, Jesus said, “It is finished.” With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

My two questions were as follows. First, how did Jesus know he was going to die? And second, why did he die so quickly?

And for the first time in my life, I think I have answers to those two questions.

Why did Jesus die so quickly? Because he chose to. Jesus didn't die when he could no longer live. He died when he wanted to. He was in control. He chose to stop lifting his torso and instead lowered his head. And gave up his spirit. That's why he died quickly and that's why he knew when it was going to happen.

These thoughts align well with the verses which follow.

John 19:31-37
Now it was the day of Preparation, and the next day was to be a special Sabbath. Because the Jewish leaders did not want the bodies left on the crosses during the Sabbath, they asked Pilate to have the legs broken and the bodies taken down. The soldiers therefore came and broke the legs of the first man who had been crucified with Jesus, and then those of the other. But when they came to Jesus and found that he was already dead, they did not break his legs. Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water. The man who saw it has given testimony, and his testimony is true. He knows that he tells the truth, and he testifies so that you also may believe. These things happened so that the scripture would be fulfilled: “Not one of his bones will be broken,” and, as another scripture says, “They will look on the one they have pierced.”

Wow! The ancient scriptures God had inspired indicated that Jesus' legs would not be broken. Romans were on their way to break the legs of the convicted men. (Why? Because you can't raise yourself up to breathe if your legs are broken!) But because Jesus chose to die quickly, his legs were never broken.

Master over the disaster.

With these thoughts fresh in my mind, I revisited other assumptions.

"I am thirsty," Jesus had said.

The pleading words of a dying man? Was Jesus begging?

No!

There are four gospels to take into account, which makes things a bit complicated, but it's pretty clear that two drinks were involved in this crucifixion scene. John refers to the second drink, but Mark addresses both. Here's what Mark had to say about the first drink.

Mark 15:23
Then they offered him wine mixed with myrrh, but he did not take it.

My study Bible informs me that wine mixed with myrrh is essentially a sedative. So let's get this straight. Jesus refused a sedative in fluid form prior to saying he was thirsty.

This is not a beaten soul asking for mercy. His words seem to my eyes now much more like a final flourish, a finishing touch by the director of the play before the curtain falls (or rips in two?) at the end of Act III.

Master over the disaster.

Am I trying too hard to make Jesus a superhero? I don't think so. Even John's word choice invites this interpretation. According to John, Jesus didn't say he was thirsty because he was thirsty (though I'm sure he was). John explicitly notes that Jesus said he was thirsty "so that Scripture would be fulfilled."

So if only for argument's sake let's assume Jesus was this much in control...

Isn't there one last scene we should revisit?

Three gospels note that a man named Simon was made to carry Jesus' cross. In popular imagery it is assumed that Jesus was too exhausted to carry the cross all the way to the hill on which he would later die. I think Mel Gibson's Passion well captures the notion. After having received a bloody scourging and many blows, Jesus was a beaten man in every sense of the word.

Or was he?!?

This Jesus looms larger in my mind the more I reflect on this matter. He was in control everywhere. Refusing sedatives. Predicting the behavior of roosters and men. Was he unable to make it to the hill he would die on?

Perhaps.

But then again, the scriptures offer me a tantalizing second option, and the more I think about it, the more I like it. It fits. I think Jesus was gathering souls to himself. Even hours before his death.

What do I mean? Well note first that all three gospels inform us that it was Simon who carried Jesus' cross for him. Not "some stranger" but rather... Simon.

Simon of Cyrene.

We know where he's from? Yes. And that's not all.

Mark 15:21
A certain man from Cyrene, Simon, the father of Alexander and Rufus, was passing by on his way in from the country, and they forced him to carry the cross.

Simon. From Cyrene. Father of Alexander and Rufus??? Why do we know so much about this man Simon?? The answer is obvious. It's commonly assumed that Simon became a Christian, and his two sons were well-known in the early church.

This much I've heard before. But what strikes me today is that perhaps we should give Jesus a little more credit. Did Jesus really come up short on strength to get to Golgotha with his cross?

Or did Jesus, in perfect timing and perfect theatrics, arrange for a certain man named Simon to carry his cross. Not because Jesus needed Simon. But because Simon needed Jesus.

I am certain in my heart today that it is this latter explanation that makes the most sense. The scriptures don't tell us that Jesus fell flat under his cross. All they tell us is that Simon carried it. How fun (if that were the word for such a serious situation) it would be to see how Jesus pulled it off.

Jesus. Master of the entire disaster. Claiming disciples for his own at the very moment when he seemed finally to have lost his strength to carry on.

Jesus.

Master of the entire disaster.

Why should I be surprised that death had no hold on him either?

So today I raise a toast to the risen lord. Master over every disaster. Even mine.

A toast to Jesus, my King. Who has no less of a grip on my life than he did over his own.

And one more toast.

A toast to crosses thrust upon us. Sometimes horribly unpleasant burdens are well-disguised gifts from the Lord of the Universe.

I don't think Simon ever regretted the cross he bore on that fated day.

The True Mark

Romans 8:38-39
For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

This is a banner verse for all believers, and rightly so. However today this verse came at me from a different angle.

