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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)