heavy loads

I think there’s a thing I’ve done as a Christian, and sometime Christian leader, that I shouldn’t have. I’ve probably done the same thing as a dad and a boss: I’ve loaded people down with my expectations.

Here’s how Jesus put it, talking about the religious leaders in Matthew 23:4: “‘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.’”

That’s what we do as a church when we expect people to do things that Jesus never expected. When we expect perfect marriages, and strong biblical knowledge, and generous giving and selfless service, with a certain kind of wardrobe and behavior, all while being cheerful and unruffled and treating everyone with kindness and respect. From everyone, all of the time.

Frankly, we expect impossible things. We expect things from others that we don’t do ourselves. And when we do that, we make our religion impossible, and faith something that only angels can actually attain. It all becomes burdensome.

I don’t want to be that way. I want to give people permission to be who they really are. To be who I am: a struggling sinner who just wants to get more right today than I did yesterday.

verbal traps

 Today I read an amusing multi-part story about Jesus and the religious leaders of his day. The core of the story is found in a few brief phrases from Matthew 22:15 and 46: “Then the Pharisees went out and laid plans to trap him in his words. . . . No one could say a word in reply, and from that day on no one dared to ask him any more questions.”

In the 31 verses in between the Pharisees and Saducees did their best to trip Jesus up. They tried words and logic, false and true, all intended as snares, and Jesus turned every one against them.

I’m sure there are some deep theological lessons embedded in Matthew 22, but what I saw this morning were a few human truths. First, Jesus didn’t react like we might want him to. He, to use a hackneyed phrase, met the religious leaders where they were. He debated them calmly and level headedly. Unlike our social media heroes and favorite media talking heads, he didn’t “destroy” anyone, or “shut them down.” He didn’t say, “Boom!” or pantomime a mic drop. He didn’t humiliate or degrade. And there’s no record that he looked around to enjoy the snickers and affirming grins of his tribe. He simply took on their questions and arguments and countered them with truth, and left it at that.

Even so, they feared him. That can only be, I think, because they couldn’t see him as anything but an adversary. How sad! Instead of being won by the truth, instead of being attracted to the truth-teller, they came to see both as threatening.

There seem to me to be some key points here relating to my own relationship with the truth. It’s certainly worth taking more time to think about.

we don’t know

Jesus was teaching in Jerusalem, and the religious leaders challenged him. Specifically, they challenged his authority to teach. And then came this fascinating exchange, recorded in Matthew 21: 24-27:

“Jesus replied,‘I will also ask you one question. If you answer me, I will tell you by what authority I am doing these things. John’s baptism—where did it come from? Was it from heaven, or of human origin?’
“They discussed it among themselves and said,‘If we say, “From heaven,” he will ask, “Then why didn’t you believe him?” But if we say, “Of human origin”—we are afraid of the people, for they all hold that John was a prophet.’
“So they answered Jesus, ‘We don’t know.’”

Isn’t it interesting that the leaders didn’t just answer the question? I mean, there was a fixed answer. They believed one thing or another. But they didn’t just say what they thought. They didn’t give an honest response.

Instead, they considered possible answers they could give, evaluated the advantages and disadvantages, and then gave a non-answer. In effect, they looked at the conversation as something to win, saw they couldn’t, and backed out.

I said this was fascinating, and to me it is because it reflects so accurately the way so many conversations go. We don’t answer honestly what we think about immigration or the tax law; we give the answer that best serves the interests of our tribe. We don’t say what’s really in our hearts regarding our or other people’s sin, but instead avoid conflict. We don’t tell the truth about what we do, but instead exaggerate our contributions and gloss over our failures.

In so many ways, we’re like the Pharisees and Saducees -we’ve forgotten how to tell the truth. In fact, we often don’t even think about truth, we say the things that get us what we want. If we’re for something, we refuse to acknowledge anything bad about it. And when we’re opposed to something, we can’t see any possibility for good in it.

Jesus gave the Jewish leaders a chance to show that they could accept or give a truthful answer, and they proved they couldn’t. Yet he’s given me the answer he refused them; I know where Jesus’ authority came from. And by that authority he commanded me to promote unity. In light of that truth, do I do any better?

unfair

The problem I have with grace is that it isn’t fair.

I was baptized as an infant, made profession of faith as a young adult, and have been an active church member ever since. I’m diligent in my devotions and intentionally work to integrate my faith with the things I actually do day to day.

