Jesus and the Church, Part II

One of the greatest struggles Jesus had, as I look into Scripture, is with the leaders of the church of His day.  

I know all of us, at one time or another, have had to face a disappointment with someone who, as a Christian, seemed to have acted contrariwise to that claim.  We leave that church, perhaps, and then go to another fellowship, looking to restore our faith in those who walk in Jesus.

And yet...we run into another disappointment, and wonder if there is anyone we can call a role model?  I left church for a year, because Covid brought out some very prideful and divisive attitudes and behaviors in my brothers and sisters.  

I have recently found a fellowship, but I approach it with guarded optimism. 

We look to those who lead church as role models; we are not wrong to do this.  Think of the rabbinical tradition.  People gather around the rabbi, looking to learn from him, not only knowledge of the Torah but how to live it out.  

It was no different in Jesus' day.  I find it interesting that John introduces his gospel from the eternal perspective:  Jesus as the Word of God, incarnated and sent to the very earth He created to redeem us.  He is the Light; the Lamb of God; and the Beloved of the Father.  All of these designations are introduced to us in the first chapter, in the first 34 verses!  

Then in verse 35, we see Jesus as Rabbi.  He selects his disciples, His talmidim, and He calls Himself the Son of Man, and "the one who is the stairway between heaven and earth." (1:51)  They agree to follow Him.

So, now the Rabbi must face the three most important institutions of His day:  The family, as demonstrated by the wedding at Cana (John 2:1-12) and John comments that this is the first time "Jesus revealed His glory."  How beautiful.  It is a metaphorical return to Eden, where man and woman had been created to love with no sin.  Originally, they had been partners with God, created for fellowship with Him, with each other, and to bring forth life as they came together.  

Jesus came to redeem the broken family, the perversion of sex, and the stony hearts of men.  

Next, He confronts the second most important institution of His day: the Temple.  The Jewish people saw it as God's House, a place of worship and sacrifice, a place of meeting the One Who is sovereign over all.  Yet, what does John show Jesus doing?  Clearing out His Father's House of its corrupted conversion to a place of commerce.  He turned over tables and the money went flying.  He angrily says, "Get these things out of here!  Stop turning my Father's house into a marketplace!" (John 2:16)  The disciples, well versed in the Torah, "remembered this prophecy form the Scriptures: 'Passion for God's house will consume me.'" (John 2:17).  

The Rabbi then confronted the religious leaders, whose have financially benefited from this arrangement and who were adamantly wanting to stay in control and not attract any attention from the Roman authorities.  Any disruption in the Temple courts could have brought the soldiers.  The religious leaders were furious and demanded a miracle to prove Jesus had the authority to have done this.  

Jesus then struck at the very heart of how far Judaism had fallen from what His Father through Moses and the prophets had revealed to the nation of Israel:

The Jews then responded to him, “What sign can you show us to prove your authority to do all this?”

Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.” 

They replied, “It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and you are going to raise it in three days?” But the temple he had spoken of was his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples recalled what he had said. Then they believed the scripture and the words that Jesus had spoken. Now while he was in Jerusalem at the Passover Festival, many people saw the signs he was performing and believed in his name. But Jesus would not entrust himself to them, for he knew all people. He did not need any testimony about mankind, for he knew what was in each person. (John 2:18-25)

Let's see how this passage illustrates the issues Jesus confronted with the church of His day, and how those same issues plague us.  

1.  The Demand for God to Reveal Himself:  No, we are not as brazen as the leaders were in their demands, but in many churches the tacit demand for signs is there.  Jesus showing up as the gentle Good Shepherd or the Spirit coming down upon us as a gentle Dove doesn't appeal to our need to have God be there, in signs and wonders, in vocal manifestations--He must prove His presence by showing up in a kind of "holy"chaos.  In other words, many churches conduct their services on sight, not faith.  Faith is replaced with presumption, and we are like the leaders, demanding God show Himself according to our demands, and He must fit our theology.

2.  Not Using the Scriptures as the Sole Guideline for Our Conduct: Instead of saying to Jesus, "Let's see what the Word says about our conduct here in the Temple: Does it align with God's instructions?  Have we failed Him or are you in the wrong for doing what you just did, Jesus?"  No.  They demanded a sign.  They didn't use the Word to evaluate Jesus' actions; they went to their own standard to judge Him.  

How many churches apologize for what they see as the uncomfortable passages in Scripture, or ignore them altogether, in their effort to be relevant, relational and real?  As if God's Word is not relevant (every generation needs the Savior); relational (God commands us to love Him as well as our neighbor) and real (God's ways are not our ways, but they are a "new and living way" that meets us at our deepest need).  We have lost confidence in our Savior and His Word to really transform lives, so we dress Him up in cultural gear and send Him out to do our bidding:  to be our Life Coach, our Guide to our Best Life, and make His work all about me, me, me.  The church is there to make us feel good about ourselves, and woe unto anyone who confronts us about our sin as outlined in His Word.

3. Jesus Came to Redeem Us: Tying back into the earlier names for Jesus in the first chapter of John, Jesus' response to leaders about being Him being the Temple are an allusion to Him being the Light (to drive away the darkness in the religion of His day); being the Lamb of God (The Sacrifice for the people's sins, the final offered Lamb for all sin, for all time) and the Beloved of God (Who will give the people the ultimate proof of Who He is:  He will rise from the dead).  

We have forgotten the original purpose of the Word: It reveals that we are sinners and that the Messiah will redeem us. He comes not to redo our hearts, but give us new ones. The Father then seeks to conform us to the image of His Son. We live now in the Son and by the Son: "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me."(Gal. 2:20)  

The leaders were protecting their interests in the Temple and missed the true essence of their faith: "You search the Scriptures because you think they give you eternal life. But the Scriptures point to me!" (John 5:39)   Do our churches get lost in the marketing of Jesus and lose what His original mission truly was and is?

