imprisoned witness

There’s a little tidbit at the end of Romans that caught my eye this morning. I’m sure I’ve read it before, but I never really thought about it. At the end of Romans 16:23 I read this: “Erastus, who is the city’s director of public works, and our brother Quartus send you their greetings.”

I have no idea who Brother Quartus was, but we can figure some things out about Erastus. How big a deal do you have to be to become the director of public works in a city like Rome? Back then, you probably had to be nobility or at least very well connected to land a gig like that. 

So how did Paul manage to convert Erastus? I guess I’m assuming conversion, maybe Paul just made a good friend, but whichever, Erastus, upon learning that Paul was writing to the Christian churches, asked Paul to pass on his greetings. That makes the most sense if he was a fellow believer. 

Somehow, as a prisoner awaiting trial, Paul managed to connect with this powerful official, and to win him over. Somehow Paul built enough of a relationship that this Roman knew who Paul was writing – that suggests they had regular interaction. Granted, Paul wasn’t locked in a cell, he was under something like house arrest. Still, there’s no good reason for the director of public works to get involved with Paul – he could easily have avoided him if he wished.

I picture Paul being so unusual that the word started getting around. “You know, that prisoner? He’s the nicest guy. He asks about me and my family, and he says he prays to his God for me. And you know what? Life is going better since he started praying. What he says about this Jesus is kind of confusing, but if it makes someone live that way, there has to be something to it.”

I imagine that eventually Erastus heard of Paul, and then wanted to hear him. And Paul, the man in chains, made a friend of the church out of a Roman official.

But then, that's why Paul went to Rome, to testify at the highest levels of government. His single-mindedness paid off, not so much for Paul, but certainly for Erastus.

I hope my life is like that. I hope that just by living my days as I believe Jesus wants me to, I make faith in Jesus look good. I hope my witness, spoken and lived, attracts people rather than turns them off.

I’m trying to focus my life on that. Too many days, other stuff takes over, but more and more I’m able to keep Jesus at the center, and his people as the reason I’m here. And when I do that, it’s amazing what I see happening right here, during my routine life in this small town.

disputable matters

I’ve heard it said often that following Jesus is counter-cultural. I thought of that this morning while reading from Romans 14. 

The first four verses of that chapter say this: “Accept the one whose faith is weak, without quarreling over disputable matters. One person’s faith allows them to eat anything, but another, whose faith is weak, eats only vegetables. The one who eats everything must not treat with contempt the one who does not, and the one who does not eat everything must not judge the one who does, for God has accepted them. Who are you to judge someone else’s servant? To their own master, servants stand or fall. And they will stand, for the Lord is able to make them stand.”

Don’t quarrel over disputable matters. Don’t judge other people about what they do. There are probably more counter-cultural things I could do, but I can’t think of very many. Americans argue about everything, and the only ones who probably argue more are Calvinists. And judging people? Isn’t that covered in the Bill of Rights?

But Paul says that the best thing we can do for weaker brothers and sisters is to accept them lovingly in all areas, and to correct them only when it’s really important to do so. After all, every point of doctrine that is critical has been made clear. The disputable matters are the ones scripture doesn’t spell out. That means they aren’t critical for salvation – if they were, we’d be told the right answer.

So I need to set aside my need to be right, and let some things go. Church is about the indisputable matters, not the ones that are ambiguous. As always, love is more important that judgment. 

sober judgment

I’m struggling this morning with sober judgment. I know I need to have it, but I’m not sure how.

The reason I need it is to heed Paul’s admonition in Romans 12:3-5 “For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you. For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.”

So I get the need, and I see the reason, but the actual doing turns out to be surprisingly complex. First of all, sober judgment seems to be the antithesis of thinking too highly of myself. That by itself isn’t too bad; I’ve been told one way or another not to get a big head for most of my life. I get it that usually I’m not as good as I think I am.

Second, the ability to use sober judgment is linked somehow to my faith. Is it the fact of my faith that’s important here – meaning, so long as I have faith I’ll be able to exercise sober judgment? Or does this mean that the quality – soberness, maybe? – of my judgment depends on the strength or depth of my faith? 

Finally, the purpose seems significant to a lot more people than just me, meaning it’s important that I get this right. Paul suggests, using the word “for” to start the sentence, that he’s telling me to do this because there’s something about me that is meant to enhance the body of believers, which I take to mean my local church. 