And yet, Harvey Weinstein, the serial rapist, has access to the same grace I do. Jesus will forgive Larry Nasser, the doctor who molested 140 young girls, if Nasser repents. Adolph Hitler, Saddam Hussein, the Las Vegas shooter, any ISIS commander - none of them is beyond the redemptive power of Jesus blood.

I don’t like that. I want to think that heaven will be full of people I admire and free of those I abhor.
But Jesus, in Matthew 20, says the kingdom of heaven is like a vineyard owner who hires workers throughout the day, but pays them all the same. Look at verses 13-16, Jesus’ response to “It’s not fair!”

“‘But he answered one of them, “I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the one who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?”
“‘So the last will be first, and the first will be last.’”

The fact is, compared to Jesus my soul is as black as anybody’s - my arrogant attitude toward others’ sins proves that. Far from being resentful that Jesus includes other sinners, I should be grateful that he included me.

who then?

I read again this morning Jesus’ teaching to the disciples that it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven - you can read it Matthew 19. The nub of this teaching moment is this, from verses 25 and 26:

“When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and asked,‘Who then can be saved?’
Jesus looked at them and said,‘With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.’”

Why were the disciples astonished? Was it because rich people had the resources to do whatever they want? Rich people were the healthiest and best fed, and they had the best tools and equipment. They could hire help. If they couldn’t get something done, then who could?

It’s a very familiar passage, but it’s also a good reminder that we can’t save ourselves. Being healthy and strong won’t do it. Being strong willed won’t either, nor is there a technology that can help us. The fact is, we know everything we have to do for salvation, but it’s completely beyond our capability. We’re un-save-able.

Except God found a way. That’s the core of the good news: God wanted to save us and he send Jesus to do what we couldn’t. He gave that much for us.

And here’s the good news I always cling to: since I couldn’t save myself, I don’t think I can un-save myself either. Oh, I have my struggles still, but I don’t think God will ever let go of me. Especially considering what he paid for me.

forgiveness

Matthew 18:21-22: “Then Peter came to Jesus and asked,‘Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?’
Jesus answered, ‘I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.’”

Peter’s like me - he wants to know the minimum standard. When he says, “How many times should I forgive,” what he really means is “How many times do I have to?” I tend to take the same approach to forgiveness that I do to discipline at work: one free pass and then it’s on to the punitive steps.
Jesus, on the other hand, puts no limits on forgiveness. Instead, he turns things around and suggests that we should forgive other people the way we want him to forgive us.

Would I like it if Jesus forgave me like I forgive others? No, I wouldn’t. Rather than assuming my motives are bad, I’d like him to see my good intentions. Rather than thinking I’m too dumb to get it, I’d like him to see that I don’t know everything he knows so sometimes I get it wrong. Rather than drop the hammer, I hope he musters grace and forgiveness. Rather than giving up on me, I want him to be patient.

If that’s how I want to be forgiven, it seems I have some changes to make in how I forgive others. Even the dumb ones, the angry and malicious ones, the ones who oppose my opinions, the ones who are just plain wrong. Because, after all, they’re just like me.

no offense

The next time I’m tempted to stand on my rights, I hope I remember this story from Matthew 17:23-27:

“After Jesus and his disciples arrived in Capernaum, the collectors of the two-drachma temple tax came to Peter and asked,‘Doesn’t your teacher pay the temple tax?’
“‘Yes, he does,’ he replied.
“When Peter came into the house, Jesus was the first to speak.’What do you think, Simon?’ he asked.’From whom do the kings of the earth collect duty and taxes —from their own children or from others?’
“‘From others,’ Peter answered.
“‘Then the children are exempt,’ Jesus said to him.’But so that we may not cause offense, go to the lake and throw out your line. Take the first fish you catch; open its mouth and you will find a four-drachma coin. Take it and give it to them for my tax and yours.’”

Jesus didn’t have to pay the temple tax, because the temple tax was collected for God’s work - it was collected for him. But he did anyway, and the reason is one we all need to see and take to heart: he didn’t want to cause offense.

Take a minute and think about that. Even though Jesus was right, he refused to stand on his rights because he didn’t want to offend. That seems almost un-American. We not only insist on every bit of each and every one of our rights, but we also don’t typically care who we offend. In fact, we sometimes seem to take great glee in watching our tribe poke everyone else.