The verse assures us of our place with God. Nothing we can do will ever separate us from his love. Yes, this is an encouraging reminder.

But it is also a sobering one -- for it is the true mark of Phariseeism to love others less even while claiming to love God more. This is impossible.

The key word in the verse above is love. There are many things we can do which will separate us from God. But nothing we can do will separate us from the love of God. In that little word lies the difference.

A timely reminder. Too often I feel God calling me to a different place. And I begin to scorn those who won't go there. But that is to remove not only my proximity to others but also my love and concern for them.

The loss of the former may be required. The loss of the latter is prohibited. I veer away not only from people but also from God if my love for others does anything but increase. Pity the soul who is separated not only from the world but also from God. Is there a more lonely place to be in this universe?

Which is why I write this reflection. Because my love has not been increasing. That is the true mark of one who is drawing nearer to God.

Lord, help me to return to you. To mark progress, among other things, by my love for others.

A Liturgy of Love

Pieces and parchments
from mundane and above
phrase and fragments
a liturgy of love.

Moments and miracles
wandering amixed
sadness and longing
on his gaze I'm fixed.

Exuberant, exhausted
and all points in between
I turn from the past
for the future I've seen.

Shouted or whispered
it depends upon the day
hold me, dear Lord
guard my heart in this fray.

Tired and tangled
motives unclear
refine me, oh Lord
till I love thee most dear.

Beaten and broken
disappointments that wean
but taught at a cost
on whose bosom to lean.

Piercings and crushings
these wounds I know of
what keeps me alive
is a liturgy of love.

Shed The Cane

I had a strange dream last night, and it left me troubled enough in spirit to want to noodle it over here.

There were "evil" people. Doing "evil" things. And they were recruiting people to help. And they really didn't want or need the recruits to really understand what was going on. Oh, the recruits really had plenty of cues that something bad was afoot. Strangers don't give you stuff for no reason. There is always a motive behind the gift.

I found myself having been recruited. Owning "stuff" that I wanted and liked well enough... but I could tell that I was being used.

And I was almost at peace with it, since I knew I wasn't the "mastermind" behind the plot. Just a lackey who had accepted some gifts of dubious provenance which might end up used for questionable purposes.

And then a light flashed in my head. I could go to jail for this. Caught at the wrong place at the wrong time... my excuses will be worthless.

And I have children who need me.

I started shedding the "stuff" like it was on fire. I emptied my pockets and person of that "stuff" like it was radioactive.

But the last thing I found I still had on my possession was an ornate cane. The dream ended with me still in possession of it, but no longer wanting it.

After I woke up I found myself puzzling over the cane. I've never owned nor wanted a cane in my life. But I know what they're for. More than anything, they are (or were, anyway) an indication of wealth.

Sure, old people use them. Because they need them.

But why do (or did) young folk use them in bygone eras? To tell the world a simple message: "I'm so rich, I can carry a pointless stick in my hands." Day laborers have burdens to bear. They carry what they must and not much else.

It was only the rich who could carry canes while young. Or umbrellas on a sunny day. Thus the lyric from the old song:

Come let's mix where Rockefellers walk with sticks
Or "um-ber-ellas" in their mitts
Puttin' on the Ritz!

So as I reflect on this odd dream, I am struck by one strong thought...

What is today's equivalent of a cane?

Whatever it is... I don't want it.

Deal-Making and Sacrifice

Genesis 28:20-23 (abbreviated and bulletized)
Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will
(a) be with me and will watch over me...
(b) and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear... so that
(c) I return safely to my father’s household...
then
(d) the LORD will be my God and
(e) this stone that I have set up as a pillar will be God’s house, and
(f) of all that you give me I will give you a tenth.

Two things leap out at me as I stare at this set of verses.

First off, it's very clear what Jacob stands to gain if God honors requests (a), (b), and (c). Not so clear what God ostensibly gains from (d), (e), and (f). Jacob is driving a pretty lopsided bargain. Par for the course, where Jacob the schemer is concerned.

Jacob gains a protective presence. A provider of all his needs. Safety. Wow! Powerful stuff!! Stuff any human would prize greatly!!

And God gains... ???? Jacob's acknowledgement. A stone for a house. And a tenth of Jacob's stuff. A tenth of what God gave to Jacob.

Stated another way, Jacob is promising God a negative ninety percent return on his investment of assets. This is not the sort of investment prospectus that will warm hearts in Wall Street! Invest in me, and I'll see to it that you lose 90% of the stuff you entrust to me. Deal?

But could Jacob have made a better offer? Therein lies the great mystery. No. Not really. What does Jacob have that God needs? What can Jacob offer in return? So while Jacob may be proposing a pretty uneven exchange, it's not like he's in a place to do better.

God doesn't need anything from us. Everything we have already belongs to him.

But let's examine that tenth more closely. Jacob promises to give God a tenth. A tenth of what? And to where? For what purpose?

There was no local charity near Jacob. He's a nomad in the desert. Red Cross doesn't exist yet. World Relief not yet formed.

