a sinful man

I've probably said this before, but of all the people in the Gospels I most readily associate with Peter. Peter, whose desire to do the right thing often came out wrong. Peter, who seemed to say whatever was in his head. Like me, the filter between Peter's brain and mouth didn't always work. When I think of Peter, I think of a guy who tried hard but didn't always get it right.

But the thing is, when he gets it wrong, I can see myself doing exactly the same thing.

This morning, I read in Luke 5 the story of the disciples' nets being so filled with fish they started to break. This came after an unsuccessful night; the disciples, experienced fishermen, knew there wasn't any point but out of respect for Jesus they put their nets back in the water. And, against everything they knew about the lake and about fish, Jesus brought them a spectacular catch. 

Peter's response?  Luke 5:8 says, "When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus' knees and said, 'Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!'"

You see, that is totally me! Every time I'm reminded of Jesus' Lordship, I feel unworthy. That's fine. But then I jump to the wrong conclusion, that because Jesus is the very standard of worthiness that I'm not meeting, I have no place with him. He won't want me around. The most honest thing I can to is to tell Jesus, "Lord, I'm not your kind of people. You don't want to be seen hanging around with me!"

In Peter's day, a sinner could literally make holy people unclean, in the sense that they could become ritually impure and therefore not permitted to take part in temple life. That's what I feel like. I feel that I'm just going to soil Jesus' brilliant white robe with my grubby sinner's hands.

But that's because, like Peter, I forget why Jesus was here in the first place. Jesus intentionally put himself in the middle of mankind. He made his life with us, part of the sweating, pushing crowd with their dusty feet and stained hands and smelly armpits. And equally grimy and off-putting thoughts and habits. He did it because he loves us; he did it because for whatever reason, this relationship we have with him is valued by him.

When scripture says, "God so loved the world," the Greek word use for world is "mundus." Centuries later, our word "mundane" has its roots in the same word. Mundane, ordinary. God so loved the ordinary, the normal, the average Joes and Janes, that he sent his son.

It's precisely because Peter was a sinful man that Jesus was there. Peter's response was to push Jesus away; Jesus response was to hold Peter close. And he would always respond the same way, no matter how badly Peter blundered.

There's a lot of comfort there for me. Oh, I'm going to keep trying not to be that guy that puts dirty handprints all over Jesus' clean robe. But I can see now that my dirtiness isn't a reason to stay away from Jesus, it's a reason to go to him. 

treasures in her heart

There's an incident in Jesus' early life that Luke recorded toward the end of Chapter 2. Jesus as a boy goes missing on the trip home from a ritual visit to the synagogue; eventually he's found back in the temple doing his Father's work, teaching people much older than himself. 

Luke finishes the story this way, in verses 51 and 52 "Then he went down to Nazareth with them and was obedient to them. But his mother treasured all these things in her heart. And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man."

This is the second time Luke has used these words about Mary, the ones that say she treasured things Jesus did and said in her heart. I think it's one of those moms will always get better than I do. As a dad I've often been proud of my kids; even these days I'm prone to brag a little when people ask me about them. But that word "treasured" means something more, I think.

I picture a little heart-box that keeps these things the mother can't bear to part with. I picture her opening the box, taking one out, turning it in her hands, remembering. And smiling. I see the things in the box are worn from years of fondling. In that box are baby things and toddler things and young man things. In that box are all of the wonders that made her amazed and joyful, that filled her heart to overflowing. These are the very best parts of her relationships with her children.

Those heart-treasures seem to me this morning to be the essence of motherhood. Other dads might be like me, in that life is about becoming, moving forward, growth, and so my relationships with my children have tended to be about helping them move through life. For moms, I think, often the moment is best part. Where I focus on the path, on completions, I think many moms would rather linger at the little overlooks and meadows and stream-crossings where their children stopped to play.

What did Mary treasure? "All these things." Jesus stayed, Jesus taught, he explained why, and then he returned home with his earthly father and obeyed. These things were treasures to Mary. This display of precociousness, this reminder that Jesus was God's child, this respect and love for Joseph, all went into Mary's heart-box.

It is amazing, if you think about it, and worth treasuring for all of us. Jesus loved his earthly dad and mom. Jesus, who was God, accepted being a boy who should listen to his parents. Jesus, who was on earth to save them, nonetheless honored them

There are so many lessons here, but this morning the thing that sticks with me is the warm feeling of this memory, capture for us by Luke and treasured by Mary, of Jesus being a good son simply because that's what he wanted to do. Out of love. What a Savior!

orderly account

Sometimes it's easy to forget that we are called to an intellectual faith. True, it's also an emotional faith - some of the most beautiful moments in worship and devotions come from a full heart - but with all the focus on how worship makes us feel, or what we like, it's important to remember that we're called to know as well.

I think about that pretty much every time I start reading the book of Luke. That Gospel starts this way, in chapter 1:1-4 "Many have undertaken to draw up an account of the things that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed down to us by those who from the first were eyewitnesses and servants of the word. With this in mind, since I myself have carefully investigated everything from the beginning, I too decided to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you may know the certainty of the things you have been taught."

