counter-measures

It’s hard to believe that this world isn’t going to go on forever. After all, it’s been around forever, at least relative to my existence. Intellectually I get that there’s an ending coming, but honestly I expect this old earth to still be here when I die. I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about what happens if it doesn’t.

I should, because being diverted by today may be exactly what the Devil is counting on. I know Jesus warns against it. Look at this, from Luke 21:34: 

“Be careful, or your hearts will be weighed down with carousing, drunkenness and the anxieties of life, and that day will close on you suddenly like a trap.”

As that last day approaches, inexorably and at God’s pace, life, or maybe Satan, comes at us with the things that look like fun and the things that look scary. “Hey, look at this! This is what you should be focused on.” All of our pastimes and the things we do to medicate our hurts and the things that keep us awake at night act as misdirection, like a magician’s sleight of hand. All the while, we’re diverted from preparing for our eternal destiny, all that’s left for us when death or the end of the world comes to us. And Jesus, comparing it to a trap snapping shut, seems to think it will take us by surprise.

Be careful, he says. Be aware that this is our tendency. Be aware of the risk.

In the Army we talked a lot about counter-measures. Active counter-measures were the things we did to push back against the bad thing. Passive counter-measures were the safeguards we put in place to keep it from surprising us. Between them, these two kinds of counter-measures were how we protected against risk.

Maybe that’s a helpful way to look at this threat. Maybe we could use our devotions and prayers and other things like Christian music or godly friends to keep us spiritually sensitive to this temptation - those would be good passive countermeasures. And maybe we could look at daily disciplines like taking all of our pains and celebrations to the foot of the cross as petitions and praise as active countermeasures that resist our tendency to live these moments apart from God.

There are other ways, of course. But somehow, we have to figure out what it means for us to be careful that we’re not trapped with hearts weighed down by worldly considerations when Jesus comes again.

control bias and over-thinking

I want to dislike the Jewish religious leaders, but honestly I see too much of us in them.

This morning I read Luke 20, and was immediately struck by this interchange between the teachers of the law and chief priests and Jesus, recorded in verses 2-8: 

“‘Tell us by what authority you are doing these things,’ they said. ‘Who gave you this authority?’

“He replied, ‘I will also ask you a question. Tell me: John’s baptism —was it from heaven, or of human origin?’

“They discussed it among themselves and said, ‘If we say, “From heaven,” he will ask, “Why didn’t you believe him?” But if we say, “Of human origin,” all the people will stone us, because they are persuaded that John was a prophet.’

“So they answered, ‘We don’t know where it was from.’

“Jesus said, ‘Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.’”

Isn’t this a classic case of control bias (favoring courses of action that keep us in control) and over-thinking? Expecting an honest answer from Jesus, they carefully calculate all the potential outcomes of their own response; instead of instinctive honesty they dissemble and as a result compromise both themselves and their opportunity of being answered by Jesus.

More than that, their suspicion may have caused them to miss a clear hint, Jesus’ help in getting them to see the truth. One way of reading this passage is that Jesus wasn’t ready to tell them on whose authority he was acting; it wasn’t time yet, so he used a trick he knew would derail them. 

This morning I’m inclined to think that the two questions, the one they asked Jesus and the one Jesus asked them, are related. That a discerning answer regarding the heavenly origin of John’s baptism would shed light on the question of Jesus’ authority. Those two things were linked in prophecy for centuries before they were fulfilled in fact with the birth of these two men.

Finding that link, predicted through prophecy and forged hard in the desert, would have gone a long way toward enabling these religious leaders to see God at work. But their inward focus and  attention to power plays blinded them to the amazing, glorious reality that they were privileged to witness.

Do we sometimes miss God at work because we’re too focused on the impacts on our petty church politics or family dynamics? Can our control bias and over-thinking cause us to be left behind as Jesus moves ahead? 

I think they could. I pray we won’t let them.

molehills and mountains

Sometimes I think we’re more guilty of making molehills out of mountains than the opposite. Our skills at rationalization and our tendency to justify things we want make it easy to reduce a significant requirement to something simple.

When we do that, we’re just like the religious leaders of Jesus’ time. Matthew 23:23 is part of a long tirade he made against that group: 

“‘Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of your spices—mint, dill and cumin. But you have neglected the more important matters of the law—justice, mercy and faithfulness. You should have practiced the latter, without neglecting the former.’”