This comes immediately after the well-known verse about transforming myself by the renewing of my mind, which makes me think this is primarily an intellectual exercise. Like using sober judgment to accurately think of myself is a key part of renewing my mind. 

All that makes me feel like there's something really important here, for me and for my church. In order to find my place in the body, I need to renew my mind, a big part of which is getting rid of these false ideas I may have of my own worth. And the key to doing this is to think of myself with sober judgment. 

So I’m struggling this morning with sober judgment. I know I need to have it, but I’m not sure how. I don’t get what about my judgment tends not to be sober, and how to change that. But it seems like a big enough deal that I’m praying about it.

glory revealed

Recently I watched a celebrity during a TV interview challenge the existence of God. One of his reasons for doubting God was that a good God would never put up with evil people. I never know how to answer that, but this morning I got something of a hint.

I was reading in Romans 9, that difficult passage about election, and I came to verses 22-24. They say, "What if God, although choosing to show his wrath and make his power known, bore with great patience the objects of his wrath—prepared for destruction? What if he did this to make the riches of his glory known to the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory— even us, whom he also called, not only from the Jews but also from the Gentiles?"

That's a great reason for God to tolerate evil people – to make the riches of his glory known to people who believe in him. God plans to wipe evil from this world and remake it anew, but he gives his chosen ones time to find him first, to get to know of all the great treasure that comes from a relationship with him. 

The hard part about this as a counter-argument is that it comes packaged with the thorny subject of election and predestination. I never know what to do with that. It seems like a doctrine better suited for discussion with believers than an argument to win souls. Likely the idea that God could save everyone but chooses to damn some would not be attractive to someone asking why he tolerates evil. Mercy is much more winsome than evil. 

This excellent but unpalatable answer is good for me to reflect on, though. It helps innoculate me against the kind of despair that caused so many to fall away from the church after the terrorist attacks of 9/11. It reminds me that God tolerates evil not because he isn't good, but because he is. He's good to those who put their hope in him. His focus is on the elect who haven't completed their journey yet; he will in his good time get to the others.

I hope someday that celebrity gets to see the truth about God. I've prayed for that, in fact. I'd love for everyone on earth to come to Jesus – I see the attractiveness of universalism. But neither this celebrity nor I get to decide how God should behave. As these verses say, God has chosen. In the end, that's enough for me.

suffering

I guess Calvin's dad (you know- the all-weather bicycler from the comic strip Calivn and Hobbes) was right, him and a few million other American dads. It sounds like suffering really does build character.

I say that because I read it this morning, in Romans 5:3-5: "Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us."

It's a tidy little sequence: suffering to perseverance to character to hope. If we just bear up under our suffering – that's what perseverance is, going on in spite of hardship – then we will develop character. Character will then enable us to see hope even in times of suffering.

All very logical, but where I get stuck is at the part about glorying in my sufferings. I've suffered, not as much as some but enough that I know what it's like. I didn't enjoy it, and I certainly didn't glory in it. Rather than reflecting on how great it was to be building character, I simply did everything I could to end my suffering as quickly as possible.

I don't think Paul or anyone would advocate suffering more or longer than you have to. And I don't think Paul meant just any old suffering, like from a tooth-ache. I've always believed that Paul meant when I suffer as an outcome of living out my faith, or suffer in a way that challenges my faith – I think of things like cancer or religious persecution or the loss of a spouse. Those kinds of things bring us back to the throneroom of God. 

That kind of suffering will obviously build our character if we persevere through it. But I still don't know that I have enough strength to glory in those kinds of things. I'd like to hope I do, but really I'm not a person who willingly endures negative experiences. Maybe that's why so far God hasn't sent me as much suffering as he has others.

I might be able to glory in suffering after the fact. I just took part in a reader's theater production of "Things We Couldn't Say," the story of Dutch resistance figher Diet Ehman that was written by James Schaap. At one point, writing to her fiance after months of imprisonment, she said she was glad she had gone through it, because it brought her closer to God. 

I can see myself reacting that way, after it's all said and done. I just struggle to see myself singing in prison, like Peter. But I have faith that if I'm ever called to go through that, I won't do it alone. And maybe that kind of strength will be there when I need it.

fear

As I read through the Bible I look for people to emulate. It’s so easy to be influenced by conventional wisdom or pop culture that I think if I’m not deliberate about seeking out other models, the renewing of my mind that Paul calls me to in Romans will be really slow work.

