It is finished....

Easter Sunday evening: Lent is over.

I've read the four gospels. I've written reflections. I'm weary.

But what is the worth of knowledge not practiced? Is it even knowledge? Can we know without love, without loving?

I fell asleep in my big, comfy chair after church this afternoon. When I awoke, I picked up the latest issue of Sojourners magazine and read. This article by Rose Marie Berger is a good summary of Lent. It's poetic. Let your imagination be kindled. Know the word. Live the word. Love the word.

Finis.

Good Friday

Today is Good Friday. The world has its way today. Today we remember the peak of human achievement, the apex of all our striving to assist God, the culmination of our ability to judge good and evil. On this day we lifted up the Son of Man.

From the 11^th chapter of John’s gospel (TNIV):

Then the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the Sanhedrin.

“What are we accomplishing?” they asked. “Here is this man performing many signs. If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and then the Romans will come and take away both our temple [the Greek is “place”] and our nation.”

Then one of them, named Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, spoke up, “You know nothing at all! You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.”

He did not say this on his own, but as high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus would die for the Jewish nation, and not only for that nation but also for the scattered children of God, to bring them together and make them one. So from that day on they plotted to take his life.

To understand what’s going on in this story you need to remember this: In a dark and dire time, God made a covenant with Abraham (Abram) in which God promised (1) to give Abraham and his descendants the land (a place), (2) to make Abraham’s descendants a nation (a people), and (3) to be their God and to be with them (a presence). And God’s covenant had a purpose: God’s people, in God’s place, with God’s presence, were to be the people through whom God would bless all the families of the earth. In sum, the covenant was a promise by God to make a people in a place and to be present with them for a purpose.*

In response to God’s covenant promise, Abraham was expected to believe God, to trust God’s promise, and to go and do as God commanded. When you put all these verbs together—believe, trust, obey—you have faith.

God promised; Abraham believed, trusted, obeyed—“and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.”

At least most of the time. But every once in awhile Abraham and/or Sarah decided God needed assistance to keep the covenant promise alive. Twice Abraham passed Sarah off as his sister because God sent them into dangerous territory and Abraham did not trust God to protect him. And when the promised son was tardy, Sarah and Abraham decided to help God keep his promise.

After Abraham had been 10 years in Canaan, and the promised son had not been born to him, Sarah, now 76 years old, despaired of sharing in the promise, and proposed earthly means to secure a son to Abraham and obtain the name of mother. In accordance with a custom of the times, she gave her maid to Abraham.**

This pattern that Abraham and Sarah set, the pattern of God’s people using earthly means to  “assist” God to fulfill his promise, is continued throughout the bible and includes such earthly means as theft, political intrigue, cowardice, deception, alliances, idolatry, greed, envy, murder, war, and more. We pretty much break all the commandments of God in order to help God. And that brings us back to the Gospel of John and the events leading up to Good Friday.

What did the chief priests and Pharisees fear? As children of Abraham, they feared that the covenant would be broken. They feared that if Jesus were allowed to continue working his signs the Romans would come and take away their place (their land) and their nation (their status as a people) and the temple (the place of God’s presence). In other words, they feared that God’s covenant promise that they would be a people in a place with God’s presence could not survive this man, Jesus. God seemed unwilling to stop Jesus, so in their wisdom, their judgment, their calculated understanding of good and evil, they decided to take matters into their own hands. They decided that Jesus must die so the covenant promise could live.

The contrast between Jesus and the religious leaders could not be more stark. Jesus, in the face of certain death, obeyed and trusted God to manage the outcome, regardless of the costs. The religious leaders, because they did not trust God and because they decided the cost was too high, decided that it would be better for one man to die than the whole nation to perish. They tried to manage the outcome (to assist God) even if it meant disobeying God’s direct command not to murder.

And so, the irony of Good Friday. Once again the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil persuades us that the end justifies the means. Once again, with the best intentions, evil is enlisted in the service of good. Once again we judge that killing one person will preserve God’s honor. Once again we presume to assist our heavenly Father, even as we kill his only begotten son. Once again we employ earthly means to help God keep the covenant promise. Once again....

Who is Jesus? He's the one who trusts God to fulfill the covenant promise. He's the one who obeys regardless of the cost, the one who knows the cost of his faith.

Where is Jesus? Because he trusts God he is on the way to the cross, and on the cross, and in the grave.

What then shall we do? We shall trust God in the same way. We shall obey God's ways and resist the temptations of earthly means. We shall believe, trust, and obey. We shall have faith.

_____________________________________

*Thanks to my friend A.J. Culp for sharing this helpful interpretive insight on covenant.