Note that what the Pharisees did wasn’t bad - they gave a fair tithe out of their spices. But they took that small act of obedience and offered it as evidence of their devout faithfulness, all the while ignoring the fundamental requirements of the covenant.

Lest you think this was a new idea, take a look at Micah, especially Micah 6:8, in which God reminded his people through the prophet that this contract between them called for justice, mercy and faithfulness. In fact, Micah built a detailed case that God’s people had become so legalistic that they thought their meager tithes justified all kinds of abuses against the vulnerable.

That’s what we do, isn’t it? We point to our church attendance and giving record and Sunday School participation as evidence of our piety, and then go on to skewer rivals and rend reputations with our poison tongues. We cheat customers or partners and blindly ignore the needy at the same time as we demand every penny of cash and second of time and iota of attention we think we deserve.

God is clear throughout scripture: unless we do justice (work to ensure that everyone gets what’s fair) and love mercy (give people more than is fair, and give up our right to what’s owed us) and live faithfully (that’s the humble walk with God), nothing we do in God’s name counts for much.

Justice, mercy and faithfulness are the mountain we climb as disciples. Let’s not be satisfied with crowing from the top of the little molehills of our tithes and attendance.

rejected

What happens to the ones who kill God’s son? Jesus tells us, in a parable about some tenant vintners who rebel against the landowner, and end up killing his heir, with the outcome in Mark 12:9-11: 

“‘What then will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and kill those tenants and give the vineyard to others. Haven’t you read this passage of Scripture:

“‘“The stone the builders rejected

has become the cornerstone;

the Lord has done this,

and it is marvelous in our eyes”’?”

Of course we know who killed Jesus when he lived on earth, but note the connection between the parable (killing the master’s son) and the prophecy (rejecting the cornerstone). Could God be telling us that there isn’t a functional difference between rejecting Jesus and killing him?

Because you could make a case that rejections of Jesus come more often than we want to think. In fact, any time we think our own ideas trump what we read in scripture, that’s a rejection. It’s a way of saying, “You don’t get to tell me how to live my life.”

That’s why there’s so much at stake in our choices. How we use our money and our time, how we treat strangers and invest in our relationships, all these things are reflections of our acceptance or rejection of Jesus. The measurement is simple: do we obey?

It’s discouraging sometimes how the things we want to do, the things that look like they’ll help us the most, become choices with this kind of consequence. It’s encouraging, though, how more and more we’re able to make good choices, ones that honor Jesus. God’s grace is enough to both strengthen us and cover us when we get it wrong.

what is Caesar’s

The Mueller Report has been submitted and you know what? It doesn’t matter. Whether you were hoping it would hang President Trump or vindicate him, you’ll probably pull something you like from it, but it still doesn’t matter. President Obama couldn’t bring us hope and change for the same reason President Trump won’t make America great again: the president doesn’t control our destiny. 

It’s so easy for our patriotism and faith to blend into a kind of religious nationalism, in part because Jesus himself pointed out the importance of government. We’re told in scripture to show due respect to civil authorities regardless of their faith, because our government is what provides order and enables us to live relatively free and structured lives. 

One of the more famous instances is in Matthew 22:17-21. The Pharisees confronted Jesus: 

“”Tell us then, what is your opinion? Is it right to pay the imperial tax to Caesar or not?’

“But Jesus, knowing their evil intent, said, ‘You hypocrites, why are you trying to trap me? Show me the coin used for paying the tax.’ They brought him a denarius, and he asked them, ‘Whose image is this? And whose inscription?’

“‘Caesar’s,’they replied.

“Then he said to them, ‘So give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.’”

What is Caesar’s? The God-given authority to govern, to include passing the laws and collecting the taxes needed to provide for a civil society. What isn’t Caesar’s? The faith and trust adoration that is due to God alone.

Jesus tells us to respect and obey our government but not to glorify it or put our hope in it. Expecting government to provide what only God can is foolishness. No matter what laws a Christian Congress might pass, it will not secure our eternity or legislate a single soul to salvation. 

So if you like President Trump, support him as a man temporarily holding authority that isn’t rooted in himself, but don’t hold him up as any sort of religious hope. And if you hate him, be reassured that God’s at work regardless. 