I suspect the person I’m thinking about today hasn’t often been used as a role model by Christians. It’s Felix, the Roman governor who tried Paul before sending him on to Rome. But Felix gives me a lot to consider in the part of his story that is told in Acts 24:24-25. 

“Several days later Felix came with his wife Drusilla, who was Jewish. He sent for Paul and listened to him as he spoke about faith in Christ Jesus. As Paul talked about righteousness, self-control and the judgment to come, Felix was afraid and said, ‘That’s enough for now! You may leave. When I find it convenient, I will send for you.’”

Felix was afraid – that’s the thing I’m pondering today. Felix heard about God’s call to righteousness and self-control, and the judgment that will fall on those who don’t obey, and he was afraid.

I wonder if the Christian church is losing that fear. More to the point, I wonder if I am. I’m so used to hearing grace preached, and preaching it myself, that I don’t often consider that Hell is a fact, and that many people I know are bound there. I don’t think about the fact that each of my sins, those things I excuse by calling them bad habits or mistakes or sickness, angers and hurts God so deeply that the only appropriate penalty is my blood. In fact, I can joke about my sin  – “everyone is allowed one vice, right?”

Today I’m trying to remember that, just as there are certain things I would never say or do because they would hurt Dawn, these things I permit myself to do are deeply painful to God.

I realize that the difference between me and Felix is that I put my hope in Jesus, so I have nothing to fear. But it still serves as a reminder of what my fate would have been without the cross. I’m so grateful – help me, Lord, to live out my gratitude.

visible faith

I wonder what faith looks like. I think I might know what faith acts like, or sounds like. But evidently there’s something that another person can see in a faithful person.

At least Paul could see it. In Acts 14 there’s a story of him healing a lame man, which I had read before. But this morning, I noticed an extra detail. The story is in verses 8-10 “In Lystra there sat a man who was lame. He had been that way from birth and had never walked. He listened to Paul as he was speaking. Paul looked directly at him, saw that he had faith to be healed and called out, ‘Stand up on your feet!’ At that, the man jumped up and began to walk.”

I’m sure you caught it, that Paul saw that this man had faith to be healed. But the man was just listening to Paul preach; he wasn’t doing anything. What did his faith look like? Whatever it was, it was enough that Paul just said the word, and the man walked.

I think I might have enough faith to be healed, but do I have enough faith to be seen? I’m not sure. I’d like to think so, I’d like to think that when people look at me they see my faith, like a glowing aura around me. I’d like that, but I don’t think that’s how it is.

I’d also like to be able to see other people’s faith. I’d love to be able to find our people in a crowd, in a strange city. I’d like that constant connection. But I can’t even see anything different about people that I know to be devout, committed Christ followers. 

Maybe it takes a person who is especially sensitive to spiritual matters to see faith. Or maybe God gifted Paul especially for that moment. Whatever the case, evidently this gift I’d like isn’t one I need. If I needed it, God would have given it to me. 

So I have to take people’s faith on, well, faith. Just like they have to take mine. There’s something good about that – imagine if we all were equipped to compare each other’s faith. “Wow, look how bright he glows! She looks pretty dingy in comparison.” I don’t think I’m adult enough to handle such a gift. 

Still, this morning I’m thinking about this new, anonymous faith hero I learned of today. I’m admiring a lame man who heard God’s word and believed it so strongly that it could be seen by Paul. This special gift, whether of a moment or a lifetime, fills me with hope. It shows me the power of faith, but it also reminds me that where God calls, he also gifts. He gifted this man with faith, he gifted Paul to see it, and he gifts me whenever he has a job for me to do.

That’s comforting. It’s enough to keep me pecking away at this keyboard, and praying about things and people I can’t see, and helping in those small ways that I can. When God shows me something I can do, I believe I must be able to do it. I have enough faith for that.

worms

Sometimes I wonder how long God will put up with evil people. Other times, like today, I’m grateful for his patience.

I feel that way because of an episode I read of in Acts 12:21-23 “On the appointed day Herod, wearing his royal robes, sat on his throne and delivered a public address to the people. They shouted, ‘This is the voice of a god, not of a man.’ Immediately, because Herod did not give praise to God, an angel of the Lord struck him down, and he was eaten by worms and died.”