4.  We Bloviate, Opine and Not Ask the Essential Questions, Waiting for the Essential Answers:  The leaders just seem to stop in their interrogation of Jesus.  He stumped them with His analogy to the Temple; no more questions. The disciples only later will realize what He was referring to; at least they got it--thank You, Holy Spirit!  But in the meantime, Jesus goes out to minister to the people, with His signs underscoring His claims.  His primary mission was to come and seek and save the lost, not entertain them, or appeal to their fleshly desire for spectacle.  

Why didn't the leaders pursue Him with a greater hunger for answers?  Because Jesus knew what was truly in their hearts, and He was not about to engage in a debate as to His authority with those with hardened hearts.  He also knew how fickle people can be--to quote a Janet Jackson song:  "What have you done for me lately?"   

We have not because we ask not.  We don't give a vigorous sincere knocking on the door, because like the leaders, we may be afraid of the truth on the other side.  We'd rather talk than listen, opine rather than learn and leave rather than be confronted with the truth.  Why is that?  Jesus told Pilate (and us):

Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. In fact, the reason I was born and came into the world is to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.”

"What is truth?” retorted Pilate. With this he went out again to the Jews gathered there and said, “I find no basis for a charge against him." (John 18:37-8)

Jesus tells us why His light is so disconcerting:

“There is no judgment against anyone who believes in him. But anyone who does not believe in him has already been judged for not believing in God’s one and only Son.  And the judgment is based on this fact: God’s light came into the world, but people loved the darkness more than the light, for their actions were evil. All who do evil hate the light and refuse to go near it for fear their sins will be exposed. But those who do what is right come to the light so others can see that they are doing what God wants." (John 3:18-21)

The church in Jesus' day ran from the truth, ran from Him, and ultimately put Him to death.  Do we demand our churches downplay the truth of the Word (by getting angry at those pastors who preach the full counsel of God?) and do we church consumers demand a kind of shadowy mixture of dark and light that makes us feel comfortable and good about ourselves? 

But Jesus meets us as individuals, wanting us to ask the hard questions, for He is the answer.  Next time, we will walk with Jesus to explore the third most important institution of His day: Those who lead and influence others in the faith, with His encounter with Nicodemus in John 3. 

Do we come in the dead of night, seeking Him too?

Jesus and the Church--Part I

We are examining how Jesus' struggles are our own and how He understands what we are going through more than we know.

A little back story here.  I became born-again at age 14, back in the 70's.  My family was Christian because that was the general atmosphere in the 40's and 50's in America.  When I was little, we went to church but once I grew a little older, our family stopped going.  

I met Jesus in Hawaii.  After a long and arduous search for meaning in this life, having watching a Holocaust film in the 8th grade, I prayed one night and a warmth permeated the room.  I had met God and began this walk.  I still am a seeker of truth in all things.  I believe there are two reasons for this.  First, I grew up in an alcoholic home and that remained our family's secret.  My dad told me that my mother was slowly committing suicide by drinking; her own mother had committed suicide and she never recovered from that trauma.  That was her family's secret.  So, we had one also.  Truth was not at a premium in my home; keeping the domestic peace was. 

The second reason I seek out the truth of things is that justice is rarely meted out in our world; people literally get away with murder and the Holocaust proves that.  How many people were convicted after the war versus the number who participated and snuck off into history?  If this world is it, and there is no transcendent Court, then evil won. then and still wins now.

But if God will one day sit in the ultimate Supreme Court and will not send people to hell, but sadly watch them receive the logical result of their choice of having lived without Him in their lives, then goodness wins.  Live without God now, live without God in eternity.  Choose Him here, choose Him for eternity.  It's quite simple, and I find peace in knowing that eternity is the final righting of wrongs.  That is why the Word declares:

Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea.  I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children.  But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.” (Rev. 21:1-8)

Wow.  What a lovely vision of the future.  This is a future where justice and mercy has prevailed.  

So as a new born-again Christian, I walked up to a little neighborhood church and spent eight years there, being discipled.  I had wonderful role models of how to walk in the Lord, with people who really cared about this awkward teenager.  I was well grounded in the Scriptures and enjoyed church as my second home, because mine was falling apart, with my father leaving us when I was 16.

Only until recently had my church experiences been anything but positive.  Yes, there were a few skirmishes here and there, but nothing to make me doubt church altogether.

Then, in 2015, our church saw our pastor retire and a new one came on board.  This was the beginning of my slow but sure disenchantment with the church.  

This new pastor knew his Bible extremely well and that inspired me to dig deeper.  We studied the Word in a group and studied the art of preaching.  I preached a few times and loved it.  He didn't.  I led worship, which he appreciated, but at times, when he felt threatened, he would put me down.  So, I was praised then punished.  This roller coaster started getting to me, but being a codependent person, I kept adapting and making mid-course corrections.  His displeasure triggered me because I had that same dynamic with my dad.  Then this pastor blamed me for something I did not do, and he was furious with me.  Despite my effort to reconcile and clear the air, he maintained his anger.  When I got an opportunity to lead worship at a new church with my daughter and son-in-law, I took it.  The church had decreased significantly in size and I wanted a change after serving there for eight years.  This pastor never spoke to me again.  

Strike one.

I then went to a new church and served on the worship team.  My life at home was having its challenges but I enjoyed the pastor there, and sought to expand my service.  The pastor's wife had me teach a Bible study, but wanted to critique how I was doing it after each session.  It's hard for me to stay on script if I feel led to share something.  She was not supportive of this, and wanted me to limit my personal input.  So now church and home were pulling me down.  My depression had been increasing and my tolerance for any kind of conflict was very low.  I left.  

Strike two.  

A few months later, Covid hit.  This church opened back up way too soon, even allowing an inside  wedding in the middle of the pandemic.  So, sadly, my days were numbered there, because I would not have supported the pastor in his conduct during the pandemic.  Later on, I did attend one more time, and I was able to reconcile with the pastor and his wife.  But because I just couldn't bring myself to trust their judgment in some areas, I left for good.  