We’re Americans privileged to live in this country not so that America will be great, but so that God’s kingdom can move forward. We should think a little bit about the fact that it’s moving forward faster in most other places on the globe. The greatness we’ve been promised by our civil authorities is not the future God has planned for us.

explanations

For an age supposedly committed to science, we’re sure hard to persuade. In fact, it seems like every technological advance makes us more skeptical; we used to trust audio tapes, then photos, and then video. Now that all of those can be doctored, we don’t buy any of them. Unless, of course, they support our point of view. But all kinds of evidence that doesn’t support our side is explained away.

That’s not exactly new. I ran across a case of exactly that sort of thing this morning while reading in John 12. Jesus explained in part of that chapter that the time for his sacrifice was getting close, and then his monologue ended this way, in verses 27-29: 

“‘Now my soul is troubled, and what shall I say? “Father, save me from this hour”? No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name!’

“Then a voice came from heaven, ‘I have glorified it, and will glorify it again.’ The crowd that was there and heard it said it had thundered; others said an angel had spoken to him.”

How often haven’t we said, “If only God would make it plain - why can’t he just tell us!” But this is a time when God spoke and people heard. They must have heard words, because some said it was an angel speaking. Others, even though there were words, couldn’t deal with it and instead chose to believe it was just thunder.

But no one, despite the evidence of Jesus’ life and even with the lead in of Jesus’ speech, accepted the truth that Jesus’ father, God himself, had spoken.

Why are we so reluctant to believe? What does it take for us to have faith? What if God himself spoke to us?

He did. And he does.

all nations

I had another of those moments this morning when a familiar passage hit me in a completely different way. In this case, it was the story of Jesus running the money changers out of the temple, as told in Mark 11:15-17: 

“On reaching Jerusalem, Jesus entered the temple courts and began driving out those who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves, and would not allow anyone to carry merchandise through the temple courts. And as he taught them, he said, ‘Is it not written: “My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations’? But you have made it ‘a den of robbers.”’”

Always before I focused on the transactions, and the converting of the temple into a den of robbers. This morning what struck me was Jesus’ description of the original intent of his house: prayer for all nations.

Maybe I’m sensitized to it at this moment in time by all the conversation about immigration and the value of various people groups, but suddenly it seems to me that there are two important functions of church that don’t get enough of our attention.

The first is that church should be the place we go to pray not for ourselves but for everyone else. Prayer for all nations, not just the ones we like. Prayer for Israel and Europe, sure, but also for Russia and Iran and North Korea. Of all the things we try to do to change the world, nothing will be as effective as our prayers, and nothing should get more attention. 

Second, the church should be a place where people of any nation can come to pray. Just as our prayers should be for all nations, the church should then welcome any person, any image-bearer of God, without qualification. As long as they come in peace, they should be allowed to linger.

God’s house is meant to be a house of prayer for all nations, a description both of who prays and how we pray. Sometimes, it actually is.

all these

It used to be axiomatic in law enforcement circles that most crimes boil down to one of two motives: sex or money. Add pursuit of power and I wonder if you have the triumvirate of temptation. And I wonder if money isn’t the biggest for Americans.

I’m musing about money because I read this morning in Luke 18 about the rich young man who wanted to know what to do to be saved. The conversation played out this way, in verses 19-23: 

“‘You know the commandments: “You shall not commit adultery, you shall not murder, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, honor your father and mother.”’

“‘All these I have kept since I was a boy,’ he said.

“When Jesus heard this, he said to him, ‘You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.’

“When he heard this, he became very sad, because he was very wealthy.”

That’s a good description of a lot of Christians: wouldn’t think of adultery, certainly not murder or theft, no lying to get other people in trouble, honor mom and dad. And really sad about giving up their wealth.

Oh, we’re willing to give our money. In fact, those Christians I know who are good earners are really good givers; the ones who debate the tithe are usually people who don’t have much. But Jesus doesn’t tell this man to give some. He says give it all. 

Would we be able to do that? Jesus forces us to ask, if the choice was really to impoverish ourselves to be obedient to him, or hang on to our wealth and just depend on his forgiveness, which would we do? Do we love Jesus enough to give up our wealth?

For most of us, this is an interesting academic exercise; Jesus won’t ever come to us and ask for anything this extreme.

Or will he? Hasn’t he already?

as instructed

One difference between American soldiers and soldiers of almost any other nation is that American GIs always want to know why they have to do something. Most soldiers just follow orders. I think American soldiers are better in some ways because they want to know why; they’ll put themselves on the line for something of value, but not for something questionable.