Luke's approach was to carefully investigate and then report in an orderly way. In other words, he gathered the facts as well as he could, and put them together in a coherent structure. Why? So that his reader could know for certain.

Facts persuade. Facts and logic make sense, where emotional appeals can create skepticism. Not only that, but a faith that requires me to check my brain at the door, to just accept at face value anything I hear, isn't a true faith in my opinion.

I think maybe emotion is great for people who already have engaged the questions of their faith intellectually and have knowledge- and fact-based reasoning to support their faith. I think once the truth is known, then an emotional response to the truth is not only appropriate, but evidence of faith. Gratitude and love will flow from a saved soul.

On the other hand, emotions without some factual support are dangerous. It's easy for us to deceive ourselves when our hearts get involved. Just look at all the stupid things we do in the name of earthly love.

So I like the Gospel of Luke. I like it that this scientist, this physician, took the time to do thorough investigation and report back to us. I want to know the facts; I think it's part of loving God with my mind.

loved

There's a moment described in Mark 10 that amazes me. A wealthy young man is talking to Jesus about inheriting eternal life. When Jesus explained about obedience, the young man was excited, because he'd been faithfully doing those thing since he was a boy.

And then this, in Mark 10:21-22 "Jesus looked at him and loved him. 'One thing you lack,' he said. 'Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.' At this the man's face fell. He went away sad, because he had great wealth." 

This isn't a new story to me; I've read it dozens of times and heard it preached more than once. But the new thing for me this morning was the comment that Jesus loved him. More to the point, the location of that comment in the narrative struck me. 

Right after the young man proclaims his faithfulness, and right before Jesus laid this last requirement on him, Jesus loved him. Jesus loved him right at the moment where he knew that this man's point of failure was coming.

Yes, Jesus knew this man's love of his wealth was going to be a burden to him. He knew the thing the man loved most, maybe as much as he loved God. He knew the young man would be saddened by this requirement. And he loved him anyway.

Does that mean God loves me even when I cling to the most precious of my worldly things? That even as I struggle to put him first, even as I make choices that put him in the back seat, he loves me? That at those points he knows I'm about to blow it, he looks at me and loves me?

Yes! I think that's exactly what these few words mean. In all the ugliness of my struggles with sin, God watches me win and lose, and lose, and win, and loves me through all of it. Oh, I'm sure there's some sorrow there too, but mostly he just loves me. It's a hugely comforting thought.

Another hopeful note in this story is that it doesn't say anywhere that the young man didn't obey Jesus' hard command. That's the assumption we draw, but I like to think that maybe the sad young man did as he was commanded, that he gave everything away and spent his life serving God's people. I like to think that in the end he had great joy through obedience.

Probably not. A more likely ending, only slightly less happy, is that he went back to his wealth, but found he didn't enjoy it as much anymore. For a while he went on as before, but eventually this thing that stood between him and his God became less and less attractive, until he found in the end he'd rather live without his money that give up being close to God.

You see, that's how sin most often works for me. It's a long, up-and-down process giving it up, and some sins I find I still haven't. That's why I'm so comforted by the idea that, even as I'm ready to fail again, maybe at a point where I'm feeling good about my faith, God knows what's coming and loves me anyway. Loves me through it.

What do people do without this God?

rebuked

It's kind of hard to imagine that anyone at any time has had the temerity to rebuke Jesus. But Peter did. It tells us so in Mark 8:31-33. 

"He then began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and after three days rise again. He spoke plainly about this, and Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But when Jesus turned and looked at his disciples, he rebuked Peter. 'Get behind me, Satan!' he said. 'You do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns.'"

I'm curious exactly what Peter rebuked Jesus about. Was it that he didn't think Jesus should be so negative about the future? That he shouldn't be so disrespectful of the Jewish leaders? That all this business about dying and rising again in three days sounded like crazy talk? Did he want to advise Jesus that if he would just moderate his tone a little bit and look for ways to get along better, he wouldn't have so much conflict in his life?

Mark doesn't tell us, so I guess exactly what got Peter going isn't the point. The point is that whatever it was, it didn't reflect Godly thinking. Jesus called Peter "Satan," and accused him of only being concerned about human things.

It's an interesting comment, because Jesus combined in himself the full deity of God and the full humanity of mankind. He would be in a position to know of the concerns of both, and you would think he might sympathize with both. But maybe it wasn't Peter's mindfulness of human concerns that disappointed Jesus. Maybe it was that Peter didn't think of Godly concerns along with his human concerns.

It's a challenging thing to think about, because it seems like there would be clear implications for my own thinking, but it's not easy to see what they are. I get that I need to be mindful of Godly things, but what does that look like? Or what does it look like when I don't? Is this a caution against pushing for my personal preferences in church, or trying to impose my faith standards on believers?

Or maybe the message is more pointed than that. Is this more about not trying to put Jesus in a box with my expectations of how he should work or who he should save? Or who he should damn, as seems to be a more likely point of disagreement.

