I played tennis with Jessica this morning. Afterward, while she stretched, I grabbed a basketball from our car and went next door to shoot a few hoops while we were out. Other than me, the only ones on the court were a young mom and her two elementary aged boys. I was impressed by the little one especially. Though I had been content to shoot at the shorter hoops when I was his age, this little guy was feeling bold. He repeatedly heaved the ball from his chest at the big ten-foot goal. Several shots were so close to going in that he would gasp in frustrated exhilaration, and then - feeling confident - he would call out to his mom, who had her own ball, saying - "Mom, watch me!" So many years older than him, I was struck by the distant memory of that same yearning, and thought that if my mom were there at this court, I would be too embarrassed to call out to her. After all, how many 33-year olds have you heard call out, "Mom, watch me?" Still, does that feeling ever really die? There is a deep sense of knowing who we belong to, and wanting to make them proud. "Mom, watch me!"
This makes the conversation between Jesus and the festival-goers in chapter 8 truly heartrending. Jesus is attending one of the great 'family reunions' of the Jewish faith - the Festival of the Tabernacles, or the Festival of the Booths. It is a time of national thanksgiving, and a commemoration of the gift of the Promised Land. People have gathered in Jerusalem from all over Israel to celebrate God's promises to his people. On days of celebration, passions can run hot. Especially in any discussion about Abraham, the father of the chosen people. Jesus' words actually appear quite harsh upon our reading of 8:31-59 because these people aren't totally opposed to him. They would like to believe that Jesus is telling the truth. But there is a danger and spiritual blind-spot that comes with being this close to true faith, and yet hesitant to go all the way - "When a (person) is both orthodox and self-assertive, believing the Gospel but not believing in it - a very familiar spiritual state - he is not recognizing and making acquaintance with the truth. He is probably quite unconscious that he is in any bondage. He may preach the Gospel of redemption to others, and never know that he needs it himself. Pharisaism is not an exclusively Jewish phenomenon. The first of our needs is to know what our first need is - to be set free from bondage; but then we must accept and confess the fact that we are in bondage, and the more complete the bondage, the less we are aware of it." (William Temple, Readings in St. John's Gospel, p. 142)
Though these folks are sincerely convinced that they are children of God by heredity, Jesus presents to them - and to us - a call to repentance - "do you really know who you belong to?" Their growing opposition to Jesus illuminates the real distance between all humanity and God, maybe especially when we believe ourselves to be so close to God.
What comes so naturally to those children in the playground is the hardest thing to learn spiritually. It is so hard that we cannot learn it. We simply do not call out to God as his children. We must submit to an adoption process. Here, John 8 is right in key with Romans 8. We only become children of God through the ministry of the one true child of God - Jesus. Through his rightful Sonship, we become children of God, heirs to his throne, and are liberated from the slavery of our sin.
But if we take him seriously and take him at his word, we are left with a most comforting phrase - "If the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed." (8:36) Think of it this way: you can try to persuade yourself that you are a child of God. You can list all of your pleasant qualities. You can repeat the words "I am a child of God" as though they were a mantra. But life can change so quickly, and so do our moods and our tempers. The wrong phone call, the wrong sequence of events can easily make any of us perfectly unpersuasive - even to ourselves. But if Jesus speaks to you, he will tell you what freedom really means - freedom from wickedness, vanity, greed, and selfishness, and freedom for giving, loving, respecting, trusting, forgiving, renewing, and growing. We are destined to be kings and queens - real, live children of God. If he persuades you with his own righteousness and beauty, you will be set free.
Quite simply, none of us can set ourselves free. Only Jesus - the truth, the one on whom we depend for both our existence and our salvation - can set us free.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Monday, November 10, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 314: John 4-6 - He Must Increase
"He must increase, but I must decrease." (John 3:30) These are John the Baptist's words from yesterday's reading from the Gospel of John as he explained to a confused follower the reason why it was better for people to follow Jesus. Of the many well-known phrases from John - "In the beginning was the Word"..."For God so loved the world..."..."you must be born again..." - this is one that always seems to have a radar target lock on my heart. "I must decrease." Life is not about me. God help me to understand this - that of all the things that life is about - growth in the love and knowledge of God and all of his ways and all of his creation - me is the one thing it is not about. I'm cut to the heart. "Good, I can decrease" I think to myself. "I can be satisfied. I won't say that next thing I was going to say." (Exhale).
It occurs to me though that I only think about decreasing, and that I've never really thought about what John the Baptist means about the other part. "He must increase." It's the main part of the phrase. The fact that we decrease is really only an afterthought. John's focus is on Jesus increasing. That is the big deal. That's where his joy comes from. That is what we need to understand.
Easier said than done, I must admit. This is tricky for two reasons: one is because John has already made it so clear that Jesus is in fact divine. Look again at 3:31 - "The one who comes from above is above all...the one who comes from heaven is above all." How then does someone who is already divine increase? The other reason is that chapters 4-6 - today's reading - follow a trajectory that we don't exactly associate with 'increasing.' Though he gains followers through his ministry in Samaria with the woman at the well, and though he not only draws a crowd of 5,000, but also feeds them miraculously with a small amount of bread and fish, he is forsaken by the end of chapter 6, his teachings having proved too difficult. He's been passed over, abandoned. Only the few disciples are left.
What then did John the Baptist mean, because apparently Jesus' 'increasing' does not coincide with the success of big numbers and happy customers?
Jesus will not fit into our schemes. His increasing has nothing to do with popularity and appeal to the masses, and everything to do with true rightful and royal authority. He must increase, not in the amount of times I say his name, not in the way I manipulate my mannerisms for the watching eyes of others, but in my regard for what is real or unreal, meaningful or meaningless, of eternal value or passing away. When Jesus feeds the 5,000 in chapter 6, the people are so overcome with awe that they want to make him king. But Jesus is not impressed with them. The text says that Jesus "withdrew again to the mountain by himself." (6:15). When he sees them again, he tells them that they are looking for him not because they saw who he really was, but because "you ate your fill of the loaves." What he is saying to them is, "you may think you're decreasing by following me in this way. You think you're all in. But you are still just interested in your own hunger and your own ambitions. You aren't any less interested in yourself, and I mean nothing more to you than the things I've given you."
It is not enough for us to merely 'decrease' today, because we can always find some new way to make life about ourselves. Jesus must also 'increase.' There is room for only one sun in the sky to light up the world, to bless the land, to warm us when the colder winds begin to blow. Likewise, there is only room for one Lord - Jesus.
Now who doesn't love attention? I sure do. But unless I let Jesus increase, I'm telling the bread of heaven that "I'm not really hungry for a multi-course meal with God. I'd rather just have a snack." I want him to increase. He must increase.
God, tell us the truth today about who we are. Also, tell us the truth about you and your Son Jesus, so that we can be fulfilled in him alone.
It occurs to me though that I only think about decreasing, and that I've never really thought about what John the Baptist means about the other part. "He must increase." It's the main part of the phrase. The fact that we decrease is really only an afterthought. John's focus is on Jesus increasing. That is the big deal. That's where his joy comes from. That is what we need to understand.
Easier said than done, I must admit. This is tricky for two reasons: one is because John has already made it so clear that Jesus is in fact divine. Look again at 3:31 - "The one who comes from above is above all...the one who comes from heaven is above all." How then does someone who is already divine increase? The other reason is that chapters 4-6 - today's reading - follow a trajectory that we don't exactly associate with 'increasing.' Though he gains followers through his ministry in Samaria with the woman at the well, and though he not only draws a crowd of 5,000, but also feeds them miraculously with a small amount of bread and fish, he is forsaken by the end of chapter 6, his teachings having proved too difficult. He's been passed over, abandoned. Only the few disciples are left.
What then did John the Baptist mean, because apparently Jesus' 'increasing' does not coincide with the success of big numbers and happy customers?
Jesus will not fit into our schemes. His increasing has nothing to do with popularity and appeal to the masses, and everything to do with true rightful and royal authority. He must increase, not in the amount of times I say his name, not in the way I manipulate my mannerisms for the watching eyes of others, but in my regard for what is real or unreal, meaningful or meaningless, of eternal value or passing away. When Jesus feeds the 5,000 in chapter 6, the people are so overcome with awe that they want to make him king. But Jesus is not impressed with them. The text says that Jesus "withdrew again to the mountain by himself." (6:15). When he sees them again, he tells them that they are looking for him not because they saw who he really was, but because "you ate your fill of the loaves." What he is saying to them is, "you may think you're decreasing by following me in this way. You think you're all in. But you are still just interested in your own hunger and your own ambitions. You aren't any less interested in yourself, and I mean nothing more to you than the things I've given you."
It is not enough for us to merely 'decrease' today, because we can always find some new way to make life about ourselves. Jesus must also 'increase.' There is room for only one sun in the sky to light up the world, to bless the land, to warm us when the colder winds begin to blow. Likewise, there is only room for one Lord - Jesus.
Now who doesn't love attention? I sure do. But unless I let Jesus increase, I'm telling the bread of heaven that "I'm not really hungry for a multi-course meal with God. I'd rather just have a snack." I want him to increase. He must increase.
God, tell us the truth today about who we are. Also, tell us the truth about you and your Son Jesus, so that we can be fulfilled in him alone.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 309: Ezekiel 35-38 - Can These Bones Live?
I'm running my first half-marathon this coming Saturday in Savannah. Over the course of the last few weeks' and the weekend runs that quite literally stretched me out to be able to do this daunting thing, I've felt many times that I didn't have strength to go on. When my mind had basically given up on me. Voices would tell me, "Whoa, Chris, I think you're done." And then when that other voice inside says, "Well, that's a shame because you have 6 more miles to go", that is the point when despair ensues, and my physical and emotional resources feel depleted. Where do I get the strength?
Where do we find the strength to keep going in life? When we wake up and are already exhausted for what is coming up later in the day? Hard decisions to make about money. Complex and strained relational or marital conflicts that always spin around the same issue and never break through to something new. The unexpected question or need that rises which becomes the proverbial straw that breaks the camel's back. Anger. Frustration. Boredom. Where do we find the strength to keep going?
What are human beings? What are we for? What is an approach to life that can't get swamped by, to use a recent title in the multiplexes, our terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days?
Ezekiel 36 and 37 provide us with the approach we need. First, we are overwhelmed. Redemption and peace don't come from climbing atop the heap of our own messy lives. They come from a God who comes down into them. In Ezekiel 36:26, God shows us how this works, "A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh." In this world, we work to make things better. We get a progress report and we get to progressin'. But sin has wrecked us. No progress can be made. Our overwhelmed heart must be replaced with a new heart, a heart of flesh that is alive and responsive to God. Where do we get our strength? First, we must acknowledge our need. We are overwhelmed. We are broken. We can experience joy in the midst of 'crazy busy' lives by getting realistic about where we expect relief to come from - God alone.
Second, Ezekiel 36 and 37 show us why God is trustworthy for this: he is a creator. Genesis 2:7 says "then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being." Psalm 139:13-15 says: "For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth." These verses fill us with the wonder of a God who can make something from nothing. But can God bring the dead to life? Can God redeem what has failed? Can God take something broken and make something even better than the original? "Can these bones live?" In chapter 37, the bones begin to rattle, they come together, sinews and skin grow. Though there is no breath, God calls Ezekiel to call for breath to fill the bones. And it happens. Re-creation is happening before our eyes. Then, God says: "Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, 'Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.'...Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves...I will put my spirit within you and you shall live..." (Ezekiel 37:11-14)
We are led deep inside the secret of creation itself - the secret of cartilage, of bones, and joints, of teeth, and of the skin, and all of it is alive. We are led to a God who is far more and far greater than the brokenness we've known and experienced. Where does our strength come from? It comes from the wonder and joy in a God who is not you or me, who is free, and lovely, and beautiful, who fulfills these and every promise in Jesus Christ, raising him from the dead, and allowing us to participate in Christ's new life. He has conquered our sin and death sentence, and delivered us to an unconquerable hope of new life after death.
When we feel behind before the day has even begun, when we feel defeated by unexpected interruptions, we can find a place to be still with God, to breathe, and to remember that all of this, life itself, the way our bodies work, our memories, love of God and neighbor, the gift of promised redemption in Christ, the modest life of our little planet is all a gift and is quite remarkable.
Whether on my run this weekend, or in the midst of exhausting, overwhelming life, may we know the God who only begins to work when we've got nothing left.
Where do we find the strength to keep going in life? When we wake up and are already exhausted for what is coming up later in the day? Hard decisions to make about money. Complex and strained relational or marital conflicts that always spin around the same issue and never break through to something new. The unexpected question or need that rises which becomes the proverbial straw that breaks the camel's back. Anger. Frustration. Boredom. Where do we find the strength to keep going?
What are human beings? What are we for? What is an approach to life that can't get swamped by, to use a recent title in the multiplexes, our terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days?
Ezekiel 36 and 37 provide us with the approach we need. First, we are overwhelmed. Redemption and peace don't come from climbing atop the heap of our own messy lives. They come from a God who comes down into them. In Ezekiel 36:26, God shows us how this works, "A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh." In this world, we work to make things better. We get a progress report and we get to progressin'. But sin has wrecked us. No progress can be made. Our overwhelmed heart must be replaced with a new heart, a heart of flesh that is alive and responsive to God. Where do we get our strength? First, we must acknowledge our need. We are overwhelmed. We are broken. We can experience joy in the midst of 'crazy busy' lives by getting realistic about where we expect relief to come from - God alone.