But sometimes it’s hard to make them understand. And sometimes, honestly, they will be spent in the name of something greater, in the fashion of the 300 Greeks at Thermopylae. It’s hard to get them to see that. So sometimes the problem with American soldiers is they don’t want to do what you need them to do.

I think we make Jesus feel that way. I think that because I wonder if we’re as unquestioning as Jesus’ disciple were.

Here’s an example, from Matthew 21:1-6: “As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, ‘Go to the village ahead of you, and at once you will find a donkey tied there, with her colt by her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, say that the Lord needs them, and he will send them right away. . . .’

“The disciples went and did as Jesus had instructed them.”

So if my boss said, “Go tell that guy I’m gonna take his car,” I’d probably say, “Why? That doesn’t sound like a good idea to me. He’ll probably say no; he might even punch me in the nose.” My boss would have to have a pretty good reason.

If Jesus said, “Go tell that guy I need his car,” would my response be much different? I’d like to say yes, but probably not. But the problem is, I probably won’t ever completely understand why Jesus wants me to do something. It’s even easier to second-guess Jesus because he seldom speaks directly.

The standard in the Marines is immediate cheerful obedience. No hesitation, no matter how hard it looks. Much as I hate to give up anything in the Army-Marine rivalry, this morning I wonder if Jesus doesn’t want me to be a little more like a Marine.

envious

What’s fair? I remember when my boyhood sense of justice was offended and I complained to my dad, he’d say, “You’d better hope you never get what’s fair.” I’d like to say he was making a profound theological statement but I suspect he was simply pointing out that I was probably ahead of the game in getting good things I didn’t deserve and avoiding bad ones I had coming.

Still, it’s a thing we all struggle with: what’s fair?

In Matthew 20 Jesus tells of a landowner who hires harvesters throughout the day, as he finds them. At the end of the day, they all get paid the same thing, prompting a lot of grumbling by the ones who’d worked longer. We get that, don’t we? They’d provided a lot more value to the farmer, but weren’t getting any more than men who’d worked a fraction as long. We agree, that isn’t fair.

But Jesus sees it differently. Jesus ended his story this way, in verses 13-15: “‘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?”’”

Giving everyone the same thing was generous, but we have a problem with generosity. We only think generosity is fair when we get it. When someone else gets it, it isn’t fair anymore. I remember a family who argued against a tuition break for larger families because they only had two kids. Even though they were paying the exact same amount as the previous year, they were so incensed that someone else might have a better deal that they blocked the break for the families with a lot of kids in school.

Are we like that when it comes to grace? Do we ever think that new Christians need to pay their dues? Do we resent the ones who partied hard and seemingly had fun their whole lives and then, late in the game, claimed the same abundant mercy that (in our warped understanding) kept our noses to the grindstone our whole lives?

Are we OK with the that the drunks and adulterers and liars and cheats and thieves all have access to the same grace we do? In fact, would we be OK if Jesus saved Sadam Hussein or the Christchurch shooter in the end, if they would be in heaven with us?

That’s a hard question. Maybe we still don’t understand what’s fair.

child-like

There’s a difference between being child-like and childish, but because we don’t want to be childish we resist being child-like. We don’t want to be whiny and demanding and unreasonable, so we instead focus on all the complexity and responsibility and stoic endurance of being adults.

That’s me. I’m a deep thinker; I make connections and link to first principles with almost everything. Often it’s helpful, but sometimes I just overcomplicate my life. And I think it’s my job as a man to suck it up, not complain, take the bullet for the team, and never ask for help.

I think Jesus, in the church jargon of today, has a word for me. He gave it in Mark 10:13-16: 

“People were bringing little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them, but the disciples rebuked them. When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’ And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.”

One of the great things about children is their simplicity. They have a great talent for ignoring the window dressing and seeing past the complexity and getting right to the heart of the matter. That’s why their questions are so hard to answer. There’s a lot there to recommend itself for kingdom thinking. The simplicity of a child sets aside all of the yeah-buts, the false equivalencies, and just tries to understand the basic truth.

Kids are also world-champion trusters. They don’t have to understand to follow. They have some healthy skepticism, it’s true, but they also in the end are very willing to be reassured, and to be led. If we could just respond to God like children respond to their mothers, think how much easier life and faith would be.