This is a good example, I think, of why it's good to wrestle with scripture. Even when the answers aren't clear, the questing for them takes me to good places. Maybe in the end that's a part of what it means to be always working to be holier.

defiled

I work with a couple of germophobes. One of them will even rub disinfectant on her hands if I shake hands with her. I wonder sometimes if that level of concern over cleanliness isn't good; how does our immune system stay robust if it never has to fight anything? That may be why the germophobes are just as likely as the rest of us to get sick.

Too bad we don't get as obsessed about spiritual purity. 

Back in Jesus's day they were very focused on whether people were spiritually unclean. But they got it all wrong; they worried about what people ate and what buildings they walked into. 

Jesus set them straight in Mark 6:16 and 20-23: "Again Jesus called the crowd to him and said, 'Listen to me, everyone, and understand this. Nothing outside a person can defile them by going into them. Rather, it is what comes out of a person that defiles them. . . . For it is from within, out of a person’s heart, that evil thoughts come—sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance and folly. All these evils come from inside and defile a person.'"

I wonder if I'm not looking at spiritual health the same way those germophobes look at their physical health. It's easy to think that temptation comes at me from outside, that it worms its way into my consciousness because of TV shows or crude jokes or popular music or fiction. In fact, there have been times in my life when I focused on "redeeming" my personal spaces by purging anything that might suggest a fleshly thought.

Those efforts didn't really put much of a dent in my sinning, though, and now I know why. Those outside things don't defile me, my own heart does. That's going to be a lot harder to address than just purging my bookshelves and music collection. 

I get it, though. I can be tempted to sin in the middle of a church service, so it's obvious that my own memories and desires are the problem. And I can see from the things that don't tempt me, like gambling, that abundant opportunity is no problem if my heart is right.

But oh, those favorite sins. What about those? Can I get my heart right on my snobbish attitudes, my lack of empathy, my tendency toward sloth, my attraction to physical beauty? That's where my heart defiles me.

Can I? No, not by myself. The only thing that has ever worked for me when it comes to temptation is prayer. When I take my sin straight to Jesus, only then do I find the strength to resist it. 

unseen seeds

Ever wonder if you're doing any good? I do. 

I had plans. I was going to change the world. That's the way 20-year-olds think, even decades ago. Thank God, he had better plans, and I get to live every day with the blessings I have. 

But one thing I don't have is any clear measurement that I make a difference in God's kingdom. Can't say for sure I ever was involved in a conversion. Can't say I helped a back-slider. I may have; in fact, I probably did. I just don't know it.

Sometimes that bothers me, but not today. This morning I read this analogy of the kingdom in Mark 4:26-29: "He also said, 'This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain—first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head. As soon as the grain is ripe, he puts the sickle to it, because the harvest has come.'"

This reminds me that my basic call is to live in close relationship to God and try to act faithfully to him every day. If I do that, my faithful living results in seeds being scattered. Maybe something I said or did on council. Maybe when I taught catechism or adult Sunday School. Maybe this blog. Maybe a kind word or a prayer or just simple acceptance of a neighbor others disliked. Any or all of these things could have planted a seed.

So, maybe as I go about my days, sleeping and getting up, not having any idea if or how those seeds are growing, they do. Maybe I've done the bit God wanted me to, and now he's at working nurturing little seedlings that one day may produce kernels of faith. Maybe someday that harvest will come in.

These are thoughts that encourage me when I wonder if the things I do make a difference. Am I helping people? I think I am, it just feels like some of the things I do are good and right. But I can only put a name or face one a couple of friends who have confirmed it. And that's OK; in fact, this parable suggests that's how it's supposed to be. It may even be a measure of my faithfulness that I continue to do these things just to serve God, without any more reward than that.

I like to think that one of the things that will make heaven heavenly is that I get to know of, maybe even meet, the souls I helped along on their faith journeys. But even if I don't, more important is my longing to hear God say, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

all authority

In the account of Jesus' life given by Matthew, the final thing Jesus says to his disciples is this, recorded in Matthew 28:18-20  "Then Jesus came to them and said, 'All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.'"

I've heard many sermons preached on this passage, but this morning the word "therefore" caught my attention. Therefore always points me to what was said just before; it's a reason or basis for what comes next.

In this case, what comes next is the command to make disciples of all nations. The reason? Jesus has been given all authority on heaven and on earth.

One way to read that is that Jesus, as Lord of everything, has the authority to send me out on a disciple-making expedition. That's definitely true, but it seems a little simplistic.

It seems more logical to me that the fact of Jesus' authority is the foundation for discipleship. The lordship of Jesus calls me to obedience; any other loyalty is in fact disobedience. In fact, the only way to save people from the consequences of a disobedient life is to make them disciples.

This too is a little obvious, but I wonder of the implication is. The world would have me believe that Jesus is another option, that the choice of whether or not to follow him is a personal one, and that there are multiple ways people can work out their questions of guilt and purpose.

Jesus' legitimate claim to all authority is the statement that blows all of that tolerant jumbo-jumbo out of the water. In fact, there are two starkly-different choices. I can become a disciple, or I can go to Hell. Those are the only options open to me. 