Second, Ezekiel 36 and 37 show us why God is trustworthy for this: he is a creator. Genesis 2:7 says "then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being." Psalm 139:13-15 says: "For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth." These verses fill us with the wonder of a God who can make something from nothing. But can God bring the dead to life? Can God redeem what has failed? Can God take something broken and make something even better than the original? "Can these bones live?" In chapter 37, the bones begin to rattle, they come together, sinews and skin grow. Though there is no breath, God calls Ezekiel to call for breath to fill the bones. And it happens. Re-creation is happening before our eyes. Then, God says: "Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, 'Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.'...Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves...I will put my spirit within you and you shall live..." (Ezekiel 37:11-14)
We are led deep inside the secret of creation itself - the secret of cartilage, of bones, and joints, of teeth, and of the skin, and all of it is alive. We are led to a God who is far more and far greater than the brokenness we've known and experienced. Where does our strength come from? It comes from the wonder and joy in a God who is not you or me, who is free, and lovely, and beautiful, who fulfills these and every promise in Jesus Christ, raising him from the dead, and allowing us to participate in Christ's new life. He has conquered our sin and death sentence, and delivered us to an unconquerable hope of new life after death.
When we feel behind before the day has even begun, when we feel defeated by unexpected interruptions, we can find a place to be still with God, to breathe, and to remember that all of this, life itself, the way our bodies work, our memories, love of God and neighbor, the gift of promised redemption in Christ, the modest life of our little planet is all a gift and is quite remarkable.
Whether on my run this weekend, or in the midst of exhausting, overwhelming life, may we know the God who only begins to work when we've got nothing left.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 307: Ezekiel 31-34 - A Transformed Life, A Transformed People
Now that Daylight Savings time has "fallen back", the initial excitement about the extra hour has dissipated and our days now simply get darker quicker. For some of us, this hardly makes a difference. It makes no difference to us whether our drive home from work at 6pm is in darkness or in the light of a lingering sun. For others, it is harder. There is the need to lean a little closer into the foundations that give us hope.
Scripture teaches that part of this lingering sadness is a feeling of guilt. As Christians, we know from our doctrine that we are sinners. We know from the old saying that the church is the only institution that requires of its members that they admit they aren't worthy of joining. But to live this way day to day is hard. We don't want to feel bad about ourselves. So we burrow any feelings of guilt down deep and tell ourselves we really are good people, or at least as good as anybody else.
One way we do this is by comforting ourselves with good intentions. Not good deeds, but good intentions. The comedian Louis C.K. is in his first class airplane seat and sees an American soldier come aboard the plane. He considers the thought of giving up his seat. He doesn't. He then mocks himself for being so impressed with himself for having thought such a good thought, and how little it seems to matter to him that the thought didn't lead to action. I am thankful for this comedian for noticing this wrong assumption, which is that good people think good thoughts, even when they are too lazy or indifferent or embarrassed to act on those thoughts.
Ezekiel 31-34 depicts a God who has zero tolerance for religious thoughts that don't lead to action. If it were mathematically possible, we could say he had 'negative 5' tolerance for such a thing. In chapters 31 and 32, God tells Ezekiel to speak humbling words to the proud land of Egypt. In chapter 33, he tells Ezekiel that he is accountable to tell the people of God whatever he hears from God. Whatever happens will happen, but Ezekiel's own salvation is bound to actually doing what God asks. The saying that sticks out to me the most from the whole reading comes a few verses later: "And you, mortal, say to your people...the righteous shall not be able to live by their righteousness when they sin." Righteous thoughts or even past righteous actions aren't like money in the bank. Money I steal today can't be added to my righteousness savings. Sin always empties the whole account. It's gone. Chapter 34 goes on to talk about bad priests who are more concerned to feed themselves than to save their people.
As Christians, what do we do with this? I have been thinking about what we mean when we talk about wanting a 'transformed life.' I pray. I talk to God. I ask him for a transformed life. I think what I often picture a transformed life looking like is this: me sitting in a chair thinking about how different I am than I used to be. "Wow, I've come so far." I used to do this. And this. I used to spend my time doing this. Now I've changed." But this wouldn't be real transformation. Real transformation means I think of Jesus more as family. I realize more deeply that he is with me constantly. That he is united to me. That I participate in his death and resurrection. And real transformation also means that I rely upon him constantly to love everyone in my life as though they were family. Such a trust in such a mighty God could not bear to remain a mere spark of faith. It would catch fire.
And, on this election day, I am reminded that very intelligent people also confirm that nothing less will transform our society than this. Alexis de Tocqueville was a 19th century Frenchman who spent several years touring the United States of America. The French having made their own experiment with democracy with the French revolution, de Tocqueville was aware of the joys and perils of representative government. His book, Democracy in America has become a trove of insight into who we are. I read this quote today: "I sought for the greatness and genius of America in her commodious harbors and her ample rivers, and it was not there; in her fertile fields and boundless prairies, and it was not there; in her rich mines and her vast world commerce, and it was not there. Not until I went to the churches of America and heard her pulpits aflame with righteousness did I understand the secret of her genius and power. America is great because she is good and if America ever ceases to be good, America will cease to be great."
Oh God, make us deeply unsettled and dissatisfied with simply thinking good thoughts. Help us to press on to good action.
Scripture teaches that part of this lingering sadness is a feeling of guilt. As Christians, we know from our doctrine that we are sinners. We know from the old saying that the church is the only institution that requires of its members that they admit they aren't worthy of joining. But to live this way day to day is hard. We don't want to feel bad about ourselves. So we burrow any feelings of guilt down deep and tell ourselves we really are good people, or at least as good as anybody else.
One way we do this is by comforting ourselves with good intentions. Not good deeds, but good intentions. The comedian Louis C.K. is in his first class airplane seat and sees an American soldier come aboard the plane. He considers the thought of giving up his seat. He doesn't. He then mocks himself for being so impressed with himself for having thought such a good thought, and how little it seems to matter to him that the thought didn't lead to action. I am thankful for this comedian for noticing this wrong assumption, which is that good people think good thoughts, even when they are too lazy or indifferent or embarrassed to act on those thoughts.
Ezekiel 31-34 depicts a God who has zero tolerance for religious thoughts that don't lead to action. If it were mathematically possible, we could say he had 'negative 5' tolerance for such a thing. In chapters 31 and 32, God tells Ezekiel to speak humbling words to the proud land of Egypt. In chapter 33, he tells Ezekiel that he is accountable to tell the people of God whatever he hears from God. Whatever happens will happen, but Ezekiel's own salvation is bound to actually doing what God asks. The saying that sticks out to me the most from the whole reading comes a few verses later: "And you, mortal, say to your people...the righteous shall not be able to live by their righteousness when they sin." Righteous thoughts or even past righteous actions aren't like money in the bank. Money I steal today can't be added to my righteousness savings. Sin always empties the whole account. It's gone. Chapter 34 goes on to talk about bad priests who are more concerned to feed themselves than to save their people.
As Christians, what do we do with this? I have been thinking about what we mean when we talk about wanting a 'transformed life.' I pray. I talk to God. I ask him for a transformed life. I think what I often picture a transformed life looking like is this: me sitting in a chair thinking about how different I am than I used to be. "Wow, I've come so far." I used to do this. And this. I used to spend my time doing this. Now I've changed." But this wouldn't be real transformation. Real transformation means I think of Jesus more as family. I realize more deeply that he is with me constantly. That he is united to me. That I participate in his death and resurrection. And real transformation also means that I rely upon him constantly to love everyone in my life as though they were family. Such a trust in such a mighty God could not bear to remain a mere spark of faith. It would catch fire.
And, on this election day, I am reminded that very intelligent people also confirm that nothing less will transform our society than this. Alexis de Tocqueville was a 19th century Frenchman who spent several years touring the United States of America. The French having made their own experiment with democracy with the French revolution, de Tocqueville was aware of the joys and perils of representative government. His book, Democracy in America has become a trove of insight into who we are. I read this quote today: "I sought for the greatness and genius of America in her commodious harbors and her ample rivers, and it was not there; in her fertile fields and boundless prairies, and it was not there; in her rich mines and her vast world commerce, and it was not there. Not until I went to the churches of America and heard her pulpits aflame with righteousness did I understand the secret of her genius and power. America is great because she is good and if America ever ceases to be good, America will cease to be great."
Oh God, make us deeply unsettled and dissatisfied with simply thinking good thoughts. Help us to press on to good action.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 303: Ezekiel 20-23 - What Is Truly Scary
I was sitting in Starbucks yesterday morning. There were signs that Halloween had arrived. One of the baristas was dressed like Maleficent. Another was dressed like a princess. One was Aladdin. Meanwhile, the soundtrack of the morning was a litany of Halloween songs, filled with strange minor chords, sound effects such as barking dogs, sirens, and low, ominous vocal harmonies. I heard a few lines that reminded me of horror movies I had seen when I was younger...movies I do not want to see again! But coming here I should expect to encounter some memory of something scary.
Ezekiel points us to what would be truly scary in his passage today.
Ezekiel 20-23 is about the unfaithfulness of Israel and Judah. Admittedly, this is a constant problem throughout the Old Testament. Many different books are covering the same main problem. Pressing on and engaging with the words not only gives us something to chew on. God's Word comes to us and challenges us in our present day. God calls Ezekiel to speak to his people, saying that "your ancestors blasphemed me, by dealing treacherously with me." (20:27). How scary that we have dealings with God and that humanity is capable of being treacherous in these dealings! Doesn't the world dull this sense in us? The nightmare of the human condition is how little we're aware of our condition. That is the tragedy of Oholah (represents Samaria) and Oholibah (represents Jerusalem) in chapter 23 - they prostitute themselves, relying on other nations more than God. They don't realize the danger they're in.
It is valuable to know the truth about this life, and Scripture gives it to us: we are built for relationship. Nobody is an island. Least of all with God, for he is the one who created us, who fashioned us with his own hand, on whom we are dependent for air, food, water, and for a body that works well. When we take what he has fashioned - ourselves, our relationships, our world - and use it for our own purposes, we deal treacherously. We aren't merely doing things our way. We are working against the plans of the one who made it all. What is scary is this: humanity is involved in this world, but isn't aware of it. We are unaware that each moment is a moment of faithfulness to God or treacherous enmity to God. Humanity will do all they can to resist this truth. Ezekiel himself turned to God and cried, "Ah Lord God! they are saying of me, 'Is he not a maker of allegories?'" Humanity will resist this truth. They will pretend its all make-believe kids' stuff. We live in a secular age, and this is what is truly scary: not believing too much about God, but believing far too little.
We must find a way to trust God. Our hearts are dark, but his is wonderful light. We must face up to him and engage with him to become what he would make of us. Today is All Saints' Day in the church, in which we remember all those who have submitted their lives to the God they love to allow them to become like him. We remember those who have devoted themselves to Jesus Christ who was crucified for us, who loves his enemies, who knows who and what we are, and still gives his life for us.
Ezekiel points us to what would be truly scary in his passage today.
Ezekiel 20-23 is about the unfaithfulness of Israel and Judah. Admittedly, this is a constant problem throughout the Old Testament. Many different books are covering the same main problem. Pressing on and engaging with the words not only gives us something to chew on. God's Word comes to us and challenges us in our present day. God calls Ezekiel to speak to his people, saying that "your ancestors blasphemed me, by dealing treacherously with me." (20:27). How scary that we have dealings with God and that humanity is capable of being treacherous in these dealings! Doesn't the world dull this sense in us? The nightmare of the human condition is how little we're aware of our condition. That is the tragedy of Oholah (represents Samaria) and Oholibah (represents Jerusalem) in chapter 23 - they prostitute themselves, relying on other nations more than God. They don't realize the danger they're in.
It is valuable to know the truth about this life, and Scripture gives it to us: we are built for relationship. Nobody is an island. Least of all with God, for he is the one who created us, who fashioned us with his own hand, on whom we are dependent for air, food, water, and for a body that works well. When we take what he has fashioned - ourselves, our relationships, our world - and use it for our own purposes, we deal treacherously. We aren't merely doing things our way. We are working against the plans of the one who made it all. What is scary is this: humanity is involved in this world, but isn't aware of it. We are unaware that each moment is a moment of faithfulness to God or treacherous enmity to God. Humanity will do all they can to resist this truth. Ezekiel himself turned to God and cried, "Ah Lord God! they are saying of me, 'Is he not a maker of allegories?'" Humanity will resist this truth. They will pretend its all make-believe kids' stuff. We live in a secular age, and this is what is truly scary: not believing too much about God, but believing far too little.