But this church was not alone.  An angry line was drawn in the sand by many churches in Idaho.  Many Christians here were divided over wearing masks.  We went to another church wearing our masks, and one woman sat in the sanctuary while we waited for the service to start talking loudly about people who wear masks in less than supportive terms.  The pastor was a keen young man with a love for the Word, but the church folks were so unfriendly that we stopped going after a few visits. That was last summer.

Then I watched over the course of the year the accusations, angry and acrimony waged in the Body of Christ.  Wow.  I was stunned and stopped going to church altogether, even watching ones online.  I just couldn't watch, in good conscience, those churches who were acting as if nothing was wrong, while many people were dying here in America and around the world. 

Strike three.  I was out.  

I was so disenchanted with how the Body responded to the pandemic in Idaho and in many states that I deeply questioned Church altogether.  For a long time, I have had serious misgivings about business models informing the creating and running of a church.  The rise of the mega-church with all eyes on a charismatic preacher and an emphasis on branding and production has bothered me as well.  But when Covid hit, and some pastors mocked the pandemic, along with many Christians who took umbrage with the government, going so far as to call it a hoax, I was flabbergasted.  To add to the excitement, we saw secular news reports of several prominent pastors who were called out for immoral behavior. 

Wow.

To walk away from church has been hard.  I will not be a hypocrite and sit or watch online a church where I cannot agree with their course of action or current attitudes.

Yes, to be forgiving as a Christian is central; I have really struggled to be so.  Forgiveness is especially hard when it's your brother or sister in the Lord, because you expect them to know better, right?  They stand on the same ground won for them by Christ as I do.  They have built their lives on the Word--so when the world starts yet another storm (and it will) we all stand tall together, right?

I am not proud of how I responded at times, with a lot of pride mixed with hurt and utter bewilderment.  At times, I felt like that Pharisee; at other times, I felt like that publican, in Jesus' parable.  

Jesus gets it all too well.  His biggest challenge was not those who did not believe; His biggest challenge was the "Church"--that organization erected by men in the name of Judaism with a mixture of all-too-worldly values and a serious desire to uphold the Torah and serve God.  

Hmmm.  

I would like to, in my next blog, look at His encounters with religious leaders and see how He responded.  I would like to understand His Body better, and I am praying His Spirit will give us insight as we look at Jesus' life.

Blessings to you.

Jesus' Family

Ah, family.  We love, we laugh, we loathe.  

Did Jesus suffer with His family, and knows and shares our grief?  Yes.

Jesus knew all too well the vicissitudes of family.  Here are just a few examples of the complex family life Jesus had.  We will look at several verses recounting the same story. 

From Mark:

Then Jesus entered a house, and again a crowd gathered, so that he and his disciples were not even able to eat. When his family heard about this, they went to take charge of him, for they said, “He is out of his mind.”  And the teachers of the law who came down from Jerusalem said, “He is possessed by Beelzebul! By the prince of demons he is driving out demons.”
...

Then Jesus’ mother and brothers arrived. Standing outside, they sent someone in to call him. A crowd was sitting around him, and they told him, “Your mother and brothers are outside looking for you.”

“Who are my mother and my brothers?” he asked.

Then he looked at those seated in a circle around him and said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does God’s will is my brother and sister and mother.” (Mark 3:20-22 & 31-35)

From Matthew:

While Jesus was still talking to the crowd, his mother and brothers stood outside, wanting to speak to him. Someone told him, “Your mother and brothers are standing outside, wanting to speak to you.”

He replied to him, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” Pointing to his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.” (Matt. 12:46-50)

Can you imagine?  Maybe you can:  Being misunderstood by others is one thing, but to be misunderstood by your own family, to the point where they come to take charge of you, is devastating.  Hadn't he told his parents that he had to be about his Father's business, all those years ago?

Perhaps his family was afraid.  The religious leaders were accusing him of being possessed by Satan.  Scary, scary stuff.  (Later on, Jesus will heal a a man and the man's parents are questioned by the authorities.  They tell them to ask the man himself, for they are afraid of being put out of the synagogue, John 9:22.)  Was Jesus' family afraid of being put out of the synagogue?  Was his family terrified of having his reputation so impugned that they would all be adversely affected? 

From Luke:

Now Jesus’ mother and brothers came to see him, but they were not able to get near him because of the crowd. Someone told him, “Your mother and brothers are standing outside, wanting to see you.”

He replied, “My mother and brothers are those who hear God’s word and put it into practice.” (Luke 8:19-21)

In Mark and Matthew, Jesus is being accused of being in league with Satan.  Luke has him teaching in parables, and his disciples clamoring for an explanation.  The essence of this teaching is, by listening sincerely to him, you will understand more and more.  Jesus finishes up by saying that for those who do not listen, even what little they know will be removed from them.  Then Jesus family shows up, wanting to see him  You get that they have a sense of urgency, and have missed what he has been teaching. His words seem to indicate that even those who think they know God and His ways could be walking in the dark.  A true disciple, related or not, follows and obeys Jesus.  

How often does our family not understand us?  When I was searching for truth, and I was seeking God, I told my family.  My parents were silent and my brother mocked me.

How often have our families thought they knew what is best for us?  How often did they ignore our vocation, and sought to impose on us their own vision of what we should be doing?  

How often do those who are closest to us do not really know us?  

Let's look at one more incident involving Jesus and his family.  

From Mark:

Jesus left there and went to his hometown, accompanied by his disciples. When the Sabbath came, he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were amazed.  "Where did this man get these things?” they asked. “What’s this wisdom that has been given him? What are these remarkable miracles he is performing? Isn’t this the carpenter? Isn’t this Mary’s son and the brother of James, Joseph,Judas and Simon? Aren’t his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. (Mark 6:1-3)

From Matthew:

Coming to his hometown, he began teaching the people in their synagogue, and they were amazed. “Where did this man get this wisdom and these miraculous powers?” they asked. Isn’t this the carpenter’s son? Isn’t his mother’s name Mary, and aren’t his brothers James, Joseph, Simon and Judas? Aren’t all his sisters with us? Where then did this man get all these things?” And they took offense at him. (Matt. 13:54-57)

From Luke: 

All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his lips. “Isn’t this Joseph’s son?” they asked. (Luke 4:22)

Mark's version seems to catch the rather upset mood of the crowd at the synagogue.  Look at the jab that they take at Jesus:  They refer to him as the son of Mary.  In Jewish tradition, you are known by your father.  Your name is frequently marked with bar- and then your father's name. But noooo.  Jesus is being referred to as Mary's son, thus calling into question his paternity.  Uh-oh.  We have a word for that:  a bastard.  Father unknown. 