That fact turns Jesus' command from an empire-building directive from a powerful king into a plea for rescuers racing a coming disaster. Instead of control or forced compliance, Jesus longs for my good; he hates the thought of my destruction. 

The most loving thing Jesus can do, or I can do, is to make a disciple. It's the only way people get to live. 

tempted

I have my times when I struggle with temptation. Sometimes, when opportunity meets inclination, I can spend a difficult hour wavering between giving in and praying my way through it. I can't imagine what Jesus did.

Read about it in Mark 1:12-13: "At once the Spirit sent him out into the wilderness, and he was in the wilderness forty days, being tempted by Satan. He was with the wild animals, and angels attended him."

One moment, baptism in the river, the dove from heaven, and your father's voice saying how pleased he is with you, and the next you're off to the wilderness. For forty days. Forty days of Satan in your face, promising, tantalizing, teasing. For forty days you have to stay strong; Satan only has to beat you for a moment and he wins.

Jesus held up through all that, without wavering once. I know, he was God, but still, I can't imagine what that was like. What a miserable time! Even if you have the strength, to have to put up with what you hate the most for that long!

If you hate one of the candidates as much as some people do, imagine forty days of that person's voice and promises. Or forty days of songs from that performer you scorn. Or forty days in a room with your most hated rival. 

In some ways it doesn't seem any more serious than that - Jesus was always better than Satan. But in some ways it was deadly serious. Here, as much as at the cross, the bitter contest for my soul was fought. Here Jesus faced that thing that tripped up Adam and Eve and has snared every human ever born. He took the best and worst Satan could throw at him and never wavered in his purpose.

By doing that he proved that his life would be the sacrifice that would finally be enough. He shared what we face so he could do what we can't. His forty days were different than my weak hours in almost every way I can imagine. 

Praise God they were. What a Savior!

gnats and camels

Priorities are one of those things that turn out to be a lot harder in real life than I thought they would be back when someone else was setting them for me. 

For one thing, life keeps happening, so priorities not only shift over time, they can be different from day to day. On top of that, there are all kinds of strident urgencies that tend to drown out what's really important. And other people expect you to pay attention to their priorities, not yours, and if those are people I value relationships with I tend to go along.

So it's a struggle to keep priorities front and center. Even more so, it's sad to say, for God's priorities. All kinds of false urgencies - worship style, someone's clothing choices, budget matters - can become more important to us than unity and love. Jesus called that straining out gnats but swallowing a camel - read Matthew 23:24.

Just a few verses before that, he warned the people about those gnat-straining, camel-swallowing leaders, in verses 1-5: "Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples: 'The teachers of the law and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat. So you must be careful to do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach. They tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.'"

It's the worst kind of church leadership, the kind that demands unnecessary works from people yet denies them the warm love of forgiveness and inclusion. We all agree those Pharisees were a bad bunch, and so is any church leader of today who acts that way.

But here's the thing: we're all leaders. If there's even one single person in the world who values our opinion, who looks to see what we're doing before they decide, then we lead by influence. And leading by influence is far more powerful than leading by authority.

That means that my own camel-swallowing and gnat-straining might be laying those heavy loads on someone else's shoulders. Jesus made his priorities clear: justice, especially for the weakest among us. Speaking up for the voiceless. Loving every person made in God's image (hint - that's all of them.) Putting the unity of the church behind only a very few things. Serving anyone within reach.

When I put my focus on anything else, that's gnat-straining. All those other things, like what the council wears to church or why we always skip verse 3 of "Peace Like a River," are as insignificant as gnats compared to Jesus' priorities.

And when I allow other people to violate those things Jesus says are important - I don't challenge unloving acts, I don't speak for inclusiveness - then I'm swallowing a camel. That kind of disobedience is a big deal.

I need to look out for the camels, and care less about the gnats. That's what church priorities are all about, and my personal priorities, too.

third seed

The parable of the sower and the seeds is one of those stories I learned in Sunday School. It's been part of my faith understanding for decades, and yet, as an adult, I find it bothers me. Specifically, I'm haunted by the third seed. 

The first and second seeds don't really seem to apply to me. Unlike the seed on the path that was eaten by birds, or the seed on rocky soil that had shallow roots and so burned up, my faith has endured for many, many years.

It would be easy, then, to assume my faith journey is represented by the fourth seed, that which took root, flourished, and produced an abundant harvest.  But sometimes I'm not so sure. I'm haunted by the words in Matthew 13:22, which reads, "The seed falling among the thorns refers to someone who hears the word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word, making it unfruitful."

You see, there are plenty of worries in my life, and if it looks like I'm about to run out I've proven adept at coming up with more. And sometimes I'm as eager as anyone else to look for hope in money.

So what if the third seed is my seed? What if the reason I don't see more fruit is because the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth have choked the word in my life?

If that's true, then it seems that those are weeds that can be pulled. I don't have to worry about things; God is enough for anything I face. I don't have to be deceived by the lure of being wealthy; I wouldn't rate anything I own even in the top ten on the list of things I cherish.