That’s what it looks like when God has finally had enough! No matter how much some people frustrate me, I’d rather they had time to repent instead of consigning them to death by worms.

I wonder why this was finally enough. After all, Herod had been around for a while and had done plenty of offensive, even blasphemous things. Was it that the people gave him the status of a god? Was it that Herod accepted this praise? The reason we’re given is that Herod did not give praise to God, but he never did. Why now?

I’m not sure, but I’d like to know. You see, like people everywhere, I’d like to know where the boundary is. I want to have a good idea where exactly that line of worm-eating death is, because obviously that’s a fate I want to avoid. The problem with that is, I shouldn’t be anywhere near the line so why should I care? I mean, the expectation is that I should praise God, so why should I ever get into trouble over that?

Because sometimes I don’t. There are whole days I don’t praise God, and I suspect sometimes even weeks. Oh, I read the Bible and I pray, but it’s easy for those things to become chores, or to focus on all the things I want God to fix in life. So I kind of wonder exactly what it was about this example of not-praising that cause God’s angel finally to smite him.

It doesn’t matter. The lessons are obvious. God is worthy of our praise and he expects it. God is jealous of our praise and won’t allow imposters to usurp it. God is patient and allows me plenty of time for repentance. But God won’t abide my foolishness forever.

These are good things to be reminded of. My prayer this morning is that I never become so complacent because of God’s patience that I forget either to praise or repent.

clean

Peter has me feeling guilty today. 

In Acts 10, I read this morning about Peter being told by an angel to go to the home of Cornelius, a Roman soldier and an Gentile. Peter went, and verses 28- and 29 describe his first encounter with Cornelius: "He said to them: 'You are well aware that it is against our law for a Jew to associate with or visit a Gentile. But God has shown me that I should not call anyone impure or unclean. So when I was sent for, I came without raising any objection. May I ask why you sent for me?'"

I'm feeling guilty because I think my focus is in the wrong place. I like to get involved with my church, hash over scripture with my friends, pray with my family. Most of my Jesus talk is with people who not only already know Jesus, but who live just like I do. 

There are people that I wrinkle my nose at, and I spend little time trying to serve them, love them, witness to them, or walk with them. In fact, when I consider them at all, it's usually to judge them. 

Peter says, "But God has shown me that I should not call anyone impure or unclean." Peter meant that the former religious ban against the Gentiles had been lifted. God was letting the whole world know that every person of every race was to be loved as his image-bearer. 

That means I have to be very careful about ideas that wall other people out. It isn't right to hope certain people don't buy a house on my street. It isn't right to wish some folks would just find another church. Instead of trying to surround myself with people who look and act and believe like I do, I need to seek out and welcome any human that God puts in my path.

God loves diversity – he created woodlands and meadows full of every kind of plant and creature, full of sounds and scents and colors. We like to sort things out, put like with like, make sure the proportions are just so – we want a lawn that has only bluegrass, with a few carefully chose and strategically place trees and bushes. Too much diversity seems like chaos to us, but I think heaven is going to be a little chaotic. Heaven will be the most diverse place I've ever been.

So my prayer today is for an adventurous heart that hungers for new people and new ideas, for new relationships that will stretch me and bless me as I try to bless. There are no undesirables in God's world.

ignorance

There's a thing I've seen little kids do, where they cover their ears if they don't want to hear bad news. As adults, we might still sometimes plug our ears and chant "lalalala" to signal, in a teasing way, that we'd rather not know something.

Those actions are either juvenile or joking, though. It just seemed irrational when I read this morning of the Jewish religious leaders doing the same thing.

The event was the trial of Stephen, an early church deacon accused of blasphemy. Stephen gave a rousing defense, explaining throughout the history of the Old Testament God's salvation plan, and pointing out the conspicuous role these same leader had in killing God's own son, the promised Messiah. 

But look at their reaction in Acts 7:57-58: "At this they covered their ears and, yelling at the top of their voices, they all rushed at him, dragged him out of the city and began to stone him."

That's some serious denial. Their refusal to even hear truth, much less accept it, led to the death of Stephen and the dispersion of the early church leaders. In short order would come the Samaritan Pentecost, Philip's encounter with the eunuch, and Peter's call to witness to the Gentiles. The great Good News would travel in every direction.

