The Last Chapter

Editorial comment: I hope I'll be able to get this thought down concisely... but don't bank on it.

I've been struck recently (from a number of angles) by the simultaneous arrogance and folly with which we interpret our lives and the times we live in. From the smallest details of our day-to-day living to the largest trends of global topics... we tend to think we understand "most of it" and can explain even more of it. And we are fooled by our own thoughts.

A book which was thrust upon me recently proved very rewarding... so first prize to author Nissam Nicholas Taleb. His book (Fooled By Randomness) proved more than a little thought-provoking. He focused mostly on how people interpret financial results. (For example, he analysed the dangers of assuming that "Since Warren Buffett has done so well over three decades, he must be a superior investor." Well, that is very possible. But it's also possible that he's the luckiest coin flipper among 40,000 starting contestants. After 15 flips you can expect at least one person to have demonstrated "a real knack for flipping only heads.")

Taleb's point is that we tend to look at what happened and then construct a story around why it had to happen. Why Harry Potter was destined to succeed. Well, it's often easy to explain why something had to happen, once you know that it did happen. How many other fabulous writers never become well-read? Quite a few. We only know about the ones who became big. And (after the fact, as always) gushing journalists explain why it's obvious the author earned the fame, deserved it... had written in such a way as to guarantee success.

It comes closer to home when we examine our own lives. I still remember to this day a lousy day back in 2nd grade. I was in a crowded room in a Christian camp-ish setting when the leader said that beneath a single chair was taped a candy bar. I reckoned I'd had a lousy day and was a good candidate to receive such bliss. I told God as much. And lo and behold... it worked out that I did (!) win that candy bar... it was under the seat of my very own chair. A 1-in-a-hundred winner... but if I had not won, I am sure I would not remember the incident today, 35 years later. I remember also vaguely that on other such days my views were not so honored by God's stamp of approval. Days on which the candy bar went to someone else, so to speak. I still wonder to this day about the distinction between "I won that candy bar by fluke" and "I won the candy bar because God decreed it."

Too often we use that latter definition, and it's sooo easy to do in hindsight. But the folly of it is that we cannot seem to predict God's sovereign decrees in advance nearly so well as we employ insights into his sovereign will after the fact. We construct so many stories, explaining what God is teaching us and providing illustrations of how God has been doing it...

And I am as guilty as the next person in this perilous adventure. Perhaps even more guilty. I am deeply confident that God is teaching me treasured lessons through a prolonged investment misadventure. Sure that God has my family through the financial debacle through gainful employment... but others will tell how God sustained their family through loss of their home... loss of every asset they own. We each weave our tales in order to explain the outcome we currently face.

It seems to me sometimes that agnostics, atheists and others are not quite so much prey to this folly. I remember the figurative slap in the face from 20 years ago. I commented that God had been kind to me, seeing as my leg in a full cast had been spared some discomfort by a very mild summer. The woman (not a believer) looked at me in awe and said, "Do you really think God gave the entire midwest a cool summer just for the sake of your leg??"

She had a point. I found myself stunned, not sure how to answer. How easy it is to make ourselves the center of the story, and to pretend we know how it ends and how it is proceeding.

What takes more bravery is to say, "I have no idea how this story ends. In fact, it's God's story. Not mine. And my story is only relevant insofar as it pertains to His story. And God has not revealed to me what role I have yet to play."

I mostly don't say that. I instead have a habit of thinking about today as if it's more or less a page in the final chapter of a book. I can explain so much about how God got me to this day. So much about where God is taking me. We know, of course, that today is (for most of us) not nearly the last chapter of our books. But we talk all too often with the confidence of someone who has read the whole book. When we haven't.

The story belongs to God. And I don't know what he's up to most of the time. And I take strong positions more often than I should.

So what inspired me to write this blog? A number of things. More than a few... Here's one...For example, note how many of us Christians alive today, when pressed on the matter, share a hunch that the Lord will return before we die. Hidden in there, I believe, is a commitment to the notion that we are integral to the story. How can it end after we're gone? Of course that sounds absurd when stated baldly. But count me among the guilty. Do I see signs that the end is near? Yes! But then so have past generations. A bit more humility here is due, both from me and the rest of the living saints. More than likely we'll join the ranks of the dead saints and God's story here on Earth will be still in full stride. The last chapter coming some time after my own death? Perish the thought.