Can you imagine Jesus' childhood?  The whispers, the gossip spoken just loud enough for his mother, him and his other siblings to hear?  The looks, the avoidance, the questions.  Nazareth was a small town and small towns, without a lot to keep the people busy, tend to use gossip as a way to add excitement to a rather routine kind of life.  Mary's story, the one we tell in cute Christmas pageants with little kids in makeshift costumes with awed voices, was a scandal in Jesus' day.  

Matthew's version has the people flummoxed by the wisdom of a "carpenter's son."  Still a jab.  How could the son of a carpenter possibly possess such wisdom?  Hmmm.

Again, look at Jesus' childhood.  Joseph was a poor, hard-working father, trying to provide for his family (which seems to be rather large--there are five boys, including Jesus, and any number of sisters.)  Everyone can be poor in a town, but people still make distinctions between "us and them." Here you catch a whiff of "Who does Jesus think he is?  We all know what his father does.  Isn't Jesus stepping outside his station?"

The Scots have an expression:  "I know your faither."  It means that if you are trying to reach above your station, don't.  We all know who your father was, and consequently, you need to stay put.  I think this captures the attitude of Jesus' hometown folks pretty well.

Luke knew his largely non-Jewish audience wouldn't catch the insinuation of "Isn't this Mary's son?" or may not be too concerned with the crowd's reaction to his father's line of work or Jesus' wealth of knowledge.  I detect that Luke is setting the scene here with a positive response to Jesus' teaching, and how the people here know him, his father and his family.  Perhaps this fits with Matthew's take on this, but why then would Luke have used the words "gracious" to describe Jesus' teachings?  Well, if you read the rest of the passage, the crowd explodes in fury, and takes him to a cliff to throw him off!  Wow.

One more time, think of Jesus' childhood.  People thought they knew him--who his father was, the people in his family, and how Jesus should have simply taken on the family business.  He certainly should not be doing what he is doing, right?

His paternity, his station in life and how quickly people who thought they knew him, turned on him with a vengeance and sought to destroy him.

Sound familiar?  How many of us grew up amidst whispering neighbors, innuendos, criticisms for who we were trying to be, feeling held back by our family or being tormented by those who thought they had a right to control us?

Jesus' family probably at one point in his ministry started living in fear.  How could they not after Jesus steps away from the family and their business, only to become an admired, polarizing and scorned public figure?

So, Jesus gets us, our families and our mutual struggles.  One last note.  James, Jesus' brother, did not become a disciple right away.  We meet him in Acts, where he is esteemed as a pillar of the church.  Interesting.  He finally understood who his brother was.  It took awhile though, and James probably went through a lot of soul-searching. 

There is hope for our family members as well.  Jesus showed us the way:  to seek Him first and trust God with the rest.   

One final note:  We who love Jesus is his family now.  And what a family!  He understands our frustrations, but models utter patience and grace.  Amen to that!

Jesus' World

Jesus did not arrive in an idyllic time in history.

Far from it.

Yes, Caesar Augustus had established the Pax Romana, and for two centuries after that, "the civilized world will enjoy unprecedented peace, prosperity, and, for the most part, good civil government under Roman rule.  It causes one to think of a God who is working through history to achieve his eternal purposes."  (Smith, F. LaGard.  The Narrated Bible.)

The Romans built roads throughout the empire.  Greek was the lingua franca and Romans troops kept the peace.  

Yet, when Jesus was born, the possibility of a competing king led Herod to have the baby boys in his kingdom brutally slain. 

There was a tremendous division within Judaism, with differing sects believing they understood the Torah best.  

The Temple was in full swing.  The religious leaders controlled the people with a lot of legalism, and the Romans controlled the leaders with a not so subtle threat of shutting everything down if the leaders and/or the people stepped out of line. 

The poor were really poor. 

The rich were really rich.   

Life was cheap:  infanticide, slavery and death for entertainment was as common as mud.   

Political agitation was rife:  The Romans were on constant alert for even a hint of an uprising.  The Jewish nationalists were waiting for the perfect moment to strike and take Israel back from Rome--by whatever means necessary.  The Jews were disgusted with King Herod, who religious practice was suspect.  

The Pharisees kept the Torah alive, but added oral tradition whose practice added an additional burden  on the people.  

The Sadducees were aristocratic, urbane and didn't believe in an afterlife.  

The Essenes went into the desert and awaited the Apocalypse.  They sought a purer form of faith,  disgusted with how Judaism was being taught and practiced by the religious leaders.    

People longed for a Deliverer, the Anointed One, the Messiah, who like His father David, would rule over Israel.  Many believed that meant a political confrontation with the Romans, for how could dark and light exist together?  To make this nationalist omelette, this Leader would break a lot of Roman eggs.  

So, to say Jesus doesn't understand our world, and can't possibly relate to the struggles we are going through, I would say, "Oh, He gets it."

Has anything really changed?  Yes, America, with its technological innovations, has provided "roads" everywhere, with communication and news traveling at the speed of a cell phone.  English is the lingua franca of this global village, and the peace is somewhat kept, if enough nations believe it is important to do so.  If not, butchery rages on.  

There is tremendous division in Christianity in America now.  Big churches utilize corporate models to brand their churches, provide an "experience" on Sunday morning, with a stage, smoke machines, large screens and participation akin to a spectator sport where Jesus is cheered in the name of worship.  