I guess in the end this verse isn't so much frightening as it is challenging, because problem and answer are both right there. As an easy first step, I can stop watering and fertilizing my weeds; maybe some will die of neglect, especially if I transfer that nurturing to the seeds of faith. But more than that, I can actively start weeding any time I like.

Maybe that's one way that faith becomes active, when I actively work to root out the things that make it unfruitful.

blessed eyes

I get involved in a lot of conversations about competitive advantages. I suppose that's natural, in the world of business. We're one of several choice available for customers, and our future as a company depends on a certain percentage of them opting for us. Anything that tips the scales in our favor is helpful.

A key advantage for any business is greater knowledge of the overall marketplace and what the future is likely to bring. Known as business intelligence, this kind of information is probably the most highly valued advantage. So we talk about that a lot.

I was in one of those conversations recently, and it came to mind again as I read this, from Matthew 13:16-17: "But blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears because they hear. For truly I tell you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it."

Any contemporary Christian has a huge advantage over all the saints and prophets of the Old Testament: we know about Jesus. We have the whole story, preserved for us by four different eyewitnesses. We have many of Jesus own words, helpfully highlighted in red for us in many of our Bibles. We have letter upon letter from apostles to the new Christian church helping us understand all the implications of Jesus' birth, death and resurrection.

Beyond that, we have the continuous presence of the Holy Spirit, that aspect of God sent to counsel us through all the what-ifs of each of our ordinary days. We have the cross-won privilege of going to the Holy of Holies any time we want to petition God, and we have the involvement of Jesus, our Savior/High Priest to ensure that our prayers are appropriate.

Talk about an advantage! Oh, we're not in competition with those saints of old, but we are in the same fight for our souls that they were in. And we fight with a great deal more assurance, or we should.

I can't imagine a business squandering such an advantage in not just information, but in certainty. So why do I so often live without using it? It's not like I want to lose this fight, so what am I thinking?

I think that's the struggle of faith - to remember that at God's side, in Jesus' service, my advantages are so overwhelming that I can't lose. The Father of Lies whispers doubt in my ears, so that often, like Peter, my attention goes from the Master of the Wind and Waves to the storm.

In the end, then, it's a matter of focus. It's a matter of where I keep my eyes, these blessed eyes that can see what the Old Testament faith heroes only longed for: the great good news of the risen Christ.

coming wrath

Judgement Day is a day to be feared. I know that; I've learned that from when I was a small boy. I also know I need only fear if I haven't been obedient.

But what if I've been trying to the best of my ability to be obedient as I understand it? What if I just didn't really get what it was that God wants me to do?

You see, that's what the Jewish leaders of Jesus' day were doing. They had tried for centuries to conform their lives in the most exacting detail to the law of God. But look what happened when they went to see John the Baptist, the first prophet the people had seen in nearly 400 years.

You can read about it in Matthew 3:7-12: "But when he saw many of the Pharisees and Sadducees coming to where he was baptizing, he said to them: 'You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not think you can say to yourselves, "We have Abraham as our father." I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. 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.'"

While there were likely a few bad apples in the bunch, probably most of the ones John called vipers would have said their lives were full of good fruit. How could it be that they were the ones called spiteful snakes? How could God's prophet call on them for repentance? How could they be threatened with the metaphor of the ax and the fire?

You can read, of course, of all the things the Pharisees and Sadducees were doing wrong; they're recorded all through the Gospels. What gets me thinking this morning is that they had gotten this far off the track while trying so hard to do right.

I'm reminded of something I learned listening to a TED Talk recently: Being wrong feels exactly like being right, until you realize you're wrong. In other words, what I think and feel about my own rightness isn't a reliable guide to whether or not I'm actually right.

If that's true, then I could easily be as wrong about my own obedience as the Pharisees. It could be that the coming wrath will be a bad day for me, if I rely on my own judgment.

I need something more reliable than my own ideas, which is exactly why God sent us his Holy Spirit. That's the huge advantage I have over the Pharisees. I have God himself as my counselor, nudging me every day in the right directions. I have the Word of God to let me know what living out the Gospel looks like.

I have the most reliable guide to right and wrong there could possibly be. Doom on me if I choose not to listen.

blind animals

I remember an evening doing dishes with Dawn, back when I was working on my Masters. She asked about a paper I was working on, and I said something like, "I think right now it would get a solid B. I'm tempted to say good enough and submit it." To which my fifth-grade son responded, "Dad, you always tell me a B is good if it's the best I can do."

It's often tempting not to do my best work, and sometimes that attitude is even justified if there's other, more important tasks waiting. But this raises a legitimate question: when is it OK to do less than God equipped me to do?

The prophet Malachi brought that question back to the forefront for me this morning, especially in Malachi 1, where God calls out his people for disrespecting him. Read verses 6-8:

"'But you ask, "How have we shown contempt for your name?"

'By offering defiled food on my altar.

'But you ask, "How have we defiled you?"