We must find a way to trust God. Our hearts are dark, but his is wonderful light. We must face up to him and engage with him to become what he would make of us. Today is All Saints' Day in the church, in which we remember all those who have submitted their lives to the God they love to allow them to become like him. We remember those who have devoted themselves to Jesus Christ who was crucified for us, who loves his enemies, who knows who and what we are, and still gives his life for us.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 280: Isaiah 10:5-34 - The Hand that Holds the Rod
I awoke this morning from a nightmare. I'm at a podium and all of my closest friends and family are there. I'm to speak about scripture and give a message. But the message isn't prepared. I'm nervous, terrified, speechless, mumbling, overwhelmed. I awake in a cold sweat, facing down the temptation that all I really am is a big phony, a religious performer.
Welcome to my personal Assyria.
We 21st century folks are quite advanced technologically and scientifically. The complexity of wealth management is like nothing the world has ever seen, is it? We have advanced indeed. In light of what we have become, isn't it difficult to believe in the God espoused by books that are 25 to 27 centuries old?
Welcome to our collective Assyria.
Assyria, of course, is the nation that is threatening Israel and Judah in the mid 700's B.C. But Assyria is more than that. Assyria was the first world power. When Assyria arrived on the scene, it's as though LeBron James showed up to play in a YMCA pick-up basketball game. Before LeBron showed up, you thought you knew who the good players were. Now, things have changed. Before Assyria, your realm of experience is narrow. Most days are like the others. Before Assyria, the foundations of your life aren't shaken. Before Assyria, its possible to have a child's faith in God because the world you knew as a child is still the same.
The effect that Assyria had on the ancient world was powerful. All the tribal deities of the ancient world are shown by Assyria to be nothing more than old movie sets to be toppled and repainted. Most of God's people fell for this. And although Assyria itself has vanished in the mists of history, the effect is the same with our "Assyria's." For our part, we experience a very visible world power called self-assertion, which makes our childhood faith seem like rubbish. We are miniaturized by global politics. We slip up on the life-force known as "it's not personal, it's business." Truth, honesty, patience, and love seem to be "after all but the playthings and victims of force." The tail seems to wag the dog. Assyria seems to rule God. The rod seems to shake the one who lifts it.
Isaiah 10:5-34 proclaims a mighty gospel: Assyria's rumor-mill, news-cycle, intimidation, world-dominance can do nothing about righteousness. This is nothing new for Isaiah. This is the only good news for all the chapters we've covered so far. God's people have chosen wealth and pleasure over God. (ch. 5) They present sham worship. (ch. 6) They are too impressed with Assyria (ch. 7-9) Chapter 10 is realistic: we don't stand a chance against Assyria. This would all be bad news except for Isaiah's key point: this devastation is really purification. And it was new for its time. Isaiah proclaims the same holy, supremely righteous God as Moses or David, but Isaiah carries it to a new level: "This was the first time that any man faced the sovereign force of the world in the full sweep of victory, and told himself and his fellow-men: 'This is not travelling in the greatness of its own strength, but is simply a dead, unconscious instrument in the hand of God.' (Smith, 176). In other words, Assyria may be powerful. But it's only a rod. Against the flood of imperial power stands Isaiah and a God who is supreme, who will permit these things to execute justice and purify people.
There are two conclusions from this: first, the Assyria of your life is just a rod in God's hand, not the other way around. "Everything that has come forcibly and gloriously to the front of things, every drift that appears to dominate history, all that asserts its claim on our wonder, and offers its own simple and strong solution of our life," our "Assyria's", are nothing but a dead instrument in the hand of our God. If the metaphor of a 'rod' sounds too abusive, think of a sculptor's chisel, or some sandpaper, or a nail file. My nightmare is my Assyria, the temptation to think that my faith is just an old movie set that looks nice but there's no real substance there. The general store isn't really a general store. The church isn't really a church. But Christ is more real than my nightmare. I can lay my nightmare before him and say, "God, however much truth there is my nightmare, whether or not I'm a "movie set Christian," I ask for you to give me a real love for you." In other words, "God, don't let my Assyria crush me, but use it to sculpt a real follower who is anything but a phony." God will use your Assyria too.
Second, if you are being purified, you are being deepened. As children, perhaps we had an easy, innocent trust in God (particularly if we had good parents). At some point, in building our pedigrees and resumes whether for the folks at the top of the heap in middle school or high school, or for the folks in the corner offices, we weren't innocent anymore. We don't have our innocent faith anymore. Your childhood faith may have been murdered by the Assyria's of this world. A new adult faith may need to be resurrected from the ashes. Isaiah teaches about a faith like this, which claims that no matter what happens in this world, everything and everyone will still have to answer to God's righteousness. This is our inheritance in Christ. It is what remains, no matter what.
Welcome to my personal Assyria.
We 21st century folks are quite advanced technologically and scientifically. The complexity of wealth management is like nothing the world has ever seen, is it? We have advanced indeed. In light of what we have become, isn't it difficult to believe in the God espoused by books that are 25 to 27 centuries old?
Welcome to our collective Assyria.
Assyria, of course, is the nation that is threatening Israel and Judah in the mid 700's B.C. But Assyria is more than that. Assyria was the first world power. When Assyria arrived on the scene, it's as though LeBron James showed up to play in a YMCA pick-up basketball game. Before LeBron showed up, you thought you knew who the good players were. Now, things have changed. Before Assyria, your realm of experience is narrow. Most days are like the others. Before Assyria, the foundations of your life aren't shaken. Before Assyria, its possible to have a child's faith in God because the world you knew as a child is still the same.
The effect that Assyria had on the ancient world was powerful. All the tribal deities of the ancient world are shown by Assyria to be nothing more than old movie sets to be toppled and repainted. Most of God's people fell for this. And although Assyria itself has vanished in the mists of history, the effect is the same with our "Assyria's." For our part, we experience a very visible world power called self-assertion, which makes our childhood faith seem like rubbish. We are miniaturized by global politics. We slip up on the life-force known as "it's not personal, it's business." Truth, honesty, patience, and love seem to be "after all but the playthings and victims of force." The tail seems to wag the dog. Assyria seems to rule God. The rod seems to shake the one who lifts it.
Isaiah 10:5-34 proclaims a mighty gospel: Assyria's rumor-mill, news-cycle, intimidation, world-dominance can do nothing about righteousness. This is nothing new for Isaiah. This is the only good news for all the chapters we've covered so far. God's people have chosen wealth and pleasure over God. (ch. 5) They present sham worship. (ch. 6) They are too impressed with Assyria (ch. 7-9) Chapter 10 is realistic: we don't stand a chance against Assyria. This would all be bad news except for Isaiah's key point: this devastation is really purification. And it was new for its time. Isaiah proclaims the same holy, supremely righteous God as Moses or David, but Isaiah carries it to a new level: "This was the first time that any man faced the sovereign force of the world in the full sweep of victory, and told himself and his fellow-men: 'This is not travelling in the greatness of its own strength, but is simply a dead, unconscious instrument in the hand of God.' (Smith, 176). In other words, Assyria may be powerful. But it's only a rod. Against the flood of imperial power stands Isaiah and a God who is supreme, who will permit these things to execute justice and purify people.
There are two conclusions from this: first, the Assyria of your life is just a rod in God's hand, not the other way around. "Everything that has come forcibly and gloriously to the front of things, every drift that appears to dominate history, all that asserts its claim on our wonder, and offers its own simple and strong solution of our life," our "Assyria's", are nothing but a dead instrument in the hand of our God. If the metaphor of a 'rod' sounds too abusive, think of a sculptor's chisel, or some sandpaper, or a nail file. My nightmare is my Assyria, the temptation to think that my faith is just an old movie set that looks nice but there's no real substance there. The general store isn't really a general store. The church isn't really a church. But Christ is more real than my nightmare. I can lay my nightmare before him and say, "God, however much truth there is my nightmare, whether or not I'm a "movie set Christian," I ask for you to give me a real love for you." In other words, "God, don't let my Assyria crush me, but use it to sculpt a real follower who is anything but a phony." God will use your Assyria too.
Second, if you are being purified, you are being deepened. As children, perhaps we had an easy, innocent trust in God (particularly if we had good parents). At some point, in building our pedigrees and resumes whether for the folks at the top of the heap in middle school or high school, or for the folks in the corner offices, we weren't innocent anymore. We don't have our innocent faith anymore. Your childhood faith may have been murdered by the Assyria's of this world. A new adult faith may need to be resurrected from the ashes. Isaiah teaches about a faith like this, which claims that no matter what happens in this world, everything and everyone will still have to answer to God's righteousness. This is our inheritance in Christ. It is what remains, no matter what.
Saturday, October 4, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 277: Isaiah 7-9:1-7 - God: Sanctuary or Stumbling Block
One question rings down through the entire Bible. It is summed up in Psalm 1: do you follow the way of the Lord...or not? Are you a tree planted by streams of water...or are you dust in the wind? Do you love God with your heart, mind, and strength...or don't you? We often feel there must be some alternative way to either loving or hating God. But Scripture consistently shows there is no such thing. Chapters 7-9 of Isaiah bring us deeply into the folly of human sin and into the marvelous grace of God. Along the way, we are taught about the truth that God can be our sanctuary or our stumbling block - our great love or our great enemy. As with previous posts, we will go deep into Isaiah's text - there is a lot here to attend to.
With all of its strange and foreign names of places and people, chapter 7 is particularly intimidating. It helps to know some of the geographic circumstances: Egypt to the southwest and Assyria to the northeast are the major players. In between them are a host of small nations: Phoenicia along the western sea wall, Edom in the mountains to the north, Syria, Aram, Samaria, Moab, and Philistia. Samaria and Aram have arisen against King Ahaz of Judah. The Judean leaders are all gathered at the water supply on the road to Fullers Field - and the water supply isn't impressive. Ahaz's big decision: whether to turn to Assyria for help against these foes. It's crisis time. This is where Isaiah and his son meet them.
Isaiah's message is laid out in verses 3-9: "Who are Samaria and Aram, anyway? They are "smoldering stumps of firebrands" whose glory days are all gone. Their fire is going out. Stand strong." The real threat is not these tiny nations. The real threat is Assyria - the nation Ahaz is about to turn to for support. Isaiah turns to Ahaz himself in verse 10: "Ask a sign of the Lord your God..."
This is probably the biggest moment of these three chapters, because everything that plays out does so because of Ahaz's unimpressive response. "Isaiah's offer of a sign was one which the prophets of Israel used to make when some crisis demanded the immediate acceptance of their word by men, and men were more than usually hard to convince...by offering (Ahaz) whatever sign he chose to ask, Isaiah knew that the king would be committed before his honor and the public conscience to refrain from calling in the Assyrians, and so Judah would be saved; or if the king refused the sign, the refusal would unmask him." (Smith, 111-112). Ahaz refuses. "I will not ask..." (7:12) The implications are stunning. If Ahaz had only asked, what might have been the difference?
Next comes the judgment on Ahaz. It comes in the form of the famous Messianic prophecy that we hear at Advent. (7:13-17) One is coming who will bear the name of God himself. But by the time he is a young man, he will eat curds and honey - a diet which you wouldn't eat unless there was nothing else to eat. The land will be deserted. It is a picture of royalty and majesty that have been entirely impoverished. "...only his name remains to haunt, with its infinite melancholy of what might have been" (115) - Immanuel, "God-with-us".
In chapter 8, Isaiah turns from his appeal to the king to make his appeal to the people. Like the king, they are too impressed by Assyria to trust in the Word of the Lord. God "will become a sanctuary, a stone one strikes against; for both houses of Israel he will become a rock one stumbles over - a trap and a snare for the inhabitants of Jerusalem." (8:14) God is the one certain refuge that can be depended on in all of life. And there is a double-edge to that fact. For those who will turn to him and rely on him, he is a sanctuary. To those who don't, he is something they stumble over, that trips them up "which is overlooked, rejected, or sought after in a wild, unintelligent spirit, and only in the hour of need, and is then their lasting ruin." (Smith 123)
All of Isaiah's hope has been placed in the remnant by the end of chapter 8. In their arrogance and idolatry, Israel and Judah are destined to be overtaken by Assyria. There's no hope for them. But as we move into the first verses of chapter 9, something changes. We don't know how much time has taken place from 8:20 to 9:2 - whether it occurred over months or immediately - but his tone of voice has passed from sarcasm to pity (8:20-21); from pity to hope (8:22-9:1); from hope to triumph (9:2). The great judgment that has been prophesied for the land of Galilee, the way of the sea, the site of the worst of Judah's idolatries has now given way to a dawning of hope which is inexplicable apart from God. In place of poverty, hunger, and war, God's people are given harvest, victory, joy, and peace in the person of the "Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace" who has already been introduced in the child of chapter 7. There is new hope for Israel and Judah because God is still God - who is always greater, even than what we now know of him.
Our lesson from these three chapters is the lesson of the 'sanctuary'. It is always tempting in our day and age (as in every age) to treat God like one of the ingredients in a cocktail. He may even be the most important ingredient - but that still isn't enough. We may think that's unfair, but whenever people have turned from him into the ways of selfishness, wastefulness, injustice, and greed, he is no longer our sanctuary, but becomes our stumbling block. He trips us up. But the glorious good news is that if he trips us up, we can take a closer look at what we tripped on. We can recognize "Immanuel" in the God who allows himself to be rejected, to be cursed, to be tripped over, even to die on a cross, but who remains a refuge of mercy to those who turn to him. The stumbling block can still become our sanctuary.