There isn't a church, mosque or temple nearby. Not one of the three main religions behind these three words exists yet.

No charities... No churches... No NGOs! So exactly what does Jacob plan to do with the tenth? Well, it helps to remember what Jacob hopes to own: livestock.

Jacob likely (as I'm told by my reference materials) is speaking of animal sacrifice.

So what does God gain if Jacob sacrifices a pile of animals before him? Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but a pile of dead animals. Perhaps burned and crispy?

Our financial product is growing in clarity. So let's update that investment prospectus. We promise our investors regular losses of 90%. Ready to buy now? But wait! The 10% you don't lose, we promise to return to you in the form of a pile of dead animals. Excited to buy now? But wait!! Listen to this! That pile of dead animals? We'll burn them up for you at no extra cost.

Any takers in this new up-and-coming Wall Street livestock commodity fund?

What exactly does God do with a pile of dead animals? I think we all know the answer to that.

Nothing.

Again, a powerful conjunction of two realities. One, that we have little to offer. Two, that what we can offer... God doesn't need.

These two ideas help me to come to terms with a third powerful reality in my life — the fact that I have brought some pretty lousy sacrifices before the Lord over the years.

Gifts gone disastrous.

Money given "to the work of the Lord" that was never spent for anything better than the vainglory of man.

Time spent in an effort to "do something for God" that was, in hindsight, time invested into nothing more permanent nor more useful than the vainglory of man.

I might as well have spent the time digging holes in a field. And then refilling them.

I might as well have put piles of cash into one of those holes before refilling it.

Perhaps for emphasis I could have set fire to the cash first.

As crazy as that sounds, it's not far off from what Jacob would have done with his livestock offerings.

That's encouraging to me.

And sobering.

Encouraging? Because it reminds me that God knows my lowly state. My gifts to him, if given from a pure heart and for his glory, are a sweet aroma to his nostrils. God loves the lowly offerings of his little ones. Not because he needs them. But because he loves me. And he loves it when I try to love him back.

Sobering? Because I am so easily distressed about what happened to my gifts. Worked up because they were misused and/or misallocated by myself and/or the foolish people to whom I entrusted these precious resources.

If I truly knew how little God needed either my time or my money (My money? My time?) I wouldn't be so fixated on how they were misused down the line. But I am fixated. And it reveals a few things in my heart that need to change.

Imagine Jacob instructing one of his laborers to kill a certain cow and then to burn it. The laborer does so, but not according to instructions. Is God somehow short-changed in the final analysis? Is a properly slaughtered dead cow more useful than one done in by a (pardon the pun) hack job? How absurd!

Oh, sure, God may have something to say to the hired hand! Did the hired hand do his level best? Or did he discharge his duties carelessly?

But where Jacob is concerned, questions concerning the disposal of the cow are rather beside the point. God cares about Jacob's heart. If Jacob gave generously from a grateful heart, God is delighted. End of story.

And yet I don't have a lock on that truth. I fret over how well my sacrifices are presented to God. Because I think God needs my help. Because I think God needs my sacrifices. Does He?

He doesn't.

God, have mercy on me and free me of my slavery. I am slave to a notion that you need me and that you'll love me more if my sacrifices are "good" and "effective" — and I am wrong on both counts.

But I am slave to these notions. Free me to love you Lord. To love you as a clumsy child. Help me to not be afraid. You are not a perfectionistic parent. You love my clumsy gifts just as any doting parent would delight in their child's awkward pre-school craft creations.

Honoring The Nine Commandments

There used to be ten commandments, but nowadays there seem only to be nine.

I say that because there are only nine commandments that go uncontested. Oh, sure, in some sense we all break various commandments from time to time.

Maybe not murder per se, but we harbor rage, and Jesus had a few things to say about that.

Maybe not adultery per se, but we harbor lust, and Jesus had a few things to say about that.

As for coveting and envy, I hardly need point out how often we fall prey to that forbidden sin.

And so it goes on down the line.

We may wiggle and squirm ("It was a holy anger" or "It was just a tiny second peek, in appreciation of that person's God-given beauty") but we at least affirm the principal. We should not murder. We should not commit adultery. We should not engage in idolatry. We should not covet.

The wiggling and squirming I understand. I've done it myself often enough. But with no other commandment have I witnessed such zeal in redefining the terms. With this commandment, I regularly observe committed Christians resorting to the nuclear option. "That was the Old Testament. Jesus changed all that. We don't have to do that anymore."

Which commandment am I talking about?

Honoring the Sabbath.

It's only the fourth commandment, after all. Just after the ones about idolatry and worshipping other gods. It's probably just coincidental that it got listed ahead of murder, adultery, false testimony.

Just the Sabbath. The optional commandment.

What is it about Holy Rest that we are so averse to? Could it be we are enslaved to something that requires our time during the Sabbath? God calls us to rest on the Sabbath. Whose call are we obeying when we do not?

Perhaps, when we ignore the fourth commandment, we demonstrate that we are also in violation of one that precedes it. We serve an extra god. Perhaps two of them? Busy ones.

Not to worry, however! There is an easy solution to this problem.

Perhaps eight commandments will suffice?