“So that we may not cause offense . . . .” This is a good thing to remember the next time we want to ask, “What would Jesus do?”

signs

There’s a story, probably not true, about a professor who overtly tries to discourage belief in God by dropping a piece of chalk. He challenges God to keep the chalk from breaking, and then uses the broken chalk as proof God doesn’t exist.

It’s a common theme: unbelievers challenge Good to prove himself. And God only does it in the fables we tell. I know why. I read it this morning in Matthew 16:1-4:

“The Pharisees and Sadducees came to Jesus and tested him by asking him to show them a sign from heaven.
“He replied,‘When evening comes, you say, “It will be fair weather, for the sky is red,” and in the morning, “Today it will be stormy, for the sky is red and overcast.” You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot interpret the signs of the times. A wicked and adulterous generation looks for a sign, but none will be given it except the sign of Jonah.’ Jesus then left them and went away.”

Jesus’ words were situational, meant specifically for the Jewish leaders of that day, but God does not change. What he says in the Old Testament is completely consistent with everything he does and says in the New Testament, and in our lives today.

So I don’t think God is ever going to respond to arrogant atheists and humanist by giving them a sign. He’s already given them scripture, and his church, and the sign of Jonah. As we used to say in the infantry, doom on them if they can’t see it.

blind guides

One Sunday years ago I was out of town, and went to worship with a local church. Seated in the sanctuary, I watched three college-aged boys come in and take their seats a couple rows down. They were neatly dressed in blue jeans and crew-collar shirts; one and sunglasses on the top of his head, another a hoodie with arms tied around his waist. They were smiling and chatting as they flipped through the bulletin and found the sermon passage in the Bibles they carried in.

After just a moment, though, a gentleman in his forties in a suit and tie walked up and told the boy to get those sunglasses off his head, and to show more respect. The boys’ smiles quickly vanished and they slumped silently in their seats, waiting for the service to start.

That vivid memory returned as I read Matthew 15 this morning, specifically the first three verses: “Then some Pharisees and teachers of the law came to Jesus from Jerusalem and asked, ‘Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? They don’t wash their hands before they eat!’ Jesus replied, ‘And why do you break the command of God for the sake of your tradition?’”

Why, indeed, do we break God’s command defending our traditions? I don’t know, but it happens so easily, especially when tradition and our comfortable preferences are the same thing. I don’t know if I can consistently get myself to ask in those situations, “What does God command regarding this?” I don’t know if I can, but I think it might be eye-opening if I did.

Jesus called the Pharisees “blind guides.” That’s what I am whenever I teach someone that my tradition is what must be followed.

solitary place

This morning I made a connection that I hadn’t before. It may not be new to you, but I never realized that the beheading of John the Baptist and the feeding of the five thousand were linked.

Here’s the gist of it, from Matthew 14:11-13: “His (John’s) head was brought in on a platter and given to the girl, who carried it to her mother. John’s disciples came and took his body and buried it. Then they went and told Jesus.
“When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns.”

It’s that point of linkage that hit me this morning. Jesus, hearing of John’s death, went away to be by himself. Matthew doesn’t specifically say so, but I think he went to do what we all do when we get really bad news. He went to process, and to grieve. It seems so human, so like us. It’s a word of comfort to all of us when we mourn, because Jesus knows exactly what we’re feeling.

Unfortunately, as so often happens when we mourn, the world wouldn’t leave Jesus in his grief. The crowds followed him, got stuck without food, and Jesus had compassion.

Still, this brief account of Jesus needing to get away makes him seem closer. Truly he has already walked my walk.

weeds and wickedness

It’s a question that’s been asked a lot in my lifetime, and is being asked publicly and frequently in these past few months: why does God permit evil men and women to do what they do? Why doesn’t he just strike them down?

It’s a question that resonates because we’re trying to make sense of some bad stuff. We’re trying to understand all the stories of predation and victimization that we read. We’re trying to grasp the reality behind the images of wounded and starving children that we see. We’re struggling with the hate we hear on the airwaves. It’s just so hard to understand why people treat other people the way they do.

Today I read several parables of Jesus, in Matthew 13, and I was struck again by this confounding truth: God’s mercy and and love for his people are the reason he tolerates evil.