But maybe the most remarkable thing about children is their passion. Kids are exuberant in their joys and tragic in their sorrows. They put their hearts into whatever they choose to do, and pour out their laments without holding anything back. A childlike faith would be passionate, enthusiastic, emotional, sensitive. All the things adults try to suppress.

What does it mean to receive the kingdom like a little child? Today I’m thinking maybe it means not over-complicating things, being willing to trust without needing to understand, and being unrestrained in my praising and petitioning. Maybe that’s not exactly what Jesus meant, but it looks like a good start to me.

last best

A couple of summers ago I was in a reader’s theater called Things We Couldn’t Say, about the experiences of a young Dutch woman in the resistance during World War II. In one letter to her fiancé she talks about the fact that their friends are getting married and notes that they would probably be “last best,” meaning the last ones married but the best couple.

I’ve often thought about that phrase because it seems to me that, rather than a throw-away children’s comment, there may be some truth in it. Maybe there is something about waiting that would make a couple better partners. Maybe there is something about being faithful through time and over distance that builds a stronger relationship.

This morning, as I read through Matthew 19 and I encountered this, in verses 28-30: 

“Jesus said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man sits on his glorious throne, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel. And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first.’”

I was struck with similar thoughts: what is it about those who are last now that will be significant when they become first? I don’t really think that we earn a first-place seat in heaven, although there are verses that suggest in some way we’re rewarded there for our faithful actions here. But I do think Jesus might grant some special blessing in heaven to those he wishes to. He can make some first, and he suggests here that he’ll choose some of the ones who are last here.

What makes someone last? Disability, or disadvantage? Poverty, weakness, meekness? Or is it more like disciplines, people who are selfless and develop the ability to always think of others first, always act in service of others rather than self? Are these the people that society puts last, or people who choose to put themselves last? Does Jesus make them first to compensate for what they put up with on earth, or to reward them for what they do?

It’s a mystery, but it’s also a passage that reinforces something found often throughout scripture: Jesus appreciates selfless people, and doesn’t seem to admire self-centered ones. It’s another indication that the best way to be obedient and to serve Jesus is to focus on other people.

day and night

A 16-century monk named Brother Lawrence, a lay brother in the Carmelite order in Paris, worked his entire career, at his own wish, as a scullery boy - the ones who clean up and wash dishes. His reason: the work not only was necessary service to others, but, undemanding in a mental sense, freed his mind to be able to pray constantly. I read some of his writing in a devotional, and it was humbling.

As much as I admire this man and other prayer warriors I know or know about, and as much as I wish I were one of them, I confess to a relatively short attention span when it comes to prayer. This morning, I’m motivated to try to change that.

In Luke 18, Jesus tells the parable of the poor woman who wore out a judge with her constant pleading for justice. Finally, the judge gave in and granted her request because she was, he said, wearing him out with her asking. Then this, from verses 6-8: 

“And the Lord said, ‘Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?’”

I wonder how often most of us pray for the things we’re most concerned about. When church member is diagnosed with cancer, do we pray every day for a week? Do we pray for a few days and then with the rest of the church on Sunday mornings? I’m guessing most of us don’t pray regularly for the duration of that person’s treatments.

Or when a family member leaves the church and lives in a way that looks to us outside of God’s grace, how persistently do we pray? Do we pray more than once a day? How long do we pray daily for them? Have any of us other than parents prayed daily for years?

I’m struck this morning with the idea that prayer the way Jesus tried to teach it requires an awesome amount of persistence and endurance. In fact, there may not be any other spiritual discipline that calls for more focus and consistency than this one.

I’m ashamed to admit that there are days I don’t pray at all, beyond what I do at mealtimes. Sometimes, though, I’m surprised to find out how much time has elapsed when I finish praying. The thing is, I need more of the second kind of day and fewer of the first.

increase

One thing all Christians know is doubt. Most of the time it has its roots in misunderstanding: we just can’t see what God might be doing in a given situation. Sometimes we legitimately wonder about things we understand pretty well. And often we compare what we do with what we know to be right and wonder why so often there’s such a difference.

In those times, I think we all can relate to Jesus’ disciples as he taught them about forgiveness in Luke 17:3-6: “‘So watch yourselves.

“‘If your brother or sister sins against you, rebuke them; and if they repent, forgive them. Even if they sin against you seven times in a day and seven times come back to you saying ‘I repent,’ you must forgive them.’

“The apostles said to the Lord, ‘Increase our faith!’