Biblical standards are ignored in an effort to not offend the culture.  

The church conforms, not transforms.

Compared to our history, as was Israel under David, our country is radically different, with political factions vying to either recreate or recapture America in their own image.  

Jesus gets it.

Our world is in a mess right now, and our country seems to be in a free-fall. 

Many are awaiting the Apocalypse, waiting our Deliverer to return the second time, to reclaim His bride and right the egregious wrongs of our modern world.

The cry of our hearts is not only heard but understood by our Lord.  He stepped into our mess 2,000 years plus ago.

He still steps into our mess as we call upon His name.

(Sorry for the long time between blogs.  I went to Maui for a vacation.  God's creation is on full display in that place!)

 

 

Jesus' Suffering = Ours. How So?

We have been talking about how life in the Promised Land is fraught with battles.  Yes, the Land is ours through the blood of Jesus and our consequent forgiveness.  We "then approach God's throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need." (Heb. 4:16).

But Paul has an interesting way of standing with Jesus in the Promised Land:  

I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (Phil. 3:10-14)

Wow.  In order to know Jesus--to really know Him deeply, intimately and fully--Paul sees this path taking him into Jesus' sufferings.   Yes, the path is filled with the Power that raised Jesus from the dead, that is, the Spirit of God:

The Spirit of God, who raised Jesus from the dead, lives in you. And just as God raised Christ Jesus from the dead, he will give life to your mortal bodies by this same Spirit living within you. (Rom. 8:11)

But as we enter into the sufferings of Jesus, this is where we truly get to know Him.  

So, it's just not suffering with an eye to the resurrection; it is an eye on getting to know Jesus better in this life.  So, why suffering?  Because that is the path Jesus walked.  We shy away from this thought, because we don't want to suffer. I remember a passage from Corrie Ten Boom's autobiography, The Hiding Place.  She is talking to her father about fear and how will she face what is coming?  Her father asks her when he gives her the train ticket.  She says when she gets on the train.  So, too, says her father, that God gives us His grace when we are in the need at the moment, and not a moment before.  

In other words, sitting where you are and thinking about suffering is scary--Satan will increase your worries with all sorts of horrible imaginings about what the suffering will be... But don't let him carry you away.  When you face suffering, it is at that precise moment that God will step in, and hand you the ticket of grace, as it were.  

Think of it another way.  Remember the show, Undercover Boss?  It had a great premise:  Have the boss dress up like just another worker, and hang out with the workers.  Experience what they experience, hear their concerns and ask what they really think of the boss.  Wow.  It was quite a revelation for the boss, for he or she just didn't hear about life at the lower levels, but actually engaged with the people enough to really understand them.  The boss could go back to being a boss later on; unlike the workers, who had to remain behind.  But the boss was never the same.  How could he or she be?  The boss went from head knowledge to hopefully some real empathy, and that changes a person.

Hearing about poverty and then driving through a poor, blighted neighborhood: That changes you.

Hearing about a Third World country and going there, staying with the people you are seeking to help and understand, and not staying in a four-star hotel:  That changes you.

Being employed, and then getting fired, and having to wait with others in an unemployment line: That changes you.  

Having your teenager spiral out of control and now joining the ranks of parents of troubled teens: That changes you.  

Having your health suddenly deteriorate, and the doctors are utterly flummoxed by your symptoms: That changes you.

Why?  Because now you stand where others are standing.  You have left your rather seemingly uncomplicated life to enter one of hurt, pain, being misunderstood by others, and questioning God.  

Then the battle of not becoming bitter kicks in hard.  But the Word warns us where that battle can lead without leaning heavily on Jesus and learning to see His grace at work.  Phillips does an amazing job on this verse from Hebrews 12:15:  

Let it be your ambition to live at peace with all men and to achieve holiness “without which no man shall see the Lord”. Be careful that none of you fails to respond to the grace which God gives, for if he does there can very easily spring up in him a bitter spirit which is not only bad in itself but can also poison the lives of many others.

Beautiful.  Notice that bitterness can spring up, or other translations put it, a "root of bitterness"  can appear, as we fail to see (or do not want to see) how God, despite the pain and suffering we are going through, is still at work.  This bitterness, is, at first, unseen by others, and can be ignored by you.  When it is small, we nurse it, secretly thinking we are alone in our sufferings, no one else has gone through something like this, and even if others see our suffering, they just don't get it.  That root grows, and if you have ever battled weeds (not wimpy ones, but the weeds that have giant taproots, ugly seeds and an attitude of  "You want a piece of me?  Fine.  Take it, but I will be back!") you know what I mean.

Have you spent time with a bitter person?  Need I say more?

But if our suffering matches that of Jesus', then we are entering into knowing Him better.  Jesus was the ultimate Undercover Boss.  He left the courts of Heaven, put on the working uniform of human flesh and walked among the lowly, the poor, the misunderstood, the hurting and the dying.  He didn't hobnob with the rich, the princely or the exalted, which would have been His due.  No.  He went way down into the muck and mire of human experience.  

He returned to Heaven a changed Man.  He gets us.  He really gets us.

So, if we follow Him, we enter into that same domain He was in while here: We go among the lowly, the poor, the misunderstood, the hurting and the dying.  We go deeper into the muck and mire of human experience.  Our path is through suffering, but He gives us grace when and where and how we will need it and not a minute before.  You don't psych yourself up to face suffering; He gives you the grace the moment you get on the train:

The moment you are given the diagnosis.

The moment you are told you husband has had a heart attack and stroke.  (That was me, seven years ago.)

The moment your teenager yells, "I hate you!" (Been there.)

The moment your husband's affair is revealed to you.

The moment your wife says, "I don't love you anymore."

Now, this all presents a small problem.  Jesus suffered on this earth.  We follow Him and as we suffer, we gain a deeper knowledge of Him.  But I can hear you say, 

Jesus is God, but I am not. He had the home-court advantage.

Jesus didn't lose a son/daughter/spouse to drugs/alcohol/suicide.

Jesus wasn't raped.