With all of its strange and foreign names of places and people, chapter 7 is particularly intimidating. It helps to know some of the geographic circumstances: Egypt to the southwest and Assyria to the northeast are the major players. In between them are a host of small nations: Phoenicia along the western sea wall, Edom in the mountains to the north, Syria, Aram, Samaria, Moab, and Philistia. Samaria and Aram have arisen against King Ahaz of Judah. The Judean leaders are all gathered at the water supply on the road to Fullers Field - and the water supply isn't impressive. Ahaz's big decision: whether to turn to Assyria for help against these foes. It's crisis time. This is where Isaiah and his son meet them.
Isaiah's message is laid out in verses 3-9: "Who are Samaria and Aram, anyway? They are "smoldering stumps of firebrands" whose glory days are all gone. Their fire is going out. Stand strong." The real threat is not these tiny nations. The real threat is Assyria - the nation Ahaz is about to turn to for support. Isaiah turns to Ahaz himself in verse 10: "Ask a sign of the Lord your God..."
This is probably the biggest moment of these three chapters, because everything that plays out does so because of Ahaz's unimpressive response. "Isaiah's offer of a sign was one which the prophets of Israel used to make when some crisis demanded the immediate acceptance of their word by men, and men were more than usually hard to convince...by offering (Ahaz) whatever sign he chose to ask, Isaiah knew that the king would be committed before his honor and the public conscience to refrain from calling in the Assyrians, and so Judah would be saved; or if the king refused the sign, the refusal would unmask him." (Smith, 111-112). Ahaz refuses. "I will not ask..." (7:12) The implications are stunning. If Ahaz had only asked, what might have been the difference?
Next comes the judgment on Ahaz. It comes in the form of the famous Messianic prophecy that we hear at Advent. (7:13-17) One is coming who will bear the name of God himself. But by the time he is a young man, he will eat curds and honey - a diet which you wouldn't eat unless there was nothing else to eat. The land will be deserted. It is a picture of royalty and majesty that have been entirely impoverished. "...only his name remains to haunt, with its infinite melancholy of what might have been" (115) - Immanuel, "God-with-us".
In chapter 8, Isaiah turns from his appeal to the king to make his appeal to the people. Like the king, they are too impressed by Assyria to trust in the Word of the Lord. God "will become a sanctuary, a stone one strikes against; for both houses of Israel he will become a rock one stumbles over - a trap and a snare for the inhabitants of Jerusalem." (8:14) God is the one certain refuge that can be depended on in all of life. And there is a double-edge to that fact. For those who will turn to him and rely on him, he is a sanctuary. To those who don't, he is something they stumble over, that trips them up "which is overlooked, rejected, or sought after in a wild, unintelligent spirit, and only in the hour of need, and is then their lasting ruin." (Smith 123)
All of Isaiah's hope has been placed in the remnant by the end of chapter 8. In their arrogance and idolatry, Israel and Judah are destined to be overtaken by Assyria. There's no hope for them. But as we move into the first verses of chapter 9, something changes. We don't know how much time has taken place from 8:20 to 9:2 - whether it occurred over months or immediately - but his tone of voice has passed from sarcasm to pity (8:20-21); from pity to hope (8:22-9:1); from hope to triumph (9:2). The great judgment that has been prophesied for the land of Galilee, the way of the sea, the site of the worst of Judah's idolatries has now given way to a dawning of hope which is inexplicable apart from God. In place of poverty, hunger, and war, God's people are given harvest, victory, joy, and peace in the person of the "Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace" who has already been introduced in the child of chapter 7. There is new hope for Israel and Judah because God is still God - who is always greater, even than what we now know of him.
Our lesson from these three chapters is the lesson of the 'sanctuary'. It is always tempting in our day and age (as in every age) to treat God like one of the ingredients in a cocktail. He may even be the most important ingredient - but that still isn't enough. We may think that's unfair, but whenever people have turned from him into the ways of selfishness, wastefulness, injustice, and greed, he is no longer our sanctuary, but becomes our stumbling block. He trips us up. But the glorious good news is that if he trips us up, we can take a closer look at what we tripped on. We can recognize "Immanuel" in the God who allows himself to be rejected, to be cursed, to be tripped over, even to die on a cross, but who remains a refuge of mercy to those who turn to him. The stumbling block can still become our sanctuary.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 274: Isaiah 6 - Consecration, Call, and Commission
Isaiah 6 is very short. Do not let that fool you! There is a lot here, as I've found out in the last several days. This is maybe the longest post I've written. It would be wrong for me not to mention that nearly all of this comes from an out-of-print commentary on Isaiah by the 19th century scholar George Adam Smith. (Thank you, Half-Price Books!)
Isaiah begins chapter 6 speaking about the death of King Uzziah. We think he had burned incense in the temple, which only priests were allowed to do. (2 Kings 15). Why is this important? He worshipped his way, not God's way. His act was "one of presumption, the expression of a worldly and irreverent temper, which ignored the infinite distance between God and man. It was followed, as sins of willfulness in religion were always followed under the old covenant, by swift disaster." (Smith, 59)
Isaiah and the people had also ignored the infinite distance between God and man. Smith calls this the "besetting sin" of God's people. Gathered in the temple for worship, they have calloused hearts, they "trampled the courts of the Lord with careless feet" (65), and the disease of their hearts has blossomed into lifeless speech. They worship their way, not God's way: "Isaiah had been listening to the perfect praise of sinless beings, and it brought into startling relief the defects of his own people's worship." (69)
"Holiness" is who God is. Holiness is also the angels' great response to Israel's sin. "Holy" for the callousness of their worship, so careful yet so hard-hearted. "Holy" for the carelessness of their life, for the routine which makes them oblivious to "the shuddering sense of the sublimity of the Divine Presence." (65). "Holy" for the self-indulgent use of forms, rituals, and worship space which veils us from God's presence rather than impressing us with it. "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory." (6:3). Smoke fills the temple, smoke that is "the obscurity that envelops a weak mind in presence of a truth too great for it, and the darkness that falls upon a diseased eye when exposed to the midday sun." (68). This is the smoke that occurs when holiness and sin meet.
"Unclean lips" indeed. The worship that God's people offer to him should be a beautiful blossom. Instead, compared to the angels' worship, it is a "rotten leaf" which falls to the ground beneath the "stainless beauty" of the angels' praise. (69) Isaiah repents - "Woe is me! I am lost..." He invites disaster and rightful judgment upon himself.
Now comes the sequence of consecration, call, and commission. Consecration means cleansing. The angel heals Isaiah's unclean lips with a hot stone - an ordinary household means of conveying heat - instead of with a traditional Jewish sacrifice. The process is swift and domestic rather than painstaking and laborious. The effect is all the same. The new reality which is so often missed about the lengthy ceremonies of sacrifice is captured in this swift purging: total forgiveness. Isaiah is fit for the presence of God.
What kind of call does Isaiah then receive? It is not a compulsory call like being drafted into the military. It is not the wooing of a recruiter who says, "you're the kind of person we want for the job". Neither is it an escape from responsibility, a vacation, a honeymoon, or a lost weekend in Vegas. "Isaiah got no such call. After passing through the fundamental religious experiences of forgiveness and cleansing, which are in every case the indispensable premises of life with God, Isaiah was left to himself...He heard from the Divine lips of the Divine need for messengers, and he was immediately full of the mind that he was the man for the mission, and of the heart to give himself to it." (75)
The person God creates and the person God redeems is destined to become the person God sends. And yet for the maturity that is essential to reach this point, there is something childlike and free about the one who knows this forgiveness: "Here am I; send me!"
Then Isaiah receives his commission. He is sent to a people to tell them, "look, but do not understand." "How awful!" we think. "Doesn't God love these people?" This passage is more about a truth that Isaiah came to understand through his preaching: The Word of God repelled more people than it convicted. The Word of God has not only a saving power, but also "a power that is judicial and condemnatory." (80) Smith puts it well: "It marks the direction, not of (God's) desire, but of a frequent and a natural sequence." (79) This is a sequence which is found in Jesus' and Paul's ministry as well. The one who loves God's Word and who speaks God's Word finds the Word trampled on. Isaiah looks back on years of ministry. He hasn't failed. He hasn't been a bad prophet. This was his commission: "Go and say to this people: Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand." (6:9)
Finally, hope comes in the form of the stump which persists and lasts through all the tribulation: "'Even if a tenth part remain in it, it will be burned again, like a terebinth or an oak whose stump remains standing when it is felled." The holy seed is its stump.'" (6:13). At the close of this magnificent chapter, hope is found in a people who will last through all of this. All the judgment, sin, disappointment, and defeat that would come for Israel and Judah in their future exile was already explained on this day when God encountered Isaiah in the temple. "He has had the worst burned into him; henceforth no man nor thing may trouble him. He has seen the worst, and knows there is a beginning beyond." (86-87)
There is a new beginning for us too. As with Isaiah, it is on the far side of judgment. Our new beginning is in Jesus, who was judged for our sins on the cross, and has now entered into a resurrected life that we will share with him. Comforted with this, let us allow the Word of God to judge us and to cleanse us of sin so that we may know its salvation.
Isaiah begins chapter 6 speaking about the death of King Uzziah. We think he had burned incense in the temple, which only priests were allowed to do. (2 Kings 15). Why is this important? He worshipped his way, not God's way. His act was "one of presumption, the expression of a worldly and irreverent temper, which ignored the infinite distance between God and man. It was followed, as sins of willfulness in religion were always followed under the old covenant, by swift disaster." (Smith, 59)
Isaiah and the people had also ignored the infinite distance between God and man. Smith calls this the "besetting sin" of God's people. Gathered in the temple for worship, they have calloused hearts, they "trampled the courts of the Lord with careless feet" (65), and the disease of their hearts has blossomed into lifeless speech. They worship their way, not God's way: "Isaiah had been listening to the perfect praise of sinless beings, and it brought into startling relief the defects of his own people's worship." (69)
"Holiness" is who God is. Holiness is also the angels' great response to Israel's sin. "Holy" for the callousness of their worship, so careful yet so hard-hearted. "Holy" for the carelessness of their life, for the routine which makes them oblivious to "the shuddering sense of the sublimity of the Divine Presence." (65). "Holy" for the self-indulgent use of forms, rituals, and worship space which veils us from God's presence rather than impressing us with it. "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory." (6:3). Smoke fills the temple, smoke that is "the obscurity that envelops a weak mind in presence of a truth too great for it, and the darkness that falls upon a diseased eye when exposed to the midday sun." (68). This is the smoke that occurs when holiness and sin meet.
"Unclean lips" indeed. The worship that God's people offer to him should be a beautiful blossom. Instead, compared to the angels' worship, it is a "rotten leaf" which falls to the ground beneath the "stainless beauty" of the angels' praise. (69) Isaiah repents - "Woe is me! I am lost..." He invites disaster and rightful judgment upon himself.
Now comes the sequence of consecration, call, and commission. Consecration means cleansing. The angel heals Isaiah's unclean lips with a hot stone - an ordinary household means of conveying heat - instead of with a traditional Jewish sacrifice. The process is swift and domestic rather than painstaking and laborious. The effect is all the same. The new reality which is so often missed about the lengthy ceremonies of sacrifice is captured in this swift purging: total forgiveness. Isaiah is fit for the presence of God.
What kind of call does Isaiah then receive? It is not a compulsory call like being drafted into the military. It is not the wooing of a recruiter who says, "you're the kind of person we want for the job". Neither is it an escape from responsibility, a vacation, a honeymoon, or a lost weekend in Vegas. "Isaiah got no such call. After passing through the fundamental religious experiences of forgiveness and cleansing, which are in every case the indispensable premises of life with God, Isaiah was left to himself...He heard from the Divine lips of the Divine need for messengers, and he was immediately full of the mind that he was the man for the mission, and of the heart to give himself to it." (75)
The person God creates and the person God redeems is destined to become the person God sends. And yet for the maturity that is essential to reach this point, there is something childlike and free about the one who knows this forgiveness: "Here am I; send me!"
Then Isaiah receives his commission. He is sent to a people to tell them, "look, but do not understand." "How awful!" we think. "Doesn't God love these people?" This passage is more about a truth that Isaiah came to understand through his preaching: The Word of God repelled more people than it convicted. The Word of God has not only a saving power, but also "a power that is judicial and condemnatory." (80) Smith puts it well: "It marks the direction, not of (God's) desire, but of a frequent and a natural sequence." (79) This is a sequence which is found in Jesus' and Paul's ministry as well. The one who loves God's Word and who speaks God's Word finds the Word trampled on. Isaiah looks back on years of ministry. He hasn't failed. He hasn't been a bad prophet. This was his commission: "Go and say to this people: Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand." (6:9)
Finally, hope comes in the form of the stump which persists and lasts through all the tribulation: "'Even if a tenth part remain in it, it will be burned again, like a terebinth or an oak whose stump remains standing when it is felled." The holy seed is its stump.'" (6:13). At the close of this magnificent chapter, hope is found in a people who will last through all of this. All the judgment, sin, disappointment, and defeat that would come for Israel and Judah in their future exile was already explained on this day when God encountered Isaiah in the temple. "He has had the worst burned into him; henceforth no man nor thing may trouble him. He has seen the worst, and knows there is a beginning beyond." (86-87)
There is a new beginning for us too. As with Isaiah, it is on the far side of judgment. Our new beginning is in Jesus, who was judged for our sins on the cross, and has now entered into a resurrected life that we will share with him. Comforted with this, let us allow the Word of God to judge us and to cleanse us of sin so that we may know its salvation.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 273: Isaiah 5 - Gathering and Squandering
In chapter 5, Isaiah is calling for a full repentance for God's people. There is no quick fix for them, no minor adjustments to be made. This has made him unpopular. Picture the scene: Israel has been preparing for war with Assyria (2 Kings 15:29). This means they need the support of the people. They need confidence and patriotism. Isaiah's words of judgment and calls for repentance sound not only like a spoil-sport. They sound like the words of a traitor. How can he tell Israel that they should focus their energies on repentance instead of on preparation for war? How can he tell them to prepare to come under Assyria's power?