“He replied, ‘If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, “Be uprooted and planted in the sea,” and it will obey you.’”

Like us, the disciples may not have understood. “Lord, I don’t see why I should forgive people who consistently sin against me. Isn’t that enabling? Do I really have to put up with it? Increase my faith!”

Like us, the disciples may have understood but struggled to agree. “Lord, I get it - you’re God and you forgive. But I live here with these people and they don’t need to be coddled or encouraged, they need to be challenged and held accountable. Forgiving them means nothing changes, but if that’s what you want, increase my faith!”

Like us, the disciples may have understood what Jesus meant and agreed with it but found themselves guilty too often of not forgiving. “Lord, I know I should forgive and I understand why, but my heart is too bitter, and my discipline is too weak. Increase my faith!”

It’s comforting that Jesus doesn’t expect a great faith from us, just faith the size of a mustard seed. Even so, the disciples’ cry becomes my prayer: Increase my faith, oh Lord! 

reassurance

Sometimes I reread my favorite books. In fact, there are books I may have read eight or ten times in my life. There’s something reassuring about the known; stories can increase in comfort just like old shoes. And almost every time I make connections or notice things that eluded me before. Good literature shows me new things with every stage of my life.

The same thing is true with scripture. For example, this morning I read again the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, a tale so familiar that even non-Christians know it. But this morning, I saw Jesus conversation with Martha a little differently.

During that conversation, in verses 25-26, Jesus makes one of those statements typical of the Gospel of John, small revelations of his true self: “Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?’”

Always before I’ve read this as a basic statement of Jesus’ identity as the suffering Messiah, the Savior who would die like a slaughtered Passover lamb so that those of us who believe can be saved.

Today was different. Today I read these verses from a point of mild sadness in my life. I just came back from a vacation with dear relatives who get a little slower every year. Two nights ago I ate supper with good friends, two of whom just successfully came through cancer treatments and one who is part way through that hard road. We discussed other church members who are in medical facilities many states away, struggling through hard prognoses of their own. And this morning, I worshipped in a sanctuary less full that I am used to and missed people who have moved on.

Today I feel a sad melancholy that so many of my relationships are changing, slowing and fading into less vibrant, more pastel images of what they used to be. And today, I hear Jesus ask me as he asks Martha, “Do you believe that I am the life-giver?”

I do, and it changes everything. My sick friends, one and all, consistently honor God with their grateful witness. My aging relatives are steadfastly bound toward glory. Absent church members have their shoulders to the wheels of other ministries. All of us are moving not toward some sort of oblivion but toward rooms reserved for us in our Father’s mansion.

Yes, the people I care about and the relationships I’ve had to let go all show the decay that is part of this sin-filled world. But Jesus is the resurrection and the life; we will have an eternity in his good hands.

normal life

I wonder if normal life isn’t one of the challenges we face as we try to live faithful lives.

The writer of Ecclesiastes notes that the simple routines of our daily lives - eating, work, sleep, fellowship - are blessings, maybe the surest and best blessings of life away from heaven. But this morning, reading through Luke 17, I wonder if those same blessings can’t also be seductive, maybe even soporific.

Here’s part of Jesus’ explanation of the end of the world, in verses 26-30: “‘Just as it was in the days of Noah, so also will it be in the days of the Son of Man. People were eating, drinking, marrying and being given in marriage up to the day Noah entered the ark. Then the flood came and destroyed them all.

“‘It was the same in the days of Lot. People were eating and drinking, buying and selling, planting and building. But the day Lot left Sodom, fire and sulfur rained down from heaven and destroyed them all.

“‘It will be just like this on the day the Son of Man is revealed.’”

Jesus seems to be saying that many of us won’t be ready when he comes again, not because we’re entangled in sin, but because we’re just living our lives. Having our meals and fellowship, marrying and starting families, going about our business, building homes. Day to day stuff and then, wham! Just like that, it’s Judgment Day, and we’re not ready. To much was left undone, unaddressed, because we thought we had time. 

But those are the things that we live for. They consume our time and attention. They get the majority of our focus.

I think the point here is maybe that normal life, rather than the distraction from God it so easily becomes, is meant to be the means by which we live out our faith. Our meals and marriages, deals and dwellings, food and fellowship are all meant to be expressions of dependence and gratitude. Each choice, every activity, done thoughtfully and prayerfully and thankfully, becomes worship.

If we live that way, we’re always ready.