'By saying that the Lord’s table is contemptible. When you offer blind animals for sacrifice, is that not wrong? When you sacrifice lame or diseased animals, is that not wrong? Try offering them to your governor! Would he be pleased with you? Would he accept you?' says the Lord Almighty."

If I accept that this law of the sacrifice, the one that said bringing flawed animals was wrong, has been superseded by the law of grace, the conclusion is convicting. In grateful response to grace, Jesus calls me to use my giftedness in his service. That's my new sacrifice, if you will.

So is a second-best effort equivalent in some spiritual way to a blind animal? It seems like an argument that could be made. All those minutes given grudgingly when hours were called for, or the thoughtless participation in an activity that deserved prayerful preparation, could those stem in some way from the same attitude that led God's people in Malachi's day to bring their least valuable animals?

That's a scary thought, because God described that attitude as defiling his altar and showing contempt for him. I shy away from that, but it could be a fair way to describe what I do with what God has given me: use it primarily to make my own earthly life better.

This is a sin I need to repent of. This is a conviction I need to consider. It seems like it calls for some significant change, first of attitude and then of action. I hope I'm obedient enough to change.

old age

Old age isn't normally seen in our American culture as a blessing. Oh, we want all the years, we just don't want the sags and wrinkles and aches and pains that go with them. We have a multi-billion dollar industry of diet supplements and fitness programs and surgeries that panders to our desire to at least look younger than we actually are. 

I often tell of the time a friend asked, "Did you know growing that beard would make you look so old?" I asked, "How old do I look?" "Well, about 50 or so, I guess." I was 52 at the time, so I was OK with that. For this friend, though, a choice that made me actually look the age I am was incomprehensible.

I thought about that this morning while reading from Zechariah 8, especially verses 4 and 5, which read, "This is what the Lord Almighty says: 'Once again men and women of ripe old age will sit in the streets of Jerusalem, each of them with cane in hand because of their age. The city streets will be filled with boys and girls playing there.'"

It intrigues me that this vision of a heavenly future is described with these extremes of ages, old people and children. It's a reminder that in the world of Zechariah, and in many parts of the world today, getting to be an old man or woman wasn't all that likely. In times of hardship or conflict, it was the old who struggled to make it. Old people were among the first to die.

Old people with canes sitting at their doors watching children play was as good a description of peace and prosperity as there was at that time.

I like it that God uses ripe old age as a picture of his blessing. It validates something I've been thinking about off and on, that what comes with the years is a lot of context. Context is that general understanding of what life normally looks like; after five decades of watching winters and springs, for example, you develop a pretty good idea of what's normal weather and what isn't.

That context also develops for things like relationships, moral choices, financial questions, and cultural values. The word we use for it is wisdom, but I think even those we don't normally think of as wise are better able to navigate life when they're older because of they have more context.

I think that's becoming my superpower. Even as my run times get slower and push-ups get harder, and so does getting off the floor when I play with the grandkids, it seems like I understand more of what I see. I have a much strengthened ability to solve problems, I can more and more look at things through the other person's eyes. I feel like I understand people and can help them better. And I'm starting to make deeper spiritual connections as well.

So I love this image of heaven as the place where old people sit chatting in the streets. It's like this huge blanket of love and common sense that lies comfortingly on top of all the angst and drama that passionate younger people generate. God's kingdom is where all that context partners with the energy and enthusiasm of youth. 

So thank you, Lord, for your blessing of the senior citizens in our churches, families and neighborhoods. And thank you too for the superpower of understanding I gain with the years. It's more than a fair trade for a few aches and pains.

filthy robes

There's such an awesome picture of our salvation given us in Zechariah 3:1-4: "Then he showed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the Lord, and Satan standing at his right side to accuse him. The Lord said to Satan, 'The Lord rebuke you, Satan! The Lord, who has chosen Jerusalem, rebuke you! Is not this man a burning stick snatched from the fire?' Now Joshua was dressed in filthy clothes as he stood before the angel. The angel said to those who were standing before him, 'Take off his filthy clothes.' Then he said to Joshua, 'See, I have taken away your sin, and I will put fine garments on you.'"

Actually, there are two great images of Jesus's work in my life.

The first is this: "Is not this man a burning stick snatched from the fire?" What an amazing way to describe what happened to me! I was a doomed man, dead even if you believe Paul, just like a branch already thrown into the flame. I'd put myself there, right on the fire, with all of my bad choices and questionable actions. But just before I was going to be burned up, God pulled me away and extinguished the flames. He literally saved me from destruction, or more appropriately, maybe, self-destruction.

But then he did more. There's that second picture of Joshua with the dirty clothes, Joshua who stands in this vision representing all Christ's redeemed. Joshua, whose sin was peeled from him like a stinky shirt and who God promises instead to dress in the best possible wardrobe.

My life is saved. My sins aren't just removed, they're thrown away and forgotten. And in their place I get to wrap myself in Jesus' own righteousness. From now on, when God looks at me, he sees his son's robe and remembers that Jesus loves me so much he died for me. Because of that life isn't about guilt or longing anymore; life is all about love and goodness and the potential for even more.