It's an amazing sequence. These irrational, truth-denying haters not only martyred Stephen, they accelerated the spread of the gospel beyond the Jews, starting a process that one day would result in Christian churches all around the globe – a universal church in which Jews would be just a small part.

I'm reminded again of all the ways God works evil intentions for good results. I'm reminded that not even political authority or the power to kill is enough to stop the Good News. And I'm reminded that truth is truth, no matter how we might hate it or try to twist it. 

But I'm also challenged to find those truths that make me plug my ears. Is there grace for marginalized people who I would rather just call sinners? Are there good and right ideas that should be defended? Does truth call me to stand with the unpopular, to challenge the powerful, maybe even give of my time and my money and myself?

Jesus identified himself as the Truth. In the end, it's his voice the world tries to silence, his commands that enrages the wicked. It is that capital-T Truth that I must take great care never to filter out of my life.

advocate

I have the best lawyer in the business. I have a good earthly lawyer, too – my son-in-law brings a servant attitude to his practice and has given us excellent advice and support. But I’m reflecting again on how John describes the Holy Spirit in John 14:26:

“But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you.”

This verse reads to me like it is describing three roles, with the first perhaps the most interesting. I normally think of the Spirit in terms of the other two – teaching me the truth about God, and reminding me when I forget what Jesus commands. Counselor and conscience.

But advocate is a word people use in place of attorney – actually counselor is too. An advocate speaks on my behalf, argues my case, represents my interests. 

I get a picture of the Holy Spirit giving me wise advise as I consider my business dealings, my relationships, and the debt I owe to God. I also picture the Spirit reminding God that I’m one of those who were redeemed by Jesus. When I think of the Spirit acting as my lawyer, it’s a different angle than I usually have.

It also gives a little more serious weight to the Spirit’s counsel. Teachers and counselors help us but also encourage us to reflect and come to our own conclusions, but no one with any sense thinks he or she knows better than legal counsel. I might not like what I hear from my lawyer, but I’m not going to argue with it. 

Just like an earthly lawyer, the Holy Spirit knows what will get me in trouble, and the best way to meet my moral obligations. You’d think I’d seek out that kind of advice more frequently than I do.

praise

As I think about this election year, I no longer think about who to vote for – that’s already been decided. I think mostly about how to keep strong relationships with people who choose differently than I have. I don’t want to lose any friends over the train-wreck that I fear is coming

Mostly I feel good about that position, but this morning I’m wondering. This morning I’m reminded that my human relationships aren’t necessarily the most important thing for me to be worrying about.

John 12 tells of the time when Jesus was teaching in the tabernacle, shorting before the Last Supper. Verses 42-43 say, “Yet at the same time many even among the leaders believed in him. But because of the Pharisees they would not openly acknowledge their faith for fear they would be put out of the synagogue; for they loved human praise more than praise from God.”

When I read this, far from judging these leaders, I feel empathy. I feel bad that they find it so hard to do the right thing because of the difficult people they have to live and work with. I understand how they can be pressured to keep silent; I relate.

That makes me wonder if I do as well with this as I think I do. I wonder if I am not, through pressure or seduction, more comfortable with the praise of people than I am putting up with their disapproval in order to win praise from God.

The problem is, right now at least, God’s praise isn’t as overt, as concrete, as the praise of men. When people like me, they say nice things. They pat me on the back, they brag me up to others. It feels good, and even that good feeling is encouraged. It’s all part of nurturing my reputation, right? Part of building my brand?

Compared to that, praise from God sounds like . . . what? Can I even hear it? Is it a warm feeling in my heart? Something else? Or am I simply waiting for the day I see him face to face, and hear him say, “Well done, good and faithful servant?” Sure, sometimes God’s people may praise me, but how do I distinguish that from the human praise I’m not supposed to love?

It seems plausible that sometimes, even as my head fixes itself on obedience, my heart orients towards the social rewards I get from pleasing other people. How do I know? How do I fight that?

Ideally, I would mostly be with people who will praise me for the same things God would. Maybe, as I think about the rest of it, that’s a place to start.

hated

I’m feeling guilty this morning, because the world doesn’t hate me. Really. I feel like if I were really a passionate advocate for Jesus, the world would attack me.