There’s a story Jesus told about a farmer whose field sprouted full of weeds because an enemy came in the night and strewed bad seeds in his newly planted field. His field hands wanted to pull the weeds, but the farmer said this, in verses  29-30: “‘“No,” he answered, “because while you are pulling the weeds, you may uproot the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest. At that time I will tell the harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into my barn.”’”

So here’s the truth about the serial rapists and child abusers and alt-right (or alt-left) hate-mongers and greedy hoarding profiteers: God’s anger at their evil will one day see them punished. But his love for his people will delay that day until he can get all of his own safety gathered. God won’t risk the soul of one of his chosen just to rush his judgment on the wicked.

That doesn’t mean that wickedness isn’t going to cause pain. But it’s in the pain and wrestling of this world that we work out our faith. It’s in our relationships with other people that we prove our Christlikeness, especially in the face of badness. God will walk us through it, and when the time is right evil will burn.

good Sundays

When I was a young man, my denomination was seriously debating what we could do on Sunday. We were emerging from a period of strict observance, when the Sabbath was a day for worship, naps and visiting relatives but not much else. People were pushing back a bit, wanting enjoy recreation and leisure as part of their day of rest. These days this isn’t much of a topic anymore, and things that would have made my grandparents cringe are commonplace.

I was prompted to think again about these things by this short passage from Matthew 12:9-13: “Going on from that place, he went into their synagogue, and a man with a shriveled hand was there. Looking for a reason to bring charges against Jesus, they asked him,‘Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?’
“He said to them,‘If any of you has a sheep and it falls into a pit on the Sabbath, will you not take hold of it and lift it out? How much more valuable is a person than a sheep! Therefore it is lawful to do good on the Sabbath.’
“Then he said to the man,‘Stretch out your hand.’ So he stretched it out and it was completely restored, just as sound as the other. But the Pharisees went out and plotted how they might kill Jesus.”

Note how the Pharisees in this passage really weren’t concerned about the crippled man, or about doing good, or about pleasing God. Their Sabbaths were legalistic rule-following, and the best rule-followers were deemed the most godly. In fact, Matthew states a clear motive: they wanted to trip Jesus up.

It makes me remember all the arguments about Sunday activity that were and are grounded mostly in personal preference. I remember one person who was very vocal about the inappropriateness of church meetings on Sunday, for example, but who spent most of her Sunday afternoons at the mall.

Matthew suggests a pretty simple test for Sundays: what things are good? What things are focused on helping others with their needs, or helping them be better Jesus-followers? Instead of thinking about what would make a nice day for me, Sunday should probably be the day I think about myself the least.

raiders

Reading in Matthew today, I ran across a verse that had me scratching my head. That happens sometimes; I used to just move on, but now I want to understand. I don’t like not getting part of the Bible I don’t get, because all of it is stuff God has revealed so I can live effectively.

Here’s the verse, words spoken by Jesus and recorded in Matthew 11:12: “‘From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven has been subjected to violence, and violent people have been raiding it.’”

I spent some time wondering what it meant that violent people had been raiding God’s kingdom. “Raid” is a very specific word to an infantry officer; it’s an offensive military operation in which forces attack enemy territory and resources, do damage, and pull back. In a raid, the attacker never intends to hold territory or fight the main strength of the enemy. Instead, raids are done to gain resources and harass the enemy.

With that specific context in mind, here’s how I read this verse: when John began proclaiming the imminent arrival of Jesus, the Jewish leaders had a choice. They could believe John, and repent and prepare. Or they could dig in and protect their positions of prominence and privilege. Many of them made the second choice, one that led to suppression of Jesus’ followers and eventually crucifixion of Jesus himself. These raiders on the kingdom of heaven never meant to live there, they wanted to plunder it for their own comfort during their earthly lives.

There’s more to this verse than that, but my reading is consistent with the general meaning I glean from study Bible notes and commentaries. And it brings up an interesting question: how do Christians these days do violence to the kingdom for their own purposes. Do we appropriate the gospel to help us gain political power? Do we subvert the message to transfer money from other people's’ pockets to ours? Do we seek influence in the church as a way of increasing our own personal prominence?

However we might do it, I think Matthew 11:12 is a warning that Jesus is attentive to what we do in his territory. He doesn’t approve of violence or raiding; he desires homesteaders, the ones who intend to put down roots and bear fruits.

lost sheep

This morning I’m thinking about how Jesus sees the church, and I’m deciding that there are some key ways that he sees it differently than I do.