Jesus didn't suffer from a chronic illness.

So, how can I get to know Jesus better when He didn't go through what I am going through?

Good question.  So, here is another way to think about this:

Do I have to go to war, undergo PTSD to minister to a vet?  

Do I have to lose a child to minister to a grieving parent?

Do I have to be divorced to gently listen to a person recently divorced?

If we predicated our ministry solely on having gone through exactly what the other person has gone through, we would minster to very few people, and we would turn away a huge number who reached out to us.  But, if we are suffering with Jesus, He gives us the deeper understanding, discernment and heart to walk with someone in moccasins so foreign to our experience. 

He knew deeply the human heart, in a way that only God can.  So, He could understand an event in the life of someone, even if He didn't personally go through it.

For example, Jesus did not contract leprosy while He was here.  But He was all too familiar with rejection and being marginalized.  

So, He could gently enter into the life of a leper, and deeply feel the hurt and rejection that leper experienced.  He knew how pain and suffering cause us to question God's benevolence, and just how pervasively sin destroyed the beauty of His Father's creation.

So, I am going to go through the Gospels with you, and search out exactly how, why and when, Jesus suffered--to unpack the idea of what "participation in His sufferings" looks like.  We will go undercover with the Boss and as we see Him confront a lot of the evil, ugliness and pain this world has to offer, my prayer is that it will give us hope and a comfort from the Lord Himself as we face our suffering. 

 

Covid Musings

I try to post every week, but on Monday, I received my second Covid shot.  Whew.  I felt like I fell off a turnip truck, only to have it back over me.  I was down and out for one and a half days.  So, alas, my blog had to be put on hold.  

I must say that if a measured, second dose (presumably I now had antibodies ready this time) made me feel this way, I cannot even imagine how an unmeasured, first time encounter with Covid would be like.  I don't want to sound melodramatic, but I do understand why people die from this--it is utterly overwhelming--and I had a very mild encounter with it.  But I am thankful for the vaccine.  

While I was in bed, I read about small pox, the flu epidemic of 1918-19, and polio.  Morbid?  No, perspective:  I realized that our fight against such overwhelming enemies has always been fraught with fear, suspicion, accusation and division.  Sad how we humans don't really change when it comes to facing our mortality.  Death is scary, yes, but not understanding how and why it comes is even scarier.  Such uncertainty makes us turn on each other, God and those in medical and governmental authority.  Why?  Because suddenly the universe feels random. 

Civilization is one vast push back against the vicissitudes of existence.  Following the grazing herds is all fine and dandy, as long as they migrate in a discernible pattern and you can bring down enough to feed your people.  But if you can't, starvation comes a-knocking.  So, grow your own:  control the food supply.  But feast or famine are only a harvest away:  Either you bring in abundance to your barns or you weep at the pathetic crop that now spells disaster.

Harness a water supply.  Build along rivers, dig cisterns, pray for rain. Without water, life screeches to a halt and all your efforts at living become focused on surviving, if you don't die of thirst on the way.

Then, there are your enemies. You build a wall around your city, to protect your homes, gardens, markets, temples and peace of mind.  Now you don't have to wait for the fury of your enemies to come and undo all your security.  You need only to shut the gates.  You wait.  You fight back from a high vantage point and wait for your enemies to bugger off out of frustration.  They go looking for easier pastures and you settle down once again, with hearth and home safe and secure.  Dire outcomes from random attacks seems somewhat moderated. 

Life has lost its hunter-gatherer unpredictability.  Springtime, harvest, gathering in and waiting again for spring seem to secure the future.  You were here this year, your family was fed, your city withstood attack and your barns are filled.  You are secure in this ordered pattern--randomness, like the wild dogs that howl at your city gates, is kept at bay.

But invisible enemies stalk the land.  No amount of abundant harvest, potable water, vanquished foes and secure gates seem to keep these enemies out.  A cough, a sniffle, a rash, a fever, a loose stool, or utter fatigue means that randomness has just made its appearance.  The afflicted will either recover or die.  The invisible enemy will slip away.  

Until the next time.

Throughout human history, there was always a next time.

Civilization, although effective in helping one generation pass the torch to the next generation, was never able to keep such incursions away until the 19th century made significant inroads into what caused disease and what could be done to fight it.   

I grew up in the 60s.  My mother was a daughter of a prominent cardiologist.  Her stepmother was a nurse.  So, you can imagine just how clean my house was: washing hands, bathing every day, clean surfaces and the smell of Lysol were how things were done.  My mom couldn't get us to the school gym fast enough for our polio vaccine.  We were given every vaccination available.  The risk of actually getting any number of childhood diseases far outweighed any concerns my mother had about the vaccines.  

All of the childhood diseases were conquered, as it were, with a shot to the arm.  

But we were still bundled tight to keep ways chills.  We stayed home from school if we had a sniffle.  Even a mild cold brought out the nurse in my mom: Vicks Vapo-Rub, a thermometer, 7Up and saltine crackers were deployed to relieve the misery.  Bactine for cuts and this nasty red liquid antiseptic, Micurochrome, were always at the ready to stave off my mom's fear of infection.  Listerine, named after the man who conquered sepsis in the operating theater, was a godsend. 

Infection could be controlled and modern 50s medicine, with its emphasis on antiseptic procedures,  gave my mom some assurance we would not get mortally ill from a little cut.  Yes, antibiotics were available, but a positive outcome from an infection was not a given. 

One day, I stepped over the line and committed a sin so grievous that my mom went ballistic.  I never understood why until much, much later.  My neighbor's kids had dug a hole in the backyard as a makeshift swimming pool.  I loved to swim and in I went, splashing around and loving every minute.  For some reason, my brother ran home and tattled, and when I came home, wet, muddy and happy, my mom was furious.  She hosed me down out in the garage with no mercy, screaming at me the whole time.  I then had to take a bath and get really clean.  

She never said the word, "Polio."  

Many, many years later I listened to an NPR series on polio, with people talking about how every summer, the silent specter of polio haunted every swimming hole, every pool and no one knew whose life would be forever altered by its touch.