I know it's another of those phrases used so often it almost means nothing, but this is a truly a wonder that never gets old. I'm well into middle age, I've been hearing the Gospel since I was a small boy, and it still brings tears to my eyes.

What did I do to deserve this? Nothing! What have I done in response? Not nearly enough. But none of that matters, because Jesus and the cross are sufficient to cover all of my flaws and omissions. 

Hallelujah! What a Savior!

no walls

Walls are different depending on which side you're standing. If you're inside the wall, it provides security and privacy. If you're outside, it excludes you or blocks you. That's why the topic of walls has moved from a point of political difference to a punchline. It kind of points up our varying opinions about people. Are strangers a threat, or are they like us?

It's interesting to me that when God sent the prophet Zechariah a vision of a young man measuring out the new Jerusalem, he included this from Zechariah 2:3-5:

"While the angel who was speaking to me was leaving, another angel came to meet him and said to him: 'Run, tell that young man, "Jerusalem will be a city without walls because of the great number of people and animals in it. And I myself will be a wall of fire around it," declares the Lord, "and I will be its glory within."'"

God didn't include a wall in his plans for a holy city. For one thing, I don't think he intended to keep out anyone who came seeking him. Second, if the city needed protection, God himself would be enough. And it seems he planned to have so many people (and animals - do all dogs really go to heaven?) there that a wall would be too confining.

In one way, that seems risky. What about all those people who aren't like me? The ones who don't agree with my Reformed doctrine. The ones who worship differently. The ones who talk weirdly and smell funny and come from strange places. Or the ones who talk just like me and come from down the street and believe exactly what I believe, but I don't really like them anyway. There are going to be a lot of those kind of people there.

On the other hand, there's no chance I'll be kept out of the city. No way someone else is going to decide I don't fit the ambience of this special place for the "Ins"; no way I can be labeled an "Out."

Because in his grace and mercy, out of his love for me, God already chose me. He called me to him, and he paid with his own blood the debt I owed him. God decided before I was born that I am an In. Me and everyone else who will come to the new Jerusalem. 

In the end, I guess, I'm not so much in favor of walls. I like God's inclusiveness; after all, he included me.

paneled houses

It's hard to evaluate your own sin, but it may be that my biggest downfall is my own self-centeredness. 

I thought about that this morning as I read the book of Haggai, because Haggai was sent to the people because they were focusing only on themselves.

Look at this, from Haggai 1:3-6 & 9: "Then the word of the Lord came through the prophet Haggai: 'Is it a time for you yourselves to be living in your paneled houses, while this house remains a ruin?' Now this is what the Lord Almighty says: 'Give careful thought to your ways. You have planted much, but harvested little. You eat, but never have enough. You drink, but never have your fill. You put on clothes, but are not warm. You earn wages, only to put them in a purse with holes in it. . . . You expected much, but see, it turned out to be little. What you brought home, I blew away. Why?' declares the Lord Almighty. 'Because of my house, which remains a ruin, while each of you is busy with your own house.'"

Well, actually, I am literally busy with my own house, since we just moved into a newly built home this year. But even figuratively, what a warning shot for me! 

I confess to sometimes getting caught up in the American Way, that ladder-climbing, stuff-accumulating, beauty-worshiping culture that says he who dies with the most toys, biggest bank account, and prettiest trophy spouse wins. I can spend a lot of effort building my own little empire, whether at work or home. 

And you have to be practical. I mean, there are plenty of people in our church who can do church ministry, but no one else is going to make sure my house is maintained and my family taken care of. If I don't take care of things at home, pretty soon we're just going to be a burden on other people.

That's not how God looks at it, though. He points out to his people through the prophet that he controls whether their work succeeds or fails. He provides. And when the people chose to ignore their relationship with him - letting the house of worship remain a ruin means gathering for worship wasn't happening either - he chose not to provide as a way of getting their attention back.

Am I living luxuriously in a paneled house while ministry happens slowly or not at all because there aren't people or resources to get it done? There are probably times when that is true. 

I wonder what my life would be like if I could turn that around. What if I were so involved in kingdom work that I didn't have time to sweep the garage? What if I gave so much money that I had to delay building my deck one more year?

My neighbors might wonder, but I bet I'd be happier.

shoulder to shoulder

I ran into another one of those cool word pictures this morning, reading in the book of Zephaniah. 

Zephaniah 3:9-10 says "Then I will purify the lips of the peoples, that all of them may call on the name of the lord and serve him shoulder to shoulder. From beyond the rivers of Cush my worshipers, my scattered people, will bring me offerings."

What I love about these two verses is the purpose statement caught in the five words "serve him shoulder to shoulder." That image of all of us working side-by-side in the garden, lifting side-by-side at the wall, fighting side-by-side at the gate, ministering side-by-side at the poorhouse, is such a beautiful thing. 