According to George Adam Smith, Isaiah knew that God's honor stands alone. We can't manipulate him. We can't put him in our pocket. He doesn't owe us anything. "To the Jews the honor of their God was bound up with the inviolability of Jerusalem and the prosperity of Judah. But Isaiah knew Yahweh to be infinitely more concerned for the purity of His people than for their prosperity." (Smith, 35) Prosperity is not proof that God is with us. If we love prosperity more than God, God is not fooled.
The heart of this chapter is the wild grapes - what they are and what can be done about them. It opens with a story. God's people - Israel and Judah - had a vineyard. They planted a crop of grapes. But the fruit went bad. Wild grapes grew.
The wild grapes are catalogued in a series of Woes from verse 8 through 24. These are dire threats. "Woe to you who add house to house and join field to field." (v. 8) "Woe to those who rise early in the morning to run after their drinks..." (v. 11) "Woe to those who draw sin along with cords of deceit, and wickedness as with cart ropes..." (v. 18) "Woe to those who call evil good and good evil..." (v. 20) "Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes and clever in their own sight." (v. 21) "Woe to those who are heroes at drinking wine and champions at mixing drinks, who acquit the guilty for a bribe, but deny justice to the innocent." (v. 22-23)
What we have is a picture of two great threats: the love of wealth and the love of pleasure. Smith calls the love of wealth "the instinct to gather" and the love of pleasure "the instinct to squander". They loved wealth, abusing their land. They loved pleasure, over-indulging in alcohol.
Our life with God consists in praying, serving, obeying, and loving him. Life goes terribly awry when we replace these with other things. God's people had grown accustomed to gathering without regard for God. They had also grown accustomed to squandering without regard for God. What Smith claims alcohol was doing to them could also apply to their disregard for God as a whole: "Nothing kills the conscience like steady drinking to a little excess; and religion, even while the conscience is alive, acts on it only as an opiate."
These people are unreachable, as is depicted for us in the third Woe from verses 18 and 19 - "Woe to those who draw sin along with cords of deceit, and wickedness as with cart ropes, to those who say, "Let God hurry, let him hasten to his work so we may see it...." They call out for swift judgment - "hurry, God!" - not having the slightest inclination that they are pulling this judgment towards themselves the whole time with their deceitfulness.
These are the wild grapes. And there isn't anything that can be done, as long as they reject instruction. A foreign power will come and sweep them away. Isaiah has told his people of God's judgment and it would soon come.
During the 4th century A.D., the Roman emperor Constantine became Christian. Nearly overnight, the once persecuted faith became fashionable. And as soon as it became fashionable, people found it to be corrupt. There then grew a movement of people who followed Christ together in the deserts near Egypt. They became renowned for their spiritual maturity. One of these "desert fathers" wrote "This is the great task of man, that he should hold his sin before the face of God and count upon temptation until his last breath." (Sittser, 75) This is what God's people failed to do during the time of Isaiah. I think that the experience of reading Isaiah 5 can lead us to a renewed strength to expect temptation, to be ready for it, and to fight it well. We can do this through Christ, "who has been tempted in every way, just as we are" (Heb. 4:15). He is our strength for the fight to stay humble, so that our instincts to gather and squander do not choke the fruit of God's Spirit working within us.
According to George Adam Smith, Isaiah knew that God's honor stands alone. We can't manipulate him. We can't put him in our pocket. He doesn't owe us anything. "To the Jews the honor of their God was bound up with the inviolability of Jerusalem and the prosperity of Judah. But Isaiah knew Yahweh to be infinitely more concerned for the purity of His people than for their prosperity." (Smith, 35) Prosperity is not proof that God is with us. If we love prosperity more than God, God is not fooled.
The heart of this chapter is the wild grapes - what they are and what can be done about them. It opens with a story. God's people - Israel and Judah - had a vineyard. They planted a crop of grapes. But the fruit went bad. Wild grapes grew.
The wild grapes are catalogued in a series of Woes from verse 8 through 24. These are dire threats. "Woe to you who add house to house and join field to field." (v. 8) "Woe to those who rise early in the morning to run after their drinks..." (v. 11) "Woe to those who draw sin along with cords of deceit, and wickedness as with cart ropes..." (v. 18) "Woe to those who call evil good and good evil..." (v. 20) "Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes and clever in their own sight." (v. 21) "Woe to those who are heroes at drinking wine and champions at mixing drinks, who acquit the guilty for a bribe, but deny justice to the innocent." (v. 22-23)
What we have is a picture of two great threats: the love of wealth and the love of pleasure. Smith calls the love of wealth "the instinct to gather" and the love of pleasure "the instinct to squander". They loved wealth, abusing their land. They loved pleasure, over-indulging in alcohol.
Our life with God consists in praying, serving, obeying, and loving him. Life goes terribly awry when we replace these with other things. God's people had grown accustomed to gathering without regard for God. They had also grown accustomed to squandering without regard for God. What Smith claims alcohol was doing to them could also apply to their disregard for God as a whole: "Nothing kills the conscience like steady drinking to a little excess; and religion, even while the conscience is alive, acts on it only as an opiate."
These people are unreachable, as is depicted for us in the third Woe from verses 18 and 19 - "Woe to those who draw sin along with cords of deceit, and wickedness as with cart ropes, to those who say, "Let God hurry, let him hasten to his work so we may see it...." They call out for swift judgment - "hurry, God!" - not having the slightest inclination that they are pulling this judgment towards themselves the whole time with their deceitfulness.
These are the wild grapes. And there isn't anything that can be done, as long as they reject instruction. A foreign power will come and sweep them away. Isaiah has told his people of God's judgment and it would soon come.
During the 4th century A.D., the Roman emperor Constantine became Christian. Nearly overnight, the once persecuted faith became fashionable. And as soon as it became fashionable, people found it to be corrupt. There then grew a movement of people who followed Christ together in the deserts near Egypt. They became renowned for their spiritual maturity. One of these "desert fathers" wrote "This is the great task of man, that he should hold his sin before the face of God and count upon temptation until his last breath." (Sittser, 75) This is what God's people failed to do during the time of Isaiah. I think that the experience of reading Isaiah 5 can lead us to a renewed strength to expect temptation, to be ready for it, and to fight it well. We can do this through Christ, "who has been tempted in every way, just as we are" (Heb. 4:15). He is our strength for the fight to stay humble, so that our instincts to gather and squander do not choke the fruit of God's Spirit working within us.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 259: Isaiah 4 - Judgment
Isaiah 4 begins with glory. But this future day of glory will be preceded by a time of judgment: "Whoever is left in Zion and remains in Jerusalem will be called holy, everyone who has been recorded for life in Jerusalem, once the Lord has washed away the filth of the daughters of Zion and cleansed the bloodstains of Jerusalem from its midst by a spirit of judgment and by a spirit of burning." (v. 3-4)
Commentator George Adam Smith thinks that Isaiah has realized the truth that all reformers must come to: that justice needs a judgment. We all start out as idealists who can picture a world of peace but are naïve about how hard that will be: "they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more." (Isaiah 2:4) For a people yearning for peace, you could hardly pick a better slogan from somewhere in the Bible.
But our idealistic pictures of a peaceful society do not in themselves regenerate society. They only reveal the work we have to do. "It will only reveal social corruption, and sicken the heart of the reformer himself. For the possession of a great ideal does not mean, as so many fondly imagine, work accomplished; it means work revealed - work revealed so vast, often so impossible, that faith and hope die down, and the enthusiast of yesterday becomes the cynic of tomorrow." (Smith, The Book of Isaiah, 31).
We can't be healed until we are properly diagnosed. As Father Brown said, "No man's really good till he knows how bad he is, or might be". We can only reach the glorious future God has for us through judgment.
We think a loving God wouldn't judge. When we think of his judgment, we must keep it wed to his love. God's judgment comes from a merciful desire to restore, rather than a vengeful anger to destroy. George MacDonald wrote: "Nothing can satisfy the justice of God but justice in his creature. The justice of God is the love of what is right, and the doing of what is right. Eternal misery in the name of justice could satisfy none but a demon whose bad laws had been broken." (Unspoken Sermons, quoted from Baptized Imagination, 106)
God isn't a bad sport, pouting up in the attic of the universe, refusing to play. His judgment is a manifestation of his love. And because God is our loving judge, we enter into work of faith, labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ (1 Thess. 1:3). Jerry Sittser writes about how the early church's expectation of God's day of judgment helped them to live simple, hard-working lives of love: "(Athenagoras) also believed that Christian moral excellence was directly attributable to the Christian belief in the last judgment. "If we did not think that a God ruled over the human race, would we live in such purity? The idea is impossible. But since we are persuaded that we must give an account of all our life here to God who made us and the world, we adopt a temperate, generous, and despised way of life." (Water from a Deep Well, 59)
What we find is that judgment wed to love does not drive us away from God; it focuses us. "There is but one way of escape, and that is Isaiah's. It is to believe in God Himself; it is to believe that He is at work, that His purposes for man are saving purposes, and that with Him there is an inexhaustible source of mercy and virtue. So from the blackest pessimism shall arise new hope and faith." (Smith, 31-32)
Our hope is not that salvation will be easy. Our hope is that no matter how hard it gets, we can still hope in God.
Commentator George Adam Smith thinks that Isaiah has realized the truth that all reformers must come to: that justice needs a judgment. We all start out as idealists who can picture a world of peace but are naïve about how hard that will be: "they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more." (Isaiah 2:4) For a people yearning for peace, you could hardly pick a better slogan from somewhere in the Bible.
But our idealistic pictures of a peaceful society do not in themselves regenerate society. They only reveal the work we have to do. "It will only reveal social corruption, and sicken the heart of the reformer himself. For the possession of a great ideal does not mean, as so many fondly imagine, work accomplished; it means work revealed - work revealed so vast, often so impossible, that faith and hope die down, and the enthusiast of yesterday becomes the cynic of tomorrow." (Smith, The Book of Isaiah, 31).
We can't be healed until we are properly diagnosed. As Father Brown said, "No man's really good till he knows how bad he is, or might be". We can only reach the glorious future God has for us through judgment.
We think a loving God wouldn't judge. When we think of his judgment, we must keep it wed to his love. God's judgment comes from a merciful desire to restore, rather than a vengeful anger to destroy. George MacDonald wrote: "Nothing can satisfy the justice of God but justice in his creature. The justice of God is the love of what is right, and the doing of what is right. Eternal misery in the name of justice could satisfy none but a demon whose bad laws had been broken." (Unspoken Sermons, quoted from Baptized Imagination, 106)
God isn't a bad sport, pouting up in the attic of the universe, refusing to play. His judgment is a manifestation of his love. And because God is our loving judge, we enter into work of faith, labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ (1 Thess. 1:3). Jerry Sittser writes about how the early church's expectation of God's day of judgment helped them to live simple, hard-working lives of love: "(Athenagoras) also believed that Christian moral excellence was directly attributable to the Christian belief in the last judgment. "If we did not think that a God ruled over the human race, would we live in such purity? The idea is impossible. But since we are persuaded that we must give an account of all our life here to God who made us and the world, we adopt a temperate, generous, and despised way of life." (Water from a Deep Well, 59)
What we find is that judgment wed to love does not drive us away from God; it focuses us. "There is but one way of escape, and that is Isaiah's. It is to believe in God Himself; it is to believe that He is at work, that His purposes for man are saving purposes, and that with Him there is an inexhaustible source of mercy and virtue. So from the blackest pessimism shall arise new hope and faith." (Smith, 31-32)
Our hope is not that salvation will be easy. Our hope is that no matter how hard it gets, we can still hope in God.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 254: Job 10-12 - Questions
We've all understand the importance of questions and answers. If we've been to a conference or to some official talk someone is giving, often there's a "Q&A" section afterward. We all have questions.
Questions keep us up at night. Questions wake us up in the morning. What woke you up this morning? Was it your alarm clock? Or was it a question?
In today's reading, Job bludgeons God with a series of questions: "Does it seem good to you to oppress, to despise the work of your hands and favor the schemes of the wicked? Do you have eyes of flesh? Do you see as humans see? Are your days like the days of mortals, or your years like human years, that you seek out my iniquity and search for my sin, although you know that I am not guilty, and there is no one to deliver out of your hand?" (Job 10:3-7)
You don't need to have questions like Job's to appreciate that he asks them. Job doesn't hate God. His questions come from intimacy with God. His questions arise from a life that has been lived in total delight and worship of God. He is offended because God feels distant.