These thoughts were prompted by the first part of Matthew 10, where Jesus sends his disciples out to spread the Gospel. I was struck by verses 5-7: “These twelve Jesus sent out with the following instructions: ‘Do not go among the Gentiles or enter any town of the Samaritans. Go rather to the lost sheep of Israel. As you go, proclaim this message: “The kingdom of heaven has come near.”’”

I got to thinking about where Jesus sent his disciples. For now, the Gentiles and Samaritans will have to wait. They’ll get their turn - Peter will go to the Gentiles and Philip to the Samaritans. But for now, Jesus is focused on the ones he calls the lost sheep of Israel.

Here’s the thing - these are the sheep, not the goats. They’re the Jews, the children of the covenant, the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. They’re God-fearers. And yet they need to hear the good news.

Jesus’ first priority was for those of his own faith who weren’t quite getting it. In other words, there are those who have already heard the word and accepted it who are struggling to live obedient lives. Their circumstances, or the lies Satan tells, make it difficult. And Jesus tends to them first.

Outreach is necessary, but there are those in our churches every Sunday morning who are lost sheep. We have to make sure in our enthusiasm for spreading the Gospel that we don’t leave our own wounded behind.

compassion

I’m not a big fan of crowds. I like space around me, and I don’t like all the noise - crowds often overstimulate me. On top of that, people are often at their worst in crowds. Our impatience comes out quickly when we’re competing with or waiting for other people.

I learned at a workshop a number of years ago to pray to see the world, and especially to see people, as Jesus sees them. I pray that prayer regularly, and today it convicted me, because of my attitude towards crowds and because of this verse, Matthew 9:36: “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.”

Jesus looks at all the people swarming through Walmart or the mall or bunched up at the concession stand or waiting at the intersection. He sees these people that I think are inconveniences at best and willfully stupid when my temper gets frayed, and he sees victims. He sees the ones the world scorns and Satan lies to. He sees his image-bearers who are struggling to live obediently.

His response to what he sees is this: he has compassion. That seems to be the inescapable conclusion of my pondering this morning. If I want to treat people as Jesus treats them - treats me - then I need to feel not frustration, not contempt, not impatience, but compassion.

under orders

I’m reading this morning about Jesus’ encounter with the centurion. Here it is, from Matthew 8:5-13:

“When Jesus had entered Capernaum, a centurion came to him, asking for help. ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘my servant lies at home paralyzed, suffering terribly.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Shall I come and heal him?’ The centurion replied, ‘Lord, I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I myself am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. I tell this one, “Go,” and he goes; and that one, “Come,” and he comes. I say to my servant, “Do this,” and he does it.’”

“When Jesus heard this, he was amazed and said to those following him, ‘Truly I tell you, I have not found anyone in Israel with such great faith. I say to you that many will come from the east and the west, and will take their places at the feast with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven. But the subjects of the kingdom will be thrown outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

“Then Jesus said to the centurion, ‘Go! Let it be done just as you believed it would.’ And his servant was healed at that moment.”

I remember when I too was a man under authority, with soldiers under me. I remember the weight that orders had. Not following orders wasn’t just a bad idea. It wasn’t just a relational problem with your superiors, or a threat to your job. It was criminal. It was a violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, punishable by anything from loss of pay or rank to imprisonment. That’s the context I always have for this passage: Jesus’s complete control of the situation, understood by a man given complete control of his unit.

This morning, though, I’m haunted by another thing. I’m still under authority - Jesus’ authority - and I have my orders. “These commands I give you,” Jesus said, and then he gave orders like care for the widow and orphan, spread the good news, be holy as I am holy. Stuff like that.

I wonder how I, as a former military man, can regard these orders so casually. Oh, I’m not ignoring them (well, some days I might be). But I’m taking my sweet time on them. I’m working on them when I’m not busy with other things.

I wonder how my life would change if I obeyed Jesus with the same focus and urgency as I used to obey military orders. A lot, I bet.

obedience

Matthew 7:21: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.”