I never connected why my mom was so angry until that moment.  Yes, I had been vaccinated, but I am sure that somewhere in the back of her mind, the possibility of contracting polio still haunted my mom.

When I had my two children, they received the usual battery of vaccines:  DPT, MMR and others whose names I do not remember.  I was a little afraid, but the idea of not getting my children vaccinated never occurred to me.  I grew up in a time where doctors and scientists had put up city walls against diseases that carried children away, and I was not going back to the 19th century when a sniffle or a cough could mean death.

My daughter caught chicken pox and her infant brother did so as well.  Her cousins did so as well, and one of them had pox inside her throat and in her lady parts and was in excruciating pain.  But I didn't think any of them would die.  I had "vaccination civilization" on my side.  Then my daughter caught hand, foot and mouth disease and was so weak that she couldn't climb into bed.  I still didn't consider death an outcome.  In the 80s, we were even more modern in medical advancement than when I was a child.  I had my kids dress warmly, but I wasn't so terrified of a chill that I insisted they dress like Eskimos. Every fever was not a cause for panic.

Now, we face Covid.  My grandchildren are facing what my mother faced:  The very real possibility of a disease that could carry them off.  We had no magic vaccine when it hit. Millions have died. Masks. Isolation.  Quarantine ( a holdover from the Black Death when you had to stay locked up for 40 days) and all sorts of conflicting information have made people cynical, scared and willing to engage in recrimination:  Faith over fear.  We won't be told by the government what to do.  I think it's a hoax.  I think it's overblown.  Wait 'til after Trump is reelected--the numbers will go down.  Choose hope.  No mandatory mask-wearing: that's the first step towards dictatorship.  No one is shutting us down. We will meet. 

We humans do not react well when the walls of civilization are breached and randomness reappears in the form of an invisible menace. When we face a possible early death--ours, or the ones we love--and uncertainty about the future, we start asking questions:  Is this the beginning of the end?  Is this another epidemic of Black Death proportions, or like the flu of 1918-1919?  When will Covid go away, or will it?  Why aren't the vaccines doing their job, 100% of the time?  Will I still get sick?  Will I die? Aren't viruses only suppose to carry away the very young and the very old? (This callous attitude of Hey, this disease is scary only if you are in a particular group, reminds me of the AIDS epidemic and the hardening of the public's heart at that time).

I have faith.  

You have fear.  

Lines have been drawn in the faith community sands.  We stand staring at each other, as our hearts harden.  Our attitude of I will prevail because of my faith makes us feel superior over those who are struggling to comply with health regulations.  

We look at the "Covid Jobs" and offer all sorts of explanations like Job's friends did, while desperately trying to keep our own fear--that could be me next!--at bay.

But the rain falls on the just and the unjust.  Good people get swept away in epidemics.  Our fallen world with its invisible enemies are no respecter of persons.  Instead of uniting and trying to work together to patch up this breach in our walls with love and neighborly concern, we have made it about us.  

Me. Me. Me.

We are not unique in how we've reacted.  The Jewish people, conjunction of planets, bad air, filth, malevolent spirits and the dead not staying dead have been replaced with Big Pharma, Democrats, the media, those who hate Trump, it's a hoax or it's overblown as THE explanations for this epidemic.   

We have modernized our scapegoats, but we still have scapegoats.

We have modernized our fears, but we still have fears.

In our effort to wrest control back from the random nature of disease, we default right back to our father Adam: We blame each other.  

It has been said that truth is the first casualty in war. 

Sadly, I say that fear is the deadliest symptom in an epidemic.

 

 

He Understands. No, Really.

I have sat through many an Easter sermon.  I have watched many movies depicting Jesus' death, burial and resurrection.  Easter is one of the most amazing days to have ever happened, and Easter services are always joyous.  

Jesus is alive.

Death, where is your sting?

The graveyards are no longer permanent residences.

Loss is only temporary.  

But as I have walked with Jesus for many years now, I see Easter has many nuances, and one is especially  poignant to me.

This verse in Hebrews 4:15, which we read last week, is one of the most important verses in the Scriptures to me.  I have several versions here: 

This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same testings we do, yet he did not sin. (NLT)

For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin. (NIV)

For we do not have a High Priest Who is unable to understand and sympathize and have a shared feeling with our weaknesses and infirmities and liability to the assaults of temptation, but One Who has been tempted in every respect as we are, yet without sinning. (AMPC)

Where did Jesus gain His capacity to sympathize with us?  Surely, God is love, compassion, mercy and goodness...does that mean that He didn't understand us?  

But Psalm 103 gives us a beautiful picture of how He sees us and how He provides for us:  

 

Bless the Lord, O my soul,
and all that is within me,
bless his holy name!
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits,
who forgives all your iniquity,
who heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit,
who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy,
who satisfies you with good
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.

The Lord works righteousness
and justice for all who are oppressed.
He made known his ways to Moses,
his acts to the people of Israel.
The Lord is merciful and gracious,
slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
He will not always chide,
nor will he keep his anger forever.
He does not deal with us according to our sins,
nor repay us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him;
as far as the east is from the west,
so far does he remove our transgressions from us.
As a father shows compassion to his children,
so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him.
For he knows our frame;
he remembers that we are dust. (1-14) 

I highlighted the last part.  It speaks to our question:  God is as a father to us.  He made our first parent, Adam, and knows intimately what we are made of and what we are capable of, both good and evil.

But Jesus understands us in a different way, I propose.  He understands us as human beings, for He left the courts of heaven and wrapped Himself in our flesh.  The flesh imposed on Him had limitations:  hunger, thirst, loneliness, longing, fatigue, consternation, sadness and fear.  