When you pray to God today, what questions do you really have? I recall an overwhelming day, driving in my car, asking God, "why aren't I better than I am by now?"
There is a classic old book called Your God is too Small. It is a corrective for those of us who never risk saying what we really mean with God because we don't think he is very mighty. Job questions God as though he is the ruler of the universe. Job questions him as though he can take it.
Offer to God your real questions today. As you do, know that you are stepping out in faith. You are taking a risk with a real and living God. And think again of today's psalm: "The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life. The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time on and forevermore." (Psalm 121:7-8)
Questions keep us up at night. Questions wake us up in the morning. What woke you up this morning? Was it your alarm clock? Or was it a question?
In today's reading, Job bludgeons God with a series of questions: "Does it seem good to you to oppress, to despise the work of your hands and favor the schemes of the wicked? Do you have eyes of flesh? Do you see as humans see? Are your days like the days of mortals, or your years like human years, that you seek out my iniquity and search for my sin, although you know that I am not guilty, and there is no one to deliver out of your hand?" (Job 10:3-7)
You don't need to have questions like Job's to appreciate that he asks them. Job doesn't hate God. His questions come from intimacy with God. His questions arise from a life that has been lived in total delight and worship of God. He is offended because God feels distant.
When you pray to God today, what questions do you really have? I recall an overwhelming day, driving in my car, asking God, "why aren't I better than I am by now?"
There is a classic old book called Your God is too Small. It is a corrective for those of us who never risk saying what we really mean with God because we don't think he is very mighty. Job questions God as though he is the ruler of the universe. Job questions him as though he can take it.
Offer to God your real questions today. As you do, know that you are stepping out in faith. You are taking a risk with a real and living God. And think again of today's psalm: "The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life. The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time on and forevermore." (Psalm 121:7-8)
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 217: 1 Corinthians 1-2 - Christ Crucified
The first two chapters of 1 Corinthians are about simplifying things. Paul is peeling back the layers of the divisive Corinthian group, revealing the rotting core of factionalism and competing loyalties. Paul is saying that they need to simplify and get focused on the same thing.
Richard Foster describes the power of simplicity: "Have you ever experienced this situation? One person speaks, and even though what he or she is saying may well be true you draw back, sensing the lack of authenticity. Then someone else shares, perhaps even the same truth in the same words, but now you sense an inward resonance, the presence of integrity. What is the difference? One is providing simplistic answers, the other is living in simplicity." (Freedom of Simplicity, 13)
It's easy to have simplistic answers. We resort to them when we don't want to get bogged down, or when we just want to make somebody feel better. It's a lot harder to live a disciplined, committed life of simplicity. And what is our organizing center, the thing we should simplify around? This one thing: "I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified. (2:2).
There are several things which seem so unpleasant about this. One is the taint of failure - that we're worshipping a glorified wimpy guy, somebody the old Saturday Night Live duo, Hans and Franz would have made fun of. The other is the focus on death. It seems so gloomy, like you've been living in one of those haunted funeral hearses in St. Augustine.
Paul contends that there is a powerful subversion going on at the cross. God is turning things upside down. "But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong, God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are, so that no one might boast in the presence of God." (1:27-29)
There are two ways God turns things upside down. First, God chooses it. We often think of the power of choice in consumeristic terms: the more money you have, the more you can choose. Not often enough do we see that the choice to simplify - to eat less, to spend less, to watch less TV, to be chaste, to sleep more, to worship more, to pray more - are just as powerful. God chooses the way of the cross, and it is the "power of God." (1:18) Nothing wimpy here. This is the power of God, subverting our usual ideas of power.
Second, these things shame those who think themselves strong. We hate shame, but there is no denying that it exists. When we look back over our life, and want to forget that certain days, weeks, years, or decades even happened, when we are downright embarrassed about the trivial things we thought were so important, shame is what we feel. Paul's point is that we who spend most of our lives steering clear of anything that looks, sounds, or smells of death and stowing money away in every nook and cranny to safeguard ourselves against encroaching death will be ashamed when we see that life is all about dying to ourselves as early as we can - "dying young", in fact - so that our life can belong to God. We will learn that knowing nothing but Christ crucified is not the same as knowing nothing.
What we spent a lifetime scorning, we will realize was God's precise way of giving us value. Shame of Jesus, shame of the cross will give way, as it does for each Christian, to shame of ourselves that we ever scorned an act so beautiful. In fact, the cross is the very center of God's plans to enrich us; for being crucified with Christ is directly tied to the promise of the Spirit, which Paul describes: "What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him." (2:9)
'Christ crucified' is a simple approach to life. But it is not simplistic. It is an approach which trusts that if God really gave his Son on the cross for us, it is something beautiful and it is something serious which demands our attention and which will change us. God does not coyly play around with us, but has made himself abundantly clear. He speaks with a deep resonance at the cross of Christ. And we won't draw back, for he speaks sincerely. We will listen and find ourselves drawn into the beautiful life of God.
Richard Foster describes the power of simplicity: "Have you ever experienced this situation? One person speaks, and even though what he or she is saying may well be true you draw back, sensing the lack of authenticity. Then someone else shares, perhaps even the same truth in the same words, but now you sense an inward resonance, the presence of integrity. What is the difference? One is providing simplistic answers, the other is living in simplicity." (Freedom of Simplicity, 13)
It's easy to have simplistic answers. We resort to them when we don't want to get bogged down, or when we just want to make somebody feel better. It's a lot harder to live a disciplined, committed life of simplicity. And what is our organizing center, the thing we should simplify around? This one thing: "I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified. (2:2).
There are several things which seem so unpleasant about this. One is the taint of failure - that we're worshipping a glorified wimpy guy, somebody the old Saturday Night Live duo, Hans and Franz would have made fun of. The other is the focus on death. It seems so gloomy, like you've been living in one of those haunted funeral hearses in St. Augustine.
Paul contends that there is a powerful subversion going on at the cross. God is turning things upside down. "But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong, God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are, so that no one might boast in the presence of God." (1:27-29)
There are two ways God turns things upside down. First, God chooses it. We often think of the power of choice in consumeristic terms: the more money you have, the more you can choose. Not often enough do we see that the choice to simplify - to eat less, to spend less, to watch less TV, to be chaste, to sleep more, to worship more, to pray more - are just as powerful. God chooses the way of the cross, and it is the "power of God." (1:18) Nothing wimpy here. This is the power of God, subverting our usual ideas of power.
Second, these things shame those who think themselves strong. We hate shame, but there is no denying that it exists. When we look back over our life, and want to forget that certain days, weeks, years, or decades even happened, when we are downright embarrassed about the trivial things we thought were so important, shame is what we feel. Paul's point is that we who spend most of our lives steering clear of anything that looks, sounds, or smells of death and stowing money away in every nook and cranny to safeguard ourselves against encroaching death will be ashamed when we see that life is all about dying to ourselves as early as we can - "dying young", in fact - so that our life can belong to God. We will learn that knowing nothing but Christ crucified is not the same as knowing nothing.
What we spent a lifetime scorning, we will realize was God's precise way of giving us value. Shame of Jesus, shame of the cross will give way, as it does for each Christian, to shame of ourselves that we ever scorned an act so beautiful. In fact, the cross is the very center of God's plans to enrich us; for being crucified with Christ is directly tied to the promise of the Spirit, which Paul describes: "What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him." (2:9)
'Christ crucified' is a simple approach to life. But it is not simplistic. It is an approach which trusts that if God really gave his Son on the cross for us, it is something beautiful and it is something serious which demands our attention and which will change us. God does not coyly play around with us, but has made himself abundantly clear. He speaks with a deep resonance at the cross of Christ. And we won't draw back, for he speaks sincerely. We will listen and find ourselves drawn into the beautiful life of God.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 215: Hosea: 10-14 - It is Enough
I've grown curious about Abraham Lincoln in the last several years. I've been slowly reading Doris Kearns Goodwin's book Team of Rivals which chronicles Lincoln's rise to the presidency, through which he eventually welcomed earlier political competitors into cabinet positions. Out of the furnace of his campaigns, he recognized the gifts of those he defeated and those who defeated him. It gave him a thick skin for sure, one he would need as he led the nation into civil war for the distant dream of a stronger nation. It wasn't the best that Lincoln ever would have wanted to give his country. Torn to shreds by newspapers, mocked by friend and enemy alike, his service took its toll on him and his family, even as it took its toll on the nation. This is what interests me: the Civil War was violent, bloody, nobody really came out of it with anything even closely resembling total victory. The costs were just too high. But the high costs now seem worth it. It was bad, but we now see it as good.
Reading Hosea 13, I'm struck by this line about Israel's kingdom: "Where now is your king that he may save you? Where in all your cities are your rulers, of whom you said, "Give me a king and rulers"? I gave you a king in my anger, and took him away in my wrath." What strikes me is this: that God gave Israel a king in anger. God's anger is brought on by Israel's rejection of his authority. (1 Samuel 8:7) Choosing their own king means they are choosing against God. Yet, in this anger, God gives it to them. Over time, as one bad king led to another (see 1 and 2 Kings), the day comes when God's wrath falls on Israel, leading them into exile, taking their kingdom away. This is all summed up neatly in God's phrase in Hosea 13: "I gave you a king in my anger, and took him away in my wrath."
I like the Civil War narrative better: it was bad, but we now see it as good, it was costly, but it was worth it. I don't like the narrative of Israel's kingdom as much: it was bad when I gave it to you, and it was worse when I took it away. That just can't be all there is to it! And of course, this is the way we tend to look at the whole Old Testament narrative: "God created the world, the world fell into sin, God created Israel, and then things got worse...and worse...and worse...........and worse...until God himself said, "That's it! I'm coming down there." What's this narrative missing?
It's missing the same sense of cost that we all understand about the Civil War. Lincoln suffered. Union soldiers suffered. Confederates suffered. African-Americans suffered. Out of all the enmity and strife and fighting of that time, and the loss of life in the war being as stunning as it was, we all stand back and say, "it is enough." The cost has been paid. Who bears the cost of all this in the Old Testament? God does. God's children kill each other. God's children give their worship to false gods. God's children are known more for disobeying their God, than for being a light shining the righteous, holy, merciful character of their God. God bears the cost of all this. God suffers.
"They have rejected me," he says in 1 Samuel. They did, but God didn't reject them. God's kingdom moves in unseen, hidden ways while the corrupt kingdom degenerates more and more. Even the death of Jesus, as climactic and central and new as it is, has much more in common with the sacrificial, abiding, weak, suffering way of God's love as depicted in Hosea than we typically acknowledge. God's role in the Old Testament is not as the idle, distant, "get your act together" God. He is the God as portrayed in Hosea, the wounded, unyieldingly faithful lover, whose only Son will pay the ultimate cost. And all those who see with the eyes of faith will say, "it is enough."
Reading Hosea 13, I'm struck by this line about Israel's kingdom: "Where now is your king that he may save you? Where in all your cities are your rulers, of whom you said, "Give me a king and rulers"? I gave you a king in my anger, and took him away in my wrath." What strikes me is this: that God gave Israel a king in anger. God's anger is brought on by Israel's rejection of his authority. (1 Samuel 8:7) Choosing their own king means they are choosing against God. Yet, in this anger, God gives it to them. Over time, as one bad king led to another (see 1 and 2 Kings), the day comes when God's wrath falls on Israel, leading them into exile, taking their kingdom away. This is all summed up neatly in God's phrase in Hosea 13: "I gave you a king in my anger, and took him away in my wrath."
I like the Civil War narrative better: it was bad, but we now see it as good, it was costly, but it was worth it. I don't like the narrative of Israel's kingdom as much: it was bad when I gave it to you, and it was worse when I took it away. That just can't be all there is to it! And of course, this is the way we tend to look at the whole Old Testament narrative: "God created the world, the world fell into sin, God created Israel, and then things got worse...and worse...and worse...........and worse...until God himself said, "That's it! I'm coming down there." What's this narrative missing?
It's missing the same sense of cost that we all understand about the Civil War. Lincoln suffered. Union soldiers suffered. Confederates suffered. African-Americans suffered. Out of all the enmity and strife and fighting of that time, and the loss of life in the war being as stunning as it was, we all stand back and say, "it is enough." The cost has been paid. Who bears the cost of all this in the Old Testament? God does. God's children kill each other. God's children give their worship to false gods. God's children are known more for disobeying their God, than for being a light shining the righteous, holy, merciful character of their God. God bears the cost of all this. God suffers.
"They have rejected me," he says in 1 Samuel. They did, but God didn't reject them. God's kingdom moves in unseen, hidden ways while the corrupt kingdom degenerates more and more. Even the death of Jesus, as climactic and central and new as it is, has much more in common with the sacrificial, abiding, weak, suffering way of God's love as depicted in Hosea than we typically acknowledge. God's role in the Old Testament is not as the idle, distant, "get your act together" God. He is the God as portrayed in Hosea, the wounded, unyieldingly faithful lover, whose only Son will pay the ultimate cost. And all those who see with the eyes of faith will say, "it is enough."