If you’ll forgive me a little bit of cynicism, my first thought on reading this verse was that there’s been a lot of “Lord, Lord-ing” in our public life lately. Many of us, occasionally including me, have been quick to proclaim a special knowledge of God’s will as it pertains to voting, health care, immigrants, taxes, flags and our national anthem. We confidently align our party and our positions with the needs of God’s kingdom, which, of course, means anyone opposing us must not want God’s work to advance. It’s the reason “evangelical” has become more of a political term than a religious one.

I confess that, while I’ve tried to keep my public comments measured and reasonable, in private I’ve sometimes been as confidently outspoken as anyone. Today, I ashamed to remember some of the things I said.

I’m even more ashamed of the fact that I haven’t done much about the issues I proclaim to know so much about. I haven’t befriended any immigrants, or donated to immigrant relief or resettlement agencies. I haven’t sought out any indigent people unable to pay for their own medical care. I haven’t assisted homeless veterans or worked to ease the concerns of minority communities. I give to and work for other things, but not the ones I argue about.

Jesus was very plain in his words: he won’t care at all what positions I took or even if I did mighty works in his name. If I don’t do his will, he’s going to turn his back on me. There’s only one valid test for the worthiness of what I say and do: is it obedient? Even good works done for disobedient motives won’t count for anything.

It’s a sobering thought, and a challenging one.

forgiving

I think I’m a pretty forgiving person. I have good relationships with a number of former enemies. I’ve forgotten about debts and overlooked slights and disrespect. I haven’t always done it easily, but I’ve been able to talk myself into it.

So I normally feel pretty good when I read Matthew 6:14-15: “For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”

But today, when I read these verses, a voice asks, “Yes, but are you willing to forgive the people who voted the wrong way? Will you forgive the ones who support different laws than you want, or have different political viewpoints?”

But the voice doesn’t stop there. “Will you forgive the people you think aren’t contributing to society, but are taking instead? Will you acknowledge that maybe there’s nothing to forgive, that they’ve done nothing wrong, and you should be asking for their forgiveness instead?”

“Will you forgive the people who dared to laugh at your ideas and arguments? The ones who made your faith look like superstitious nonsense?”

It turns out there are a lot of people I haven’t forgiven yet. But Matthew points out that if I want forgiveness, I have to be willing to give it. I have to be willing to forgive. Am I?

blessed?

The Beatitudes are one of those passages that make me feel good at first, and then worse the longer I think about them.

To refresh your memory, here they are, from Matthew 5:3-10:
“‘Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’”

These are the actual words of Jesus, in red if you’re reading a red-letter edition, and they’re reassuring for all of the non-elites in the world. It makes me feel good to think the meek and poor in spirit and those who are mourning, and all these others, have a special blessing from Jesus. It kind of makes up for the hard knocks they get in this life. I want to see myself in this list, as I suspect most Christians do.

But then, as I ponder, I realize that no one who knows me would call me meek. I’m pretty free to assert myself. I consider myself merciful, and a peacemaker, but a co-worker just accused me of being adversarial, and another said I have a reputation for showing a low tolerance for nonsense.

Worst of all, I can think of very few times, and none of them recent, when I was persecuted because of righteousness. Any persecution coming my way has been well-earned by my own actions. And maybe that’s because another of these categories doesn’t apply as well as I’d like it to: do I really hunger and thirst for righteousness? I want it, but hunger and thirst? When I crave food or water, nothing else gets in my way. Nothing gets a higher priority, or more focus or effort. Is that how I am about my righteousness?

I want the blessings described in the Beatitudes. Do I want them enough to be the kind of person who receives them?

three-fold ministry

Jesus emerged in public at his baptism, went into the wilderness for his fasting and trial, and when he came out, John the Baptist was in prison. So Jesus, fulfilling prophecy, went to Capernaum, the home of Simon and Andrew, whom he called to be disciples. There he began his ministry, and this is how he did it, from Matthew 4:23:

“Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and healing every disease and sickness among the people.”

Probably basing himself in Simon Peter’s house, Jesus launched a ministry of three parts. He preached a message of repentance and hope everywhere he went - this is making converts. He taught in the synagogues - this is discipling followers. And he healed the sick - a ministry of care and mercy.

It strikes me that, since the church is here on earth to continue the work of Jesus until he comes again, that these three things must be the work of the church. And they should be my work too. As I go about the life Jesus has brought me to, I should look for those opportunities to win people to Jesus. I should freely teach, coach and mentor believers with less experience than I have. And I should care for those who need my help.