Let me draw you an analogy.  As I sit in my office with the window open, I hear the chirping of the wee birds at the feeders that hang outside.  I enjoy their songs and their antics.  I refill the feeders regularly so they will not go hungry, and I love to see the variety of birds that show up.  I love my little friends, but I am really not one of them.  I see the bigger picture:  I place the feeders so they will be safe, to make sure that the raptors don't exploit this location for their lunch.  I use quality birdseed.  I know their lives are short, but that doesn't mean their lives must be unnecessarily hard.  I live in a high desert where water is scarce, so I also have installed a small bird bath.

I have tried to think of everything.  But I am still not a bird.  I can use my imagination and wonder what being a bird is like, and try to sympathize with their world, but I am not a bird.

But, if I were able, I would like to become one.  Then I would have a deeper understanding of what challenges they face, their fears and how it must feel to fly in fear and in joy.

Jesus became us.  His Father lovingly provides for us, remembers we are dust, and sees the bigger picture, with the concept of eternity thrown in.  But when Jesus wrapped Himself in our flesh, walked in our dirt, ate our food, slept under the stars, and grew tired, weary and sometimes had a good laugh, He really understood us in a more intimate way.  

He was tempted by this life, by His flesh.  He was tried by this life, by His flesh.  In the Greek, "temptation" and "tested" are the same word.  What at first draws us in by capturing our attention, what then makes us discontented, angry or incurs fear, causes us to either give in or find a way out, tests who we are, in our heart and in our character.  It is difficult in this flesh.  James traces the trajectory:

When tempted, no one should say, “God is tempting me.” For God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does he tempt anyone; but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death. (1:13-15)

What then is the purpose of testing/temptation?  James shares:

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. (1:2-4) 

Growth.  Refinement.  A deeper commitment to God and His ways, eschewing our own, and standing with Him, confident that He who began a good work in us will complete it. Our flesh, with its sin nature, needs God's refining fires to pull out the dross and make us into the gold He wants us to be.

Jesus didn't pull an Adam:  He never ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil--the fruit that says we can do it our own way.  No, He ate the fruit from the tree of life--His Father's life.  The Life that gives life and maintains His Father's supremacy at the center of all thoughts, of all actions.  Jesus didn't rebel against His Father, His ways nor His wisdom.  

Unlike us, He didn't allow the flesh to send Him into a rebellious, self-centered response to the world's and the flesh's enticements.  In other words, He did not sin--which at its heart, is an act of rebellion.

So, even though Jesus chose time and time again to respond obediently, that doesn't mean the temptations/testings didn't hit Him hard.  Frequently.  Intensely.   Repeatedly.

So, our seminal verse in Hebrews about our High Priest is utterly essential to standing on the knowledge that He gets it. 

Really and truly gets it.

But wait a minute.  You may be saying, "How can His story be my story?  How can He understand what I have been through?"

I have taken this excerpt from my book, Stronghold Starters:  How Satan Gets Into Our Lives.  I pray it will speak to your heart and make you realize that with Jesus, tempted /tested in every way possible, you never walk alone.  I imagined Him saying:

I was accused of being many things, even in my childhood.  I was seen as an illegitimate child, a mere carpenter’s son, a man from an ignorant village, a man with no schooling, a nobody.  

Later on, I was accused of being a blasphemer, a drunk, demon-possessed, a friend of sinners, a sinner myself, a lawbreaker, inappropriate with women, a fake, a deceptive leader.   I was rejected by my hometown, misunderstood by my family, denied by one friend and betrayed by another friend.

One day, I was handed over to my enemies, of which I had many.  They mocked me, severely beat me, and tortured me with whips and fists.  I then had to carry the very thing that would kill me.  Through the streets I went, with screams, angry words and wailing accompanying every painful step I took. 

I grew terribly thirsty and slammed to the ground, carrying the weight of the world upon my shoulders.

Then came the soul-shattering, mind-numbing, excruciating bolts of lightning pain, with no mercy, no respite, and no peace.

More hateful mocking words drifted up as the gates of Hell swung wide open, and the accuser stalked me again. 

And again.  

And again.  

Then my burden grew beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Ugly, black, biting, writhing, searing sin engulfed me. 

My heart seized at the utter hopelessness of it all.

I saw your rape. 

I saw your rapist. 

I saw your abuse.

I saw your abuser. 

I saw your child die. 

Your cancer. 

Your mental anguish. 

Your suffering. 

Your suicide.  

Your murder.  

I drank deeply from the cup of your sin, your pain, your life.

Then, as if humanity’s sin had gathered into raging bitter storm clouds, burning rain poured upon me, relentless, cold and black.

I saw every victim that ever walked the face of the earth.  I saw every person who had perpetrated hatred, violence, murder and torture upon others. I saw kings, leaders, mere men worshiped as gods and ignoring my Father.  I saw those who did unspeakable things in my Father’s name.

The rain of sin kept pouring down.  

I saw the face of every person plunged into a mass grave. 

I saw the sin that lured people into bondage and death. 

Every baby’s cry pierced my ears. 

Every woman’s scream seized my heart. 

Every man’s terror burned my soul. 

Every child’s tears wounded me again.  

And again.  

And again. 

At this moment, when sin’s blinding black rain darkened every corner of creation, and washed over me in a pitiless surge, I could no longer see my Father.

All hope was gone.  I was a captive. I now felt what every human being feels without my Father:  drowning in the black rain of sin, with no hope, no light, and no comfort. 

Alone.  Lost.   Dying. 

I cried, ‘My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?’

This very moment is why I came.  I came to experience your world without my Father.  Your sin separated you from Him and now I felt that in all of its bitter loneliness.   

I cried, ‘It is finished.’

This very moment is why I came.  I shed my own blood to pay your sin’s debt and to reunite you with my Father.  I came to bring your dead self to new life: My life.  I will live my life in you and through you.  

The tomb could not hold me.  Death could not hold me.

That Sunday, as I emerged from tomb, triumphant and whole, the enemy’s laughter stopped.

I now sit with my Father in heavenly places.  Join us. Please don’t turn away.

Please don’t return to the darkness. 

Come to the Light.  

Come to Me, for although you are burdened with a heavy load, what I give you is Light for I give you Me.

Amen.