Not someone else charging out ahead and me running behind, just trying to keep up. Not me off doing one thing when most of my church is working on something else. Not the pastor doing the grown-up work while I get handed some minor chores within my puny skill set. No, serving shoulder to shoulder suggests not just a mutual willingness to work, but a lot of communication and attention given to each other and the goals of God's kingdom.

There's nothing here of competing for leadership, or of squabbling about which ministry should get more resources, or of being offended and looking for a new church. There's only this image of all our collective effort applied in harmony to the same work.

This is all enabled, Zephaniah says, by another common activity: all of us calling on the name of the Lord. With purified lips, in this prophesy all of God's people are focused back on God. That's the thing that lets us make our own identities and goals of lesser importance than what the church is doing.

It's a wonderful vision of the future, but it's also one of those things we can be doing right now. And I think the work is the outcome; the thing I should concentrate on doing is calling on God's name, both in praise for his goodness and equipping and in petition for strength and help in doing the work.

dumber than rocks

Drill Sergeants show a lot of creativity in their unceasing quest to find new ways to belittle recruits. In addition to the nuance of his pond scum metaphors - there was top-floating, bottom laying, and neutral-buoyancy scum, all with detailed, colorful descriptions - my Drill Sergeant compared us to various dense, weighty inanimate objects. We were stupid as a bag of hammers, or dumber than a box of rocks.

I thought back to those days when I read this morning from the book of Nahum, where the prophet wrote these words in 1:5-8: 

"The mountains quake before him

and the hills melt away.

The earth trembles at his presence,

the world and all who live in it.

Who can withstand his indignation?

Who can endure his fierce anger?

His wrath is poured out like fire;

the rocks are shattered before him.

"The Lord is good, a refuge in times of trouble.

He cares for those who trust in him,

but with an overwhelming flood

he will make an end of Nineveh;

he will pursue his foes into the realm of darkness."

Even mountains know enough to fear God; even rocks are shattered by his disappointment. This wonderful, good God who protects and cares for his people won't be patient forever. Eventually, as with Nineveh, he will make an end of those who continually offend him.

So when I do that, I really am dumber than rocks. That's how foolish it is to disobey, yet we do it anyway. Only humans have the arrogant stupidity to defy God, or to mock him.

So this morning I'm praying for wisdom. I don't want to be dumber than the hills and mountains. I want instead to take refuge in the One who Nahum says will take care of me if I only trust him. I want to remember that God only wants what's good for me, and that all he commands is just what I would choose anyway if I knew everything he knows. 

delighting in mercy

At work we talk a lot about customer delight, rather than satisfaction. The difference is that a satisfied customer got exactly what she expected, while a delighted one is pleased at something more or better. A satisfied customer will come back, but a delighted customer will tell other people.

Delight is closely related to joy, but there are connotations of pleasure and happiness, maybe a little eagerness.

That's why I'm always moved when I read Micah 7:18:

"Who is a God like you,

who pardons sin and forgives the transgression

of the remnant of his inheritance?

You do not stay angry forever

but delight to show mercy."

The world, all those people who don't know about God but think they do, have an image of a wrathful judge just looking for an excuse to hang someone. I know from personal experience the God of Micah, the God who pardons and forgives, the God who is always read to forget his anger. The God who delights in showing mercy.

That makes it sound like showing mercy is God's favorite thing, and it very well could be. But to think that judgment makes God sad but mercy delights him is just amazing. It doesn't make a lot of sense when I think of how casually I treat God, but it's the truth.

I think that's why God reveals himself to us as a father. It's easy to imagine a father's delight at giving something good to his son. When I read verses like this, I envision a beaming father eager to see the joy in my face when I realize what's in the gift he just gave me. 

What a shame that the world can't see the God who delights in mercy. On the other hand, maybe that's a charge to me. How will they see unless I show them?

look again

I can relate to Jonah.

Jonah messed up. When God gave him a job, he ran in the opposite direction, so God had to stop him, turn him around, and get him on his way to Nineveh. He did that, of course, with a big storm and three days in the belly of a fish.

While inside the fish, Jonah prayed. Part of his prayer is recorded in Jonah 2:4-7 

"I said, ‘I have been banished

from your sight;

yet I will look again

toward your holy temple.’

The engulfing waters threatened me,

the deep surrounded me;

seaweed was wrapped around my head.

To the roots of the mountains I sank down;

the earth beneath barred me in forever.

But you, Lord my God,

brought my life up from the pit.

When my life was ebbing away,

I remembered you, Lord,

and my prayer rose to you,

to your holy temple."

Jonah ran, Jonah was caught, and in the belly of the fish he looked again to God. That's what makes me relate to Jonah. Like Jonah I can be sure I know how God's kingdom should advance. Sometimes I'm so sure I'm right that I do the wrong thing.

But it's never because I lose faith in God, or want to break away from him. Always I find myself, like Jonah, looking back to God and saying, "I remember what it was like to be close to you, and I just want to get back there again. I'm in a mess of my own making, but I still trust you and I know you still love me, so here I am, looking to you to get me out again."

Sure, I look away sometimes when I don't like where God has me heading. But I always look again to God because I know that's where all the goodness of my life is.