I think that this morning because of a simple statement that Jesus made to his brothers. John 7:7 tells us that Jesus said to them, among other things,  “The world cannot hate you, but it hates me because I testify that its works are evil.”

The world’s works are evil! There’s evil all around us.  Drugs, pornography, or anything else that enslaves us is abhorrent. The meanness of snark and hate and other-izing of any group of people is cruel. The legitimizing of sin paired with shaming of any voice for Christ is appalling. All of these things work evil in our world. 

But do I testify against this evil? Evidently not enough, because the world doesn’t seem to hate me. My secular co-workers think I’m pretty cool. I don’t get flamed on social media. I have a reputation in my industry for being a common-sense guy. Doesn’t it seem like, if I were following Jesus’ example, somewhere along the line I would encounter hate speech?

I get it that the difference between me and Jesus is that his very existence condemns the world. Every step he took on earth was a threat to evil. I get it that there’s a larger theological point to this verse. But part of any devotional time is trying to take away a lesson for my own holiness, and it seems to be this verse can also be read as a call not to try to be loved by the world, a call to speak out against evil where I see it.. 

I don’t often speak out because I don’t want to pick a fight. I don’t want to be offensive. I tell myself that it’s part of being a winsome Christian, of not making my faith something that people perceive to be hateful. But I wonder how much of it is really just going along to get along. How often am I most motivated by making my own life easier?

I don’t know. I do see evil in the world, and I hate it. But I can’t think of the last time I took action against it, or even spoke out. Am I more concerned about fitting into this world, or fighting for it on Jesus’ behalf?

This morning I’m not sure, but it doesn’t feel good. It feels like however I feel about the world, the world is fine with me.

believe

I've been guilty at times of complicating things. Sometimes I read more into a situation than what is there; I assume more need than exists. Or I might over-engineer a solution. Sometimes I think what is required of me is something really hard, when in reality it isn't.

This morning, I wondered if I haven't done that with my attempts to serve God.

I wonder because I read of an episode in Jesus' life when the crowd he miraculously fed hunted him down on the other side of the lake. Confronted with their need, Jesus had this to say, as recorded in John 6:26-29: "Jesus answered, 'Very truly I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw the signs I performed but because you ate the loaves and had your fill. Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For on him God the Father has placed his seal of approval.'

Then they asked him, 'What must we do to do the works God requires?'

Jesus answered, 'The work of God is this: to believe in the one he has sent.'"

Could God's work really boil down to that? Could it really be that all my wrestling with the question of calling, of my purpose, comes to one simple thing? All of the gifts surveys, personality tests, all those things to figure out my shape or my strengths, to know exactly what God equipped me to do in his kingdom – could it be that all of those have been simply confused the issue? Helpful, maybe, but not really pertinent to the main thing? Could it all boil down simply to believing in Jesus?

There's a lot of freight in that one little phrase. To believe in Jesus means to resist all the doubt that Satan and a hell-bent world throws on me. To believe in Jesus means to know what he did and what he promised and what he commanded. And then, truly believing in Jesus means acknowledging his lordship, meaning I need to obey. I need to get to work.

But hard as it might be to do, this statement is extremely simple to understand. What should I be doing? Believe in Jesus - believe what he did for me, what he said about the church, what he modeled in love. Because that will lead me to gratitude, to involvement. It will grow my ability to see life as Jesus sees it.

Maybe instead of looking for a burning bush, for a specific assignment, I should just look at the Jesus of the Gospel. I think as I spend more time with him, the rest of these seemingly complicated or worrisome questions will begin to answer themselves.

good and upright

Poor Paul Ryan. The Republican Speaker of the House of Representatives has finally decided that he can no longer defend the words and actions of Donald Trump, our Republican nominee for President. Separate from my personal views, I admire his willingness to take what he believes to be a principled stand despite the pressures of his colleagues. I have no doubt that Mr. Trump and his supporters will exact a price, and I'm sure Paul Ryan knows this.

Some of my regard for Ryan is admiration by association. This morning, his stand seems not unlike the position of a man from scripture that I've always admired, a man named Joseph. In Luke 23:50-52 I read, "Now there was a man named Joseph, a member of the Council, a good and upright man, who had not consented to their decision and action. He came from the Judean town of Arimathea, and he himself was waiting for the kingdom of God. Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus’ body."