**from The Westminster Dictionary of the Bible (1944 edition), p.221.

Sticking Up for Martha

A few of Jesus' closest friends, Mary and Martha, repeatedly show up throughout all four gospel texts. The most popular story of these two ladies is the infamous tale of Jesus' visit to their home. As the story goes, Mary spends the evening at the feet of Jesus, lavishing him with praise, while Martha is busy with the details of the event and fails to spend any real, quality time with Jesus.

Due to this story, Martha is often looked down upon in Christian circles. She is chastised for her Type-A personality. She is criticized for being a busy-body. She is disparaged for caring more about preparing for a meal than for Jesus. And she is in direct comparison with her sister, Mary, who faithfully worships and adores Jesus throughout the night.*

In our Lenten passage for the day (John 11), however, we are shown an entirely different Martha. The passage is the story of the death of Lazarus, the brother of Mary and Martha and a dear friend of Jesus. Upon hearing of Lazarus' illness, Jesus waits a few more days before visiting his friend. In that time, Lazarus has passed away and the story seems dire. As Jesus arrive at Lazarus' home in Judea, he is greeted by Martha and her immense faith is put on display. Martha immediately chides Jesus for not arriving sooner to save her brother, but declares her faith in him by stating, "But I know that even now God will give whatever you ask" (11:22). Jesus tells Martha that Lazarus will be raised from the dead because Jesus is the "resurrection and the life." She then proceeds to show even greater faithfulness by saying, "I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who was to come into the world."

Sheesh. Even some of the disciples, Jesus' closest companions, weren't able to make that kind of declaration. And yet, we often criticize this woman for having less faith than her sister? As I read this passage today, I was convicted of the need for basic, honest trust that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, who was to come into the world -- and that he is the resurrection and the life. We are situated in a dark world full of death and destruction, and a dark week that is heading for a cross, but we must cling to the faith of Martha. We must cling to the hope of Jesus, that the resurrection and the life is still in control, slowly but surely moving from death to life, slowly but surely restoring and redeeming all things.

*This seems like an unfair and incorrect comparison, but that is for another blog post.

A summary, as of today, of my forty days with the gospels

Here is a summary of what I have learned so far reading the gospels during Lent this year: If you take the gospels as your guide, you must learn to stay in Jesus’ presence, to see the world as Jesus sees the world, and to treat others as Jesus treats them. One of the most affecting examples of this is the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant in Matthew 18. Before you read further here, take your bible and read the parable.

The primary point of the parable is simple: If we fail to forgive others as God has forgiven us, we forfeit our forgiveness. But it seems to me that the root of the servant’s unforgiving action is his failure to see his debtor through God’s eyes.

Earlier in Matthew 18 Jesus has repeated his very hard saying about cutting off our hands and feet and plucking out our eyes if any of these body parts cause us to sin. And if we pay attention to the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant we can see that all of these body parts contribute to his stumbling, to his sin.

First, the servant who has been forgiven his debt leaves the presence of his king. He went out—on his feet. It is a mistake to leave God’s presence and go out into the world on our own two feet without him. Immediately it seems, the forgiven one encounters temptation. He sees—with his eyes—another servant who owes him money. How quickly he succumbs to his personal vision of this servant as debtor when he sees with his own eyes, his own judgment, rather than the king’s. He fails to see his debtor as the king sees him. His eye causes him to stumble. His vision is not pure. He sees with the prideful eye of one who presumes to know the difference between good and evil.

But that is not the end of it. Next he seizes his debtor—with his hands—and throws him into prison. He not only sees as one who judges, he acts with his own hands to punish. And the consequence—of his walking out of the king’s presence and influence, of seeing with his own eyes rather than the king’s vision, and acting with his own hands rather than the hands of the king—is to be judged and treated the same way that he judged and treated his debtor. He forfeits his forgiveness.

The point: Be the image of Jesus in the world, be Christ’s ambassadors, by walking in his presence, by seeing others as Jesus sees them, and by using our hands to treat others as Jesus would. I think that’s a pretty good summary at this point of my forty days with the gospels.

A Matthean detour: "Blessed are those who are persecuted"

Recently someone broke a window at a local Baptist church, entered the building and spray-painted on the walls. According to the insurance company, the “damage done by the spray paint was severe and extensive throughout the church.” When confronted by such apparently senseless acts, our responses seem almost preprogrammed. We church people feel persecuted and misunderstood. We disdain and despise the acts. We almost always think the vandals are young people. Odds are good that they are.