Doing those things would be a very adequate answer to the question, “What would Jesus do?” Because it’s exactly what he did.

harvest workers

I suppose there are some lazy farmers, but I don’t know any. I certainly don’t know any farmers who appreciate lazy farm hands. My grandpa farmed his whole life, and the highest compliment he could give a person was, “He’s a hard worker.” My only direct experience was walking beans and caging chickens for pocket money, but my sluggard middle-school town-kid pace earned more than one tongue-lashing.

I thought of that this morning as I read these familiar verses from Matthew 3:11-12: “‘I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me comes one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire.’”

Jesus came for the harvest, and he commissioned harvest workers. But how many of us show up every day and put in a full day’s work in the harvest field? I can imagine Jesus standing there with his hands on his hips, turning a slow circle, wondering where that lazy worker ran off to this time. If Jesus’ standards are anywhere close to those of a Dutch Calvinist, then what I’ve earned by my efforts is a good chewing-out.

Fortunately, I think Jesus might be more benevolent than that, but just because he doesn’t readily voice his disappointment, that doesn’t mean I haven’t let him down.

I know the harvest doesn’t depend on me. I also know that Jesus asks us to participate as a mark of our love for him - that’s what obedience means. I want to think I love him more than my participation might indicate. Maybe it’s time that that desire becomes more important than the other things I desire.

temptation

There are some things I want. I’d like to be healthier, for example, and I’d like more time for my hobbies.

There are probably more things I don’t want. I don’t want to be on jury duty - I am for the next two months. I don’t want to have to deal with drama. I’m tired of being forced to confront complicated issues that don’t directly affect me.

This morning, I’m thinking it would be good to be very careful about my wants. Matthew 4:2 tells me this about the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness: “After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.”

It strikes me that Satan uses my wants to tempt me; in fact, that may be a primary way. He thought he saw an opportunity with Jesus; after 40 days without food, surely Jesus would desperately want some bread. Surely he’d want it enough to sin for it.

James 1:13-15 says, “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.”

My desires become evil when they take me farther from God. For Jesus, there was nothing wrong with wanting bread, just in wanting to take a shortcut to get it. God had a plan to feed Jesus and wanted Jesus to trust him. In the same way, my best desires can be twisted to tempt me. My desire to be healthy can tempt me to sacrifice relationships to spend time in the gym. My wish for a drama-free life could cause me to turn my back on friends who need me. Wanting not to serve on a jury could lead me to lie during selection.

That’s one reason Jesus wasn’t snared by the tempter’s lies: he wanted most of all to do God’s will. Maybe when that’s the single, dominant focus of my life I won’t struggle as much either.

resolutions

Happy New Year! Here we are again, on the first day of the first month of a brand new year. In some ways, nothing is different from yesterday; the calendar is a convenient way of marking time, that’s all. Even so, this still feels like a fresh start. Maybe we can make this year a better one than last year.

That’s what New Year’s resolutions are all about. We make them because we genuinely want to do better. I’m not much for resolutions, but I am a goal-setter. To me, the difference is that my goals are usually longer term than just a year, and I look at my goals and set intermediate goals all through the year, not just at New Year’s. But I do it the first month of each quarter, so now’s the time.

This year, as I was working on a sermon about the temptation of Jesus, I was struck by Matthew 4:1: “Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.” in the context of resolutions and goal-setting, it seemed significant.

Immediately preceding this verse in the account of Matthew, Jesus was baptised. The Spirit descended on him like a dove, and God’s voice from heaven announced Jesus as His son. Jesus was starting on his public ministry. It was a time for plans. It was a time for strategy. It was a time for action.

It was also a time to follow the Spirit. We are given the Spirit to equip us for life, for decision-making, for good judgment. The Spirit helps us understand how God thinks, and what we should do. And the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness for an encounter with the devil. Despite what men might think, that was the next, most important thing for Jesus. And Jesus, the only truly holy man, followed the Holy Spirit on this seeming diversion. By doing so, he would strengthen his relationship with his father, prepare for his mission, and endure what every man in history has endured. It would be a key time for his walk on earth.

If Jesus was attentive to the Spirit, I want to be too. This year, I want to do goal-setting with a new twist. I’ll try to take time to seek counsel from my Counselor. I’ll ask for and listen to his input as often as I can - daily, I hope. I’m sure it’s the best foundation for successful goal achievement.