Joseph's position is interesting. He's described as good and upright, but he's also a member of the ruling council that had harassed Jesus for weeks, had plotted against him, and had conspired to kill him. I might be tempted to say that Joseph never took a stand for Jesus, except for one simple thing: he refused his consent.

Joseph had the courage to do one of the hardest things for a political leader – he refused to go along with a bad thing his colleagues wanted to do. He was willing to take their abuse and even to be ostracized by them. He was willing to risk his position among them. He was not willing to condone something he thought was wrong.

That conviction to stand courageously on principle in public life seems to be one of the things that made Luke call Joseph good and upright. 

The next question is obvious: by this definition, am I good and upright? How many times have I been willing to stand visibly against an un-principled majority? Conversely, how often have I stayed silent? How often have I allowed the bad thing to happen to someone else, simply grateful it wasn't me? How often have I decided I don't want to get involved?

I think I have this much going for me: I don't ever like it when I see injustice. It still outrages me. Now, as a mature man, I'm more willing to plant Jesus' banner. I'm more willing to let it be known that I disagree, that my vote is no.

Not always, though. But enough that I have hope that in this, I may be judged good and upright.

greatness

Sometimes I’m really grateful I live where I do. You see, in my town, most people want to serve. Most are focused on the good of  the community. Even the great people in my town are mostly down-to-earth people.

I think that makes this place different than most of America. Our culture is obsessively focused on personal power. Our movie heroes have it. So do the wealthy. In fact, the ability to dictate the terms of our own lives is one of the holy grails of American life. The idea that someone else can impose his will on us makes us angry. 

It just shows how far we are from thinking like Jesus. Luke tells a story in chapter 22:24-26 that reveals this disparity. “A dispute also arose among them as to which of them was considered to be greatest. Jesus said to them, ‘The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those who exercise authority over them call themselves Benefactors. But you are not to be like that. Instead, the greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves.’”

That’s an attitude that’s sadly lacking in this election year. I’m not talking about the candidates – their lust for power isn’t atypical of the kind of people likely to see national public office. I’m talking about average Americans, and people of faith. We’re obsessed with the power to appoint justices, to counter legislation, to decide who is let in and who is kept out. We want that power so much that sometimes we’re willing to compromise our Gospel witness to get it. Or we find after the fact that we’ve unintentionally done so.

I’m not arguing a particular vote here – the votes among my Christian friends are split among four candidates. I just wonder how many of us approach this or any other point of disagreement like young people who believe the other might be wiser, or like servants bound to please the other. 

To my shame, I haven’t. I lust after power for my tribe, just like most. I struggle to control the urge to straighten out those dummies who plan to vote for so-and-so. 

I'm grateful I live in this town. Here there are good people who want to serve each other more than they want to win an election. Here there are thoughtful people who want to talk things out. Here we mostly recognize we don’t have all the answers. 

I need to pray a little more  and love a little more before I can really claim all that is true of me, but sometimes it is. More and more I can see others as maybe wiser, and my role as serving. More and more I am able to live this lesson of Jesus, mostly because other people show me how. My town is part of Jesus’ grace to me.

peace

I hope Jesus doesn't weep the same lament over me as he did over Jerusalem.

Luke 19 tells us of Jesus arriving at that city for the last time, knowing full well what the coming days held. Verses 41-42 read, "As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, 'If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes.'"

Jesus would enter the city to save it, to become the ultimate sacrifice at the most holy time of sacrifice in the religious year. Instead of peace the city would see citizens marching in the streets, a murderer released, the dead walking the streets, and the temple curtain ripped in half.

"If you had only known what would bring you peace," Jesus said. Jesus the Prince of Peace brings peace, but Jesus also had to die in order for God's plan for us to work. Was there another, less disruptive way for him to die? Or was Jesus referring to what would happen to the baby Christian church, after the stoning of Stephen, when the persecution of the Pharisees would push so many of them out of Jerusalem?

I don't think I understand exactly why Jesus said that in that context. But I wonder sometimes if he couldn't say the same thing to me. 

Do I sometimes live an uneasy, uncertain life because I can't see what would bring me peace? Am I sometimes the source of strife for the same reason? Is it possible that my inability to truly see Jesus as the only source of peace is the cause of those many days when I don't have it?