These particular perpetrators left a note, written in poem-like lines: “hey, your probably wondering why we did this. / We weren’t on drugs. / Only one of us is gay…. / We don’t worship Satan…. / We don’t even hate you. / We did it to give you a SMALL taste of / what religion has done to the world. / Stop lying to your kids. / STOP! Hating people because a 2000+ year old book told you. / Stop fighting science and praising ignorance. / —GIG  KL”

(One beautiful irony: the note was written on the margin of a copy of the lyrics to “Amazing Grace.” That’s so good it almost had to be intentional.)

The insurance company concluded, “Incidents like this are always discouraging…but as a community of believers, I know we will hold on—together—to the promise of Matthew 5:10.” 

And this is what I want us to think about.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” We church insiders read this to mean that we are the blessed and the kingdom of heaven is ours because the world persecutes us for our righteousness. That is also the insurance company’s interpretation of the text and of the vandalism. But what if Jesus spoke this beatitude, and the seven preceding it, not to synagogue insiders (the church), but to those outside the bounds of religious righteousness? What if these beatitudes were preached to outsiders who were excluded by self-righteous, synagogue insiders? What if Jesus spoke the blessing to sinners who were persecuted for the sake of preserving some human tradition of righteousness? What if "Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake" means not us, but those we persecute for the sake of our understanding of righteousness, our knowledge of good and evil. What if theirs is the kingdom of heaven and not ours?

If this reading is true (and I think it is), the damage to the church is not the spray paint of the vandals; the damage to the church is self-inflicted by a hypocritical self-righteousness which condemns and excludes the ‘unrighteous.’

Did the spray-painters, however ineffectively, speak a prophetic word to the church? Will we be discouraged and tighten our security as the insurance company suggests? Will we persecute—or prosecute—the vandals? Or will we be courageous, and welcome those unlike us so that they will invite us along when they inherit the kingdom?

Luke: Salvation

Here's a very brief video that speaks to the issue of salvation in Luke, which I discussed in my previous post.

Luke: "What should we do then?"

A few days ago I watched a young man hang a plastic bag on my front door knob and then walk away. As I suspected: new church plant stuff. Independent Baptists this time, King-James-only variety. Inside the bag was this booklet containing John and Romans (KJV), and, at the end, "The Romans Road." I decided to read it.

But before we get into that, let's take a look at Luke's gospel—just for perspective. Let's begin in chapter 3 with John, the son of God's promise to Elizabeth and Zechariah.

⁷ John said to the crowds coming out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? ⁸ Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ For I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. ⁹ The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”

¹⁰ “What should we do then?” the crowd asked.

¹¹ John answered, “Anyone who has two shirts should share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same.”

¹² Even tax collectors came to be baptized. “Teacher,” they asked, “what should we do?”

¹³ “Don’t collect any more than you are required to,” he told them.

¹⁴ Then some soldiers asked him, “And what should we do?”

He replied, “Don’t extort money and don’t accuse people falsely—be content with your pay.” (NIV)

If you've been reading through the gospels with me this Lent you'll recognize these bolded questions as very similar to Bonhoeffer's "What then shall we do?" And John does not hesitate to give instructions, because what they are to do is to produce good fruit, fruit in keeping with repentance, or they'll be thrown into the fire. And what are they to do? Not pray. Not have faith. Not believe. Instead, share clothes and food with those who have none, stop cheating, stop extorting, stop bearing false witness, stop grasping wealth, stop seeking more money. Not our traditional plan of salvation.

"Doing" is a theme that appears throughout Luke's gospel, for Jesus as well as John.  Here's a sampling. There's the doing in the Sermon (6:27-49). There's the "Go and do likewise" of the Good Samaritan parable which Jesus told in response to the law expert's question, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" And when the ruler asks the exact same question, the answer Jesus gives him is to keep the commandments and "sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." For John and Jesus, "doing" is directly related to inheriting eternal life, being saved, avoiding being thrown into the fire.

Now, back to "The Romans Road." There are many versions of this 'plan of salvation.' But here's the closing summary of the one that was included in the back of the booklet left on my door: 

You have come to the place in your life where you must make a decision. If you choose to accept the payment made by the Lord Jesus Christ for your sin, then you simply need to bow your head and pray. Tell Jesus, in your own words, that you are sorry for your sins and that you no longer want to remain spiritually separated from God. Ask Jesus to forgive you and save you from death and eternal punishment. Tell him you're willing to receive him as your Lord and Savior. Let him know you want to accept his gift of eternal life. And remember, Jesus Christ won't turn anyone away, no matter who you are or what you've done. He died so that you could know God as your heavenly Father.

"What should we do then?" 
"What must I do to inherit eternal life?"