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 212: Hosea 1-9 - A Deeper Memory
It starts with the second verse of the book.
Hosea captures all the goodness and beauty God has for us - "take for yourself a wife..." In chapter two, Hosea describes a marriage "in righteousness, justice, love, mercy, and in faithfulness." And then this beautiful phrase: "On that day I will answer, says the Lord, I will answer the heavens and they shall answer the earth; and the earth shall answer the grain, the wine, and the oil, and they shall answer Jezreel; and I will sow him for myself in the land. And I will have pity on Lo-ruhamah, and I will say to Lo-ammi, "you are my people"; and he shall say, "You are my God." Marriage of heavens and earth, marriage of listening, speaking and responding, marriage of man and woman, and marriage of God and his people. You are mine. I am yours.
("Man, maybe I'd better look through the good ol' wedding photo album again. It was worth all that money.")
But that's not all that begins with the second verse. Hosea captures all the tragedy of sin in that same verse: "take for yourself a wife of whoredom." This is not really about torturing poor Hosea. Remarkably, it is about journeying alongside God. What is it like to love someone like God loves Israel?
Through this journey, what really stands out is the chiding, wooing, scoffing voice of God. He sees the backroom deals, he hears the whispers of betrayal in the bedroom, he walks with Israel through the alleyways after she's gotten her scandalous paycheck. He observes, prophecies, and quips with proverbs, ironies, and mournful dirges. He could almost walk away from the whole mess and yet he can't.
("Yeah, come to think of it, maybe I won't look at the wedding pictures. I was way too happy, trim, and optimistic back then.")
God's redeeming love cuts so deep in Hosea's work. When Paul says that God died for sinners in Romans 5:6, we can accept it as a fact. When Hosea talks about God's love for sinners, it burrows deep into our bones. In 9:9, God has had it. Israel's sin is so repulsive, so incomprehensible that it can't be undone or forgotten: "he will remember their iniquity." In 9:10, we find a deeper memory: "Like grapes in the wilderness, I found Israel. Like the first fruit on a fig tree, in its first season, I saw your ancestors." However clearly God sees our dark hiding places and diagnoses our illnesses, he has a deeper memory. He has total childlike delight over real love and justice, like a weary traveler finding sweet grapes in the middle of the desert.
God is amazing. He is truly the best part of this whole world, being that he is creator. Hosea reminds us of the wedding album we have with God, not because the ceremony has already happened, but because it will happen. Through Christ's sacrifice, he has put heavenly life into us, making us a bride in righteousness, love, mercy, and faithfulness fit for the love of our life - God, the greatest lover of all.
Hosea captures all the goodness and beauty God has for us - "take for yourself a wife..." In chapter two, Hosea describes a marriage "in righteousness, justice, love, mercy, and in faithfulness." And then this beautiful phrase: "On that day I will answer, says the Lord, I will answer the heavens and they shall answer the earth; and the earth shall answer the grain, the wine, and the oil, and they shall answer Jezreel; and I will sow him for myself in the land. And I will have pity on Lo-ruhamah, and I will say to Lo-ammi, "you are my people"; and he shall say, "You are my God." Marriage of heavens and earth, marriage of listening, speaking and responding, marriage of man and woman, and marriage of God and his people. You are mine. I am yours.
("Man, maybe I'd better look through the good ol' wedding photo album again. It was worth all that money.")
But that's not all that begins with the second verse. Hosea captures all the tragedy of sin in that same verse: "take for yourself a wife of whoredom." This is not really about torturing poor Hosea. Remarkably, it is about journeying alongside God. What is it like to love someone like God loves Israel?
Through this journey, what really stands out is the chiding, wooing, scoffing voice of God. He sees the backroom deals, he hears the whispers of betrayal in the bedroom, he walks with Israel through the alleyways after she's gotten her scandalous paycheck. He observes, prophecies, and quips with proverbs, ironies, and mournful dirges. He could almost walk away from the whole mess and yet he can't.
("Yeah, come to think of it, maybe I won't look at the wedding pictures. I was way too happy, trim, and optimistic back then.")
God's redeeming love cuts so deep in Hosea's work. When Paul says that God died for sinners in Romans 5:6, we can accept it as a fact. When Hosea talks about God's love for sinners, it burrows deep into our bones. In 9:9, God has had it. Israel's sin is so repulsive, so incomprehensible that it can't be undone or forgotten: "he will remember their iniquity." In 9:10, we find a deeper memory: "Like grapes in the wilderness, I found Israel. Like the first fruit on a fig tree, in its first season, I saw your ancestors." However clearly God sees our dark hiding places and diagnoses our illnesses, he has a deeper memory. He has total childlike delight over real love and justice, like a weary traveler finding sweet grapes in the middle of the desert.
God is amazing. He is truly the best part of this whole world, being that he is creator. Hosea reminds us of the wedding album we have with God, not because the ceremony has already happened, but because it will happen. Through Christ's sacrifice, he has put heavenly life into us, making us a bride in righteousness, love, mercy, and faithfulness fit for the love of our life - God, the greatest lover of all.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 208: 1 Chronicles 23-29 - Valley of Vision
The end of 1 Chronicles builds to prayer. From chapter 23, we see priests given their various duties. In chapter 25, it is the musicians. In chapter 26, gatekeepers and treasurers, officers, and judges, and in chapter 27, the military. And all these folks gather for an assembly of worship, concluding in 29:10 with David's prayer to God.
Think of the established order of local government. The mayor's office, the chief of police, the district attorney, the zoning commissions, the accountants, and don't forget social workers! Imagine them all being gathered. In theory, it would be for a purpose relevant to all of them.
For the court of David's kingdom, it is worship. From military commanders who need order in the ranks and victory at war, to the treasurer who needs money coming in to make up for money going out, what is needed is God.
But of course, things are different now. Whether in local government, business, a wing of a hospital, a classroom - we aren't quite allowed to do this today. So we aim to get as much of our worship in on Sunday, because good luck finding the space - or the time - to do it otherwise.
It is chapter 29:14-15 that unites us beyond the centuries and sociological changes to our ancestors in the faith: "But who am I, and what is my people, that we should be able to make this freewill offering? For all things come from you, and of your own have we given you. For we are aliens and transients before you, as were all our ancestors."
It is strange to think of our deeper heritage as being 'aliens and transients.' Don't the foreigners and immigrants only travel and work as they do so that their kids don't have to say "we are aliens and transients." It is a strange idea in our world for people to have no home except in God, no identity except in God, no business or job or money except what God gave them. But it should not be strange to God's people.
A Puritan prayer describes our home as a valley of vision: "Lord, high and holy, meek and lowly, thou hast brought me to the valley of vision, where I live in the depths but see thee in the heights." As musicians, gatekeepers, treasurers, and warriors gather together for worship, they can see that God has made them great. But David's prayer brings them to the valley of vision: they are aliens and transients who need God.
Think of the established order of local government. The mayor's office, the chief of police, the district attorney, the zoning commissions, the accountants, and don't forget social workers! Imagine them all being gathered. In theory, it would be for a purpose relevant to all of them.
For the court of David's kingdom, it is worship. From military commanders who need order in the ranks and victory at war, to the treasurer who needs money coming in to make up for money going out, what is needed is God.
But of course, things are different now. Whether in local government, business, a wing of a hospital, a classroom - we aren't quite allowed to do this today. So we aim to get as much of our worship in on Sunday, because good luck finding the space - or the time - to do it otherwise.
It is chapter 29:14-15 that unites us beyond the centuries and sociological changes to our ancestors in the faith: "But who am I, and what is my people, that we should be able to make this freewill offering? For all things come from you, and of your own have we given you. For we are aliens and transients before you, as were all our ancestors."
It is strange to think of our deeper heritage as being 'aliens and transients.' Don't the foreigners and immigrants only travel and work as they do so that their kids don't have to say "we are aliens and transients." It is a strange idea in our world for people to have no home except in God, no identity except in God, no business or job or money except what God gave them. But it should not be strange to God's people.
A Puritan prayer describes our home as a valley of vision: "Lord, high and holy, meek and lowly, thou hast brought me to the valley of vision, where I live in the depths but see thee in the heights." As musicians, gatekeepers, treasurers, and warriors gather together for worship, they can see that God has made them great. But David's prayer brings them to the valley of vision: they are aliens and transients who need God.
Friday, July 11, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 193: 1 Chronicles 1-8 - Counting Blessings
I recently finished Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. At an intimidating 800 pages, it took a little over a year of stolen moments and early mornings, thanks in large parts to the short chapters. Otherwise, Tolstoy tends to include so many names and places that it is easy to lose track of the basic story.
Reading the genealogies in Scripture, such as the long one found in the first 8 chapters of 1 Chronicles, can feel like an exercise in triviality. Rarely do we feel that the writer is spending less energy trying to reel us in. After all, how exciting and relevant can a list of dozens of names be?
But then what else did God promise Abraham but people...and lots of them? "Now the Lord said to Abram, "Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing." (Gen. 12:1-2) So Abram will become a nation. The one will become many. As this nation grew, they experienced many ups and downs. Disoriented, they would lose the trajectory of what God was doing. Remembering God's words to Abram, they could remember all the people, the great nation God had promised. They count their blessings.
Imagine the author of 1 Chronicles actually knew a story about everyone who gets listed here. Each name is a story in itself. So the list of names is not as trivial as it seems. The little stories tell the big story of the God who made the promise to Abram. Obviously, not all the people lived as though they were part of this big story. Though they are still included in the list, some of these folks were villains. One suspects they would have found genealogies especially useless. What use is a family if I live only for myself?
But for those of us who love family, family vacations, being part of a tradition, a heritage, being built up by God's promises, there is a lot here in the first eight chapters of 1 Chronicles to at least appreciate if not enjoy. Through Jesus' blood, we are part of God's family. We shouldn't lose the narrative on account of all these names because ultimately these names are the narrative. We are the narrative. Our lives, our choices, our relationships with God and others are the story. "I will make of you a great nation."
My prayer list is not terribly exciting. It is a list of names. If I showed you my list, chances are you might know one or two people, but you probably wouldn't know everybody. Sometimes, I don't even know everybody on my list. People who pray at some point become more or less comfortable lifting up names they don't know and praying for people they've never met before. United by the one who created us all, we learn to live this way, in this family.
Reading the genealogies in Scripture, such as the long one found in the first 8 chapters of 1 Chronicles, can feel like an exercise in triviality. Rarely do we feel that the writer is spending less energy trying to reel us in. After all, how exciting and relevant can a list of dozens of names be?
But then what else did God promise Abraham but people...and lots of them? "Now the Lord said to Abram, "Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing." (Gen. 12:1-2) So Abram will become a nation. The one will become many. As this nation grew, they experienced many ups and downs. Disoriented, they would lose the trajectory of what God was doing. Remembering God's words to Abram, they could remember all the people, the great nation God had promised. They count their blessings.
Imagine the author of 1 Chronicles actually knew a story about everyone who gets listed here. Each name is a story in itself. So the list of names is not as trivial as it seems. The little stories tell the big story of the God who made the promise to Abram. Obviously, not all the people lived as though they were part of this big story. Though they are still included in the list, some of these folks were villains. One suspects they would have found genealogies especially useless. What use is a family if I live only for myself?
But for those of us who love family, family vacations, being part of a tradition, a heritage, being built up by God's promises, there is a lot here in the first eight chapters of 1 Chronicles to at least appreciate if not enjoy. Through Jesus' blood, we are part of God's family. We shouldn't lose the narrative on account of all these names because ultimately these names are the narrative. We are the narrative. Our lives, our choices, our relationships with God and others are the story. "I will make of you a great nation."
My prayer list is not terribly exciting. It is a list of names. If I showed you my list, chances are you might know one or two people, but you probably wouldn't know everybody. Sometimes, I don't even know everybody on my list. People who pray at some point become more or less comfortable lifting up names they don't know and praying for people they've never met before. United by the one who created us all, we learn to live this way, in this family.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 151: Ephesians - Going Deep and Growing Up
“Go
deep!” “Grow up!” The first sounds like something you would
hear from a quarterback wanting to practice his ‘Hail Mary’. The second sounds like classic advice from an
older sibling to a younger (or even from a parent to a child.)
I also think
they summarize two passages which together capture the heart of Paul’s letter
to the Ephesians. The first is Paul’s
prayer in 3:18-19. “I pray that you may
have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length
and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge,
so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”
Paul is
saying, “Consider the love of Christ…and really consider it.” Linger with it. Look at it from one angle, then from
another. Walk around it. “Walk about Zion, go all around it, count its
towers, consider well its ramparts; go through its citadels, that you may tell
the next generation that this is God…” (Psalm 48:12-14)
There is a
praise song from the Australian Christian fellowship called Hillsong. The song is called, “Oceans”. The second part of the bridge goes like this,
“take me deeper than my feet could ever wander, and my faith would be made
stronger in the presence of my Savior.”
There is an
ocean depth to the love of Christ which should make explorers of all of
us. In the same way that scuba-divers
strap on their suits and oxygen tanks and go fathoms deep to explore the coral
and the ocean floors, we should take our tools of Scripture, silence, imagination,
deep longings, and prayer, and explore the height, depth, and length of God’s
love in Christ.