But the most recent impetus (and by that I mean the last 120 minutes) was from a comment that theologian Mark Noll shared in a recent interview. He pointed out that neither Martin Luther nor John Calvin would have tolerated the notion that the earth revolves around the sun. But just two generations later, Noll notes, Lutherans, Calvinists and Catholics would together with one voice lend credence to that which is taken for granted by all educated people regardless of creed. Noll wryly (and astutely) proceeded to assure his interviewer that he (Noll) is not enough of a scientist to shed light on current topics of interest. (I can imagine one or two he might have had in mind...), But Noll felt very comfortable as a historian to say that in light of these historical episodes we Christians should not be too hasty in our assessment of God's truth where the latest hot scientific debate is concerned.

To use my own words, I think Noll would point out that the last chapter on many such matters is not yet written.

So let this rambling blog try to wrap up with this observation. Where one cannot predict the future, humility must be afforded the past.

God, grant me the humility to admit I have no clue what you're doing. You're God, and I'm not. It's enough to know you love me, and, where the future is concerned, to not presume too much beyond that.

Hidden Commitments

I've been reflecting on the turbulence of life lately. How we find things so complicated and intractable. Poverty. Politics. Church problems. Family problems.

It seems that there is always a general idea that some Christian principle ought to apply, and yet that somehow it can't be used in this situation because of XYZ. And embedded in XYZ is a hidden commitment. XYZ is usually something that seems good. Or almost good. One thing is sure, however. If XYZ is keeping us from complete abandonment to Jesus and his ways, there's a hidden commitment in there somewhere. It has to go.

I've been struck frequently by the image of Jesus "slicing through" snarly problems, not unlike how he walked through that murderous crowd on one occasion. How is it that a host of threatening things does not prevent him from the straight path out?

Disciples of Christ find themselves at the juncture between subsonic flight and supersonic flight. We're drawn to the supersonic. We know it's smoother and faster. As we draw closer to the threshhold, however, the plane starts to shake and shudder. We're not comfortable. And we're not flying supersonic. And we're at risk of crashing the plane.

Then there is Jesus. Somehow he slices through. His road is not easy nor fun, but his way is smooth. Isaiah didn't have jet fighters in mind, but he did say pretty much the same thing. Make straight in the desert a highway...

Even Jesus had his Gethsemene moments, to be sure, but this is the broader picture of the gospel. A man who sliced through and seemed to glide through all our turbulence.

Why else does Jesus slide through? Said a different way, Why is it we cannot slice through as he does? These two words were added to my reflections this morning...

Hidden Commitments.

The answer is in our hidden commitments.

Supersonic flight requires a smooth aircraft. No clunky bricks attached to the wings. Our hidden commitments not only keep us from bursting through the sound barrier. They also make our flight extremely unpleasant. And the harder we strain to follow Jesus through the sound barrier, the worse and worse (and more painful) our hidden commitments become to us.

No wonder the rich man went away so sad. He could see where he wanted to go. His heart was basically there. Jesus was only a few feet away. But his hidden commitment to wealth prevented the last smooth step into supersonic flight. You can almost see the brick attached to his shaking wing as he veered off.

Hidden Commitments. As these word rattle in my brain this morning, they make a good fit much of my journey these past few years. I've been dropping commitments at a startling pace. I still have more commitments to drop, and some that I have dropped were dropped poorly. None perfectly.

But as I find myself clinging to Jesus more, and other things less, I find my life less turbulent in pleasant ways. Am I still buffetted by many winds? Absolutely. Do I feel less turbulence? Absolulely. And people sometimes turn away. But it is the way forward. I want to fly with Jesus.

Let me not be blind to my own hidden commitments, Lord. When my plane starts to shake, Lord... grant me courage to examine my wings and find the brick.

He Forgets Not His Own

"He forgets not his own..."

I woke with the refrain running through my head, and now, several hours later, the refrain... will not refrain. It's on repeat mode, for the time being.

He forgets not his own.

He forgets not his own.

He forgets not his own.

What beautiful words. I suspect the hymn has been drawn forth at least in part by a beautiful Pixar movie (most of what Pixar does is beautiful, so this is not an exceptional movie in that regard) called Toy Story 3.

In Toy Story 3, which I watched with my kids last night, we see yet again the themes of fidelity in friendship, loyalty in love... time-honored themes. It was a touching movie.

I guess I have nothing earth-shattering to write here. I'm just setting down my thoughts as I reflect on God's fidelity to us, we who are so terribly unfaithful to him. How beautiful it is to know that God loves us so much.

He forgets not his own.

How beautiful to wake to those words.

He forgets not his own.

"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.