In Luke's gospel these questions are never answered with "The Romans Road" or any "plan of salvation" resembling it. Never. There are cries for mercy which are answered with healing and restoration and "your faith has made you well," but whenever these questions are asked, the answer always includes doing something, changing one's life, sacrificing, helping the poor. The answer is never "simply admit you're a sinner, accept my free gift of salvation, and invite me into your heart with a prayer." 

Here's one salvation story that is in Luke.

Not long after the sad story of the rich ruler, Jesus calls Zacchaeus, a wealthy tax collector, down from a tree. Zacchaeus stands and declares, "Look, Lord. Here and now I give half my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount." 

No bowing his head and praying. No asking forgiveness. No asking Jesus into his heart. No 'thank you' for paying for my sins. No personal profession that Jesus is his Lord and Savior. No confession.

And Jesus said to him, "Today salvation has come to this house." 

How's that for a plan?

I wish I had a nice closing to tie this up, but I don't. I'd like to resolve the tension. But if I have to choose between Luke's account of "What must I do?" and "The Romans Road," I'll choose Luke. Every time. I think I'll leave it at that. It's late.

Luke 1: “She will be saved through childbearing”

But women (Greek:"she") will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith, love and holiness with propriety. (1 Timmy 2:15, NIV)

This Pauline statement is a tough one. I was in a bible study with a group of high school men and women a couple of weeks ago and the young man who was leading the discussion on this chapter declared he wasn’t going to touch it.

“I’ll get killed,” he said.

“We’re all Christians here,” I replied.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said.

I invented part of that. Nevertheless, I agreed with him, and we moved on to chapter 3.

In his commentary on this passage, E. Glenn Hinson writes that “it is difficult, maybe impossible, to interpret.”

So why do I bring it up? Because I think there may be a clue to interpreting it in the first chapter of Luke.

5 In the time of Herod king of Judea there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly division of Abijah; his wife Elizabeth was also a descendant of Aaron. 6 Both of them were righteous in the sight of God, observing all the Lord’s commands and decrees blamelessly. 7 But they were childless because Elizabeth was not able to conceive, and they were both very old.

The tradition of the barren matriarch: by all accounts the aged wife and her husband priest are righteous and blameless in the sight of God, yet they are shamed in the eyes of the community by her barrenness. They are old, beyond the possibility of redemption by a natural childbirth, doomed to go to their graves without an heir, to descend into nothingness with no one to remember them. (Notice it’s the woman who is shamed and assumed to be barren, not the man.) The community gossip is that there must have been something wrong with Elizabeth, some secret sin, for God to have disgraced them with a childless marriage. Though Luke declares both of them righteous and blameless, the community gossips are not so sure. Barren Elizabeth is always suspect, not quite as good as the other women who have born children. Poor Zechariah! Bless his heart!

In such a circumstance, what is salvation? What would it mean to be saved, redeemed? How could she be restored to the community, to receive the Lord’s favor?

For Elizabeth the answer is clear: a child!

24 After this his wife Elizabeth became pregnant and for five months remained in seclusion. 25 “The Lord has done this for me,” she said. “In these days he has shown his favor and taken away my disgrace among the people.”

She’s made whole. Her barrenness is healed. Her shame is removed. If there were an unknown sin, it has been removed. The Lord favors her. He did this for her. And now, five months into her impossible pregnancy, she can venture forth and show the world. She is redeemed. No one can look on her as a suspected sinner and outsider any longer. And the Lord has fulfilled his promise through her. She is blessed. She is restored to the people. In a word, she is saved.

The problem, it seems to me, is that we have reduced salvation to a single meaning: avoiding hell and going to heaven when we die. But in the bible salvation is a rich, multi-faceted concept, not easily reduced to the individual soul’s ultimate destiny before God. It means more than that. In fact, every healing in the bible is a metaphor for salvation. Every time an outsider is brought into the inside and is restored to community, it’s salvation. And Elizabeth is saved through childbearing that removes her shame and disgrace in the eyes of the people. Rather than being disgraced, she is now graced by God. And, by the way, God is also saved from disgrace—his word is fulfilled—through Elizabeth’s childbearing.

Now I don’t know exactly how this applies to Paul’s statement in 1 Timothy. Maybe it sheds a little light, gives it a little context. Maybe Timothy's congregation included women who were gossiping at worship. Maybe there were among them a barren woman or two who were the subjects of that gossip, who were held at arm's length, who were outsiders. I don't know. But if Paul didn’t have in mind this Elizabeth story, this barren matriarch tradition, when he declared that women will be saved through childbearing, he should have. Because I can’t come up with any other way to excuse what he wrote.