What does it
mean to go deep? Jessica’s parents
visited recently. We were considering
driving to Cape Canaveral to see the Kennedy Space Center. I was sitting at home reading online reports
about the Space Center to see if it was worth the money. The Atlantic space shuttle exhibit came up
everywhere – “go see it!” “Don’t miss it!” “Leave yourself many hours for this!” I could confirm this once we’d gone: it gave
us different experiences of what goes into space travel. There were films that showed the initial
dream: a paper airplane space shuttle that could land itself. The actual shuttle was there – hanging in the
exhibit with all its glory. Astronauts were
there to share a handshake, a personal story, or a photo. A launch simulator led us through the
shaking, rattling, and rolling of going up into space. Hubble satellite pictures displayed the great
invitations of vast galaxies and stars from the great beyond. Little kids wandered in and out of interactive
cockpits.
When I sat
down to read Ephesians, I thought about the breadth, length, height, and
depth. And I thought about the folks at
the Kennedy Space Center. They wanted
folks to understand the breadth, length, height, and depth of the excitement,
will, energy, drive, innovation, teamwork, and discovery of space travel. The Atlantis exhibit is what they developed
to accomplish it. To go deep is to know
and experience something on multiple levels and in multiple ways.
Which leads
me to ask: how does God intend to initiate us into the breadth, length, height,
and depth experience of Christ’s love?
The answer
brings us to our second passage: by growing up.
Consider Ephesians 4:14-16: “We must no longer be children, tossed to
and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine, by people’s trickery, by
their craftiness in deceitful scheming.
But speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into him
who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and knit
together by every ligament with which it is equipped, as each part is working
properly, promotes the body’s growth in building itself up in love.”
Have we
considered how much about good, righteous living we have learned from just
being around other people who are living this way? This is how we learn everything, from our
infancy onwards. We learn so much from
being around other people – talking to them, listening to them, thinking about
them, being surprised by them, being moved by them, getting angry at them,
apologizing to them, experiencing forgiveness, grace, humor, singing with them,
and endless more.
Paul is
saying that this is how it works. The
church is a gathering of people who build one another up in Christ from day
one. All that is required for the
Atlantis exhibit of the Christian faith is speaking the truth in love. Christ’s love, to be specific. We need it.
Christ is the source. In
Ephesians 2, he is the foundation stone for a building being built. In Ephesians 4, he is the head which cares
for, and builds up the rest of the body.
In John 15:5, Jesus says, “I am the vine and you are the branches.” We need to be rooted and grounded in him.
We also need
truth. “Speaking the truth in love, we must grow up…” Think of it this way. You can spend time with Christ. You can also spend time with other
believers. But if you don’t tell the
truth about yourself to Christ or to other believers, what are you left
with? This was the predicament of Judas
Iscariot. He had spent so much time with
Jesus and other followers who had left everything. Yet in the end he had nothing to show. He had a hidden life with hidden
motives.
We need to
tell the truth. And we need to tell the
truth about ourselves. It can’t just be
telling other people the truth about themselves. Sometimes when people use this phrase,
“speaking the truth in love,” they basically mean this, “I’m going to tell the
painful truth about other people.
They’ll probably get mad. But
they shouldn’t. Why? Because they should trust that I don’t mean
any harm.” This very well could be all
truth and no love. It makes a lot more
sense if you make your heart and vulnerability known to others, drawing the
strength to trust other people from your experience of the love of Christ. In other words, speak the truth about you, your sins, your falsehood, your
idolatry, your reliance on Christ for acceptance and grace. Speak that
truth in love.
This is how
we grow up. This is also how the church
grows up. Speaking the truth in love to
one another allows us to tap into our amazing gifts to learn to live rightly
merely by being around each other.
Normal life, normal gatherings, normal friendships gathered around normal
meals together become powerful experiences of the risen Lord Jesus. The rest of chapter 4 and then chapters 5 and
6 provide wonderful practical guidance on what this life of speaking the truth
in love looks like.
There is a
lot more to Ephesians, obviously. But
these two passages paint the big picture of God’s will for the Ephesians, and
also God’s will for us: going deep and growing up.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 149: Romans 12-16 - Gratitude
It seems
strange at first to write about gratitude with these last few chapters of Romans. Strange, because Paul refers explicitly to
gratitude or thankfulness only one time in this section. After guilt and grace, is this just a
shameless attempt to shoehorn one more ‘g’ word into the series?
No, it
isn’t. While the word ‘gratitude’ is not
used much, it is hard to deny that the humor and temper of the Christian life
which Paul describes is aptly characterized by the word gratitude.
Consider
this request, which comes from an 18th century Christian hymn: “In
this posture, let me live, and hosannas daily give; in this temper let me die,
and hosannas ever cry.”
Which
posture? Which temper?
Consider
also this verse from Romans 15:18: “For I will not venture to speak of anything
except what Christ has accomplished through me to win obedience from the
Gentiles, by word and deed, by the power of signs and wonders, by the power of
the Spirit of God, so that from Jerusalem and as far around as Illyricum I have
fully proclaimed the good news of Christ.”
What strikes
me first about this passage is this: Paul is satisfied. It is enough.
How surprising to consider what strikes me next: the restless,
dissatisfaction with staying still.
Winning obedience, proclaiming – working – spreading the good news of
Christ from Jerusalem to Illyricum – modern day Croatia and Bosnia: this is
what Paul’s life is about.
What a
strange brew of satisfaction and dissatisfaction, of restfulness and
restlessness! The activity is fueled by
a deep rest in the love of Jesus. Jesus
describes it in the Gospel of John, the night before his death:
“Very truly, I tell you, you will weep and mourn, but the world will rejoice;
you will have pain, but your pain will turn into joy…So you have pain now; but
I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your
joy from you. On that day you will ask
nothing of me.” (John 16:20-23)
Many
pleasures of life cost a lot of money.
When we enjoy them, we can’t entirely escape pangs of guilt: “I don’t
deserve this. A lot of people can’t
afford this.” The joy of new life is
much sweeter. We deserved death. Christ’s sacrifice and new life brings joy to
the deepest darkness of our lives. Every
room of our sin-sick hearts is fumigated.
Observe the
many marks of the restless restfulness of gratitude in Romans 12-16: “Bless
those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with
those who weep.” (12:14-15) “Beloved,
never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God.” (12:19) “Welcome those who are weak in faith…”
(14:1) “We who are strong ought to put up
with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves.” (15:1) “Welcome one another, therefore, just as
Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.” (15:7) And finally this line – “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in
believing, so that you may abound in
hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
Have you ever been too full from a big lunch? You don’t exactly abound, do you? But in God’s
logic, to be full is to abound, to overflow.
That’s exactly what the Holy Spirit does within us.
Each of
these lines (and many more) suggests Paul has cast aside whatever ambitions he
had before. In Christ, the only ambition
that remains is love: love for God, and as we can see in chapter 16, love for
people. I count 17 uses of the word
‘greet’ in Romans 16:1-16. 17 greetings
in 16 verses – now that’s a life of gratitude.
Paul knows people. He’s
comfortable with them. He gets to know
them. But he yearns for them. He prays for them. He thinks about them when they’re apart. He burns in his heart for them to grow in the
Lord.
“For I will
not venture to speak of anything except what Christ has accomplished through me
to win obedience from the Gentiles.”
In the end,
it is right to come back to this word – gratitude. Jesus had said, “On that day, you will ask
nothing of me.” We know why this
is. This is the vivid sense of all God
has done, that God has given us far more in Christ crucified than we ever would
have dared to ask. What more could we
ask? In such moments, our laziness and
complacency burn away. Our gratitude
overflows – abounds – into the life
of love God meant for us – the life of love Paul describes in these last
chapters of Romans.
Reading the Bible in 2014 - Day 149: Romans 3-11 - Grace
Grace levels
the playing field. Whether you are
religious or not, you have no advantage with God. “…since all have sinned and fall short of the
glory of God; they are now justified by his grace as a gift, through the
redemption that is in Christ Jesus…” (3:24)
Grace has leveled the playing field so that whether you are a very
talented player in this game of life, or whether you aren’t, God is just as available
to you.
We must
resist the temptation to make this about our talent. Believe me, it will keep coming up in your
discipleship. “Sure, I’m saved by grace,
but let’s face it…I’m working a lot harder than some of the people around
here.” Remember the level playing
field. Remember what Paul said when he
spoke of sinners, “of whom I am the worst.”
Didn’t
Abraham have to earn the right to be the father of the whole nation of
Israel? Wasn’t that righteousness and
obedience his own? Paul says no. It came because he believed God. He trusted God. Of course, we are talking about faith
now. And both grace and faith are
necessary for salvation. Paul describes
Abraham this way: “But to one who without works trusts him who justifies the
ungodly, such faith is reckoned as righteousness.” Abraham has faith – faith that God justifies,
that God forgives, that God will keep his word, that God will bless his
offspring, that God is his redeemer. His
faith is never in himself, but always in God.
He trusts that God will do the gracious things he says he will do.
Paul’s point
is this: the really good life – the blessed, joyous, godly, loving life – comes
not through scrupulous law-keeping, but through trusting in God’s
promises. These would be the promises given
to Abraham in Genesis 15. The law was
given later to Moses. But the law
doesn’t signal a new rule or measuring stick for what is a good life. We know that Abraham’s righteousness came
from only this: he believed God was gracious and would do what he said. This is consistent throughout the Bible.
Chapter 5-7
provide us with a number of illustrations for how different things are now that
we have been shown grace through Christ’s sacrifice. The first illustration is that we were
enemies. Knowing that this is true shows
how admirable and unique Christ’s love is.
There is no love to compare to this.
Next, Paul describes our condition as being a part of Adam’s lineage and
transgression. It has spread to us. Having made this point, Paul says that Christ’s
faithfulness has spread to us much more thoroughly than Adam’s sin spread to
us. It is strong and comprehensively
saves us. Knowing this is true shows how
powerful Christ’s love is. Next, Paul
uses another illustration. We are dead. “Therefore we have been buried with him by
baptism into death…” Christ’s death has
become ours through faith. We also live
with him by faith since he is risen.
Knowing this is true shows how completely God has put the old life
behind us. That one word says it all: dead.
It is gone. Finally, he uses the
illustration of a slave. “…you, having
been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness.” We were slaves to sin, doing whatever it
commanded. Now however, we do what God
commands. Knowing this is true shows
that 100% of our life’s resources are to be committed in this new direction.
In all these
illustrations, Paul has shown that God’s grace is admirable and unique because
of what we are - enemies. It is powerful
because it covers every part of us. It
has comprehensively dealt with the full ramifications of our old life. And, finally, it moves us powerfully to live
full throttle in a new way.
Words really
fail to describe it. Really, at this
moment, the best thing I can do is stop writing and ask for the grace to feel what I’m describing.
But that’s
not all. Not even close. Now that this is true for us, where do we get
the power to live this life? Paul in
chapter 8 tells us that this is what the Spirit of God does. The life of obedience, submission,
righteousness, and perfection is fully available to us. It comes through living life in the
Spirit. “If the Spirit of him who raised
Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give
life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.” (8:11)
Even though
you are saved, you still don’t live by your own strength. God actually lives inside of you through the
Holy Spirit, who ministers the life of Christ to your life. He reminds you of your new family. Of course, I’m referring to the church. But I’m also referring to God himself –
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This is
your family. You are encouraged to call
on God as your own Father, just as Jesus did.
And it turns
out as we continue through chapter 8 that this will be the truth you hang on to
in your hour of need. We all know what
Paul is talking about in the rest of chapter 8 – groaning, hardship, distress,
persecution, nakedness, peril. He’s
talking about the worst things that have ever happened. In hope we are saved. We don’t see the glory where we are
going. But in our faithfulness and
obedience, our destination is assured.
And it’s all
by grace.
Do chapters
9-11 change the subject? Not at
all. Although many find the content
perplexing, we can worship God along with Paul.
Paul is living out the grace he’s been talking about. He is bringing his concerns about his own
people. He models a life of discipleship
for us. He clings to what he finds in
the Scriptures. And he trusts that God
will move and bring his own people, the Jews, into a recognition of the
Lordship of Jesus, and into the glorious salvation and worship of the people of
God.
Grace levels
the playing field for Gentiles in the first century. Ironically, we need to have the playing field
leveled again, only for the Jews. We
Gentiles find it easy to live without gratefulness for the faithful witness of
the Jews. We find it easy to forget
about them. What can we do? We can cling to God’s grace yet again so that
we can live by grace.
This is important for our Old Testament
reading. When it talks about obedience
and commandments, being faithful or unfaithful, don’t think, “Oh, this was
before God was gracious.” Paul’s point
here is that all of God’s word, his promise, his law, his abiding with Israel
through all those years – this was all faithfulness to the covenant he made
with Israel. It’s all grace. Jesus himself is the full presence of the
gracious God. How do we deal with that,
since Jesus doesn’t show up until the New Testament? St. Augustine’s word about the Bible can help
us: “The New in the Old concealed; the Old in the New revealed.” Jesus is on every page of the Bible and on
every day of human history. His activity
is concealed in the Old Testament, but fully there. His human life in the New Testament clarifies
what the Old Testament had been saying all along.
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