This isn't the thrust of this passage, but I can hear these words in so many circumstances. Sitting at my desk, discouraged at a work failure. "Don't you know what would bring you peace?" Worried about a child or parent. "Don't you know . . . ?" Convinced our next president will be a disaster, certain our church isn't what it used to be, wondering if my Florida friends are safe from the hurricane - the list could be a long one, but the answer to all of these is the same.

Jesus, the supreme Lord of this universe, the one with power over all things, the one who loves me so much he already died for me, who has promised to work everything for my good, is the one who weeps over my inability to find my peace in him.

How easy, though, to correct this! How easy in all these circumstances to pray, and then to say with confidence, "I'm secure. I can be at peace."

little children

We had three of the grandkids overnight last night, and it was just as much fun as it always is. There was a lot of laughing and a few tears, and some yelling (the kids, not me). Another great memory in the memory bank.

That gave me a little different perspective as I read of an incident in Jesus' life in Luke 18:15-17. "People were also bringing babies to Jesus for him to place his hands on them. When the disciples saw this, they rebuked them. But Jesus called the children to him and said, '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.'"

When I read this passage before, or heard it preached, I always focused on the innocence of little children, or the relative weakness that children have that makes them have to look to others for help. My take-away has always been not to lose that sense of being completely dependent on God.

But this morning I realize something else: children the age of my grandkids never doubt for a second that we love them. In fact, if they were pressed to describe what love is, I'm sure their yardstick would be parents and grandparents. They know with total certainty that there are no conditions on the love we have for them.

I wonder if that may have been in Jesus' mind along with the dependence thing when he said what he did. After all, love is so much a part of God's character that the Bible says God is love. When we see love anywhere in our world, it's simply an imperfect reflection of the love God has for all of his creation. For that reason, I have every reason to be as confident in God's love for me as a toddler is in the love of his grandma.

When toddlers feel loved like that, they find comfort on Dad's lap even as he disciplines. The safe haven they seek when hurt or scared is Mom's arms. They admit with few qualms to grandma that they did, indeed, get into the snack cupboard. 

Do I really feel loved by God like that? I'm not sure. I want to say yes, but I have all these grown-up feelings and this so-called mature tendency toward self-reliance. I may even wonder sometimes why certain things happen if God has my good at heart. 

No wonder Jesus reminds me to just take what God wants to give with the ready trust and full confidence of a child. 

detestable values

Sometimes I want to protest when I read scripture. Sometimes the reality of the immense gulf between God and people is just too much. 

I had that reaction again this morning, reading from Luke 16. Jesus has just made his well-known statement that you cannot serve both God and money, and then this, in verses 14 and 15: "The Pharisees, who loved money, heard all this and were sneering at Jesus. He said to them, 'You are the ones who justify yourselves in the eyes of others, but God knows your hearts. What people value highly is detestable in God’s sight.'"

What people value highly is detestable in God's sight. Really? Is that true? I accept that it must be, because I accept the infallibility of scripture, but I don't like it. I value my family, my church, the quiet community I live in. What's so bad about that?

I want to think that God only detests what the Pharisee valued, but that's not how the verse reads. Jesus seems to be moving from the specific example of the Pharisees' love for money to a general truth about humankind. So what does this mean?

It may be that the problem with human values, with my values, is that they are so self-centered. Even my most pure love, that for my wife and children, is tainted by my own desires for those relationships. I tend to value church and community because of the ways they enhance my own life. And of course there are all those other loves, of money and leisure and too much food and drink, that too easily become something unhealthy. 

All of that is another way of saying it's human nature to value one's own interests most highly. I can see why God would detest that. That's the opposite of what I'm called to. I should value service to others, the blood of the martyrs, the souls of the unsaved, the wellbeing of the widows and orphans. I should value truth and justice. All these things should mean far more to me than myself. 

Jesus said another thing in these verses: "You are the ones who justify yourselves in the eyes of others, but God knows your hearts." God knows all my tainted motives. 

In then end, it makes me once again so grateful for the blood-price Jesus paid for me. Without him, there is no way I could ever be anything but detestable in God's sight. But when God looks at me, he sees Jesus' righteousness imputed to me - what an amazing act of love!

hearts and treasure

I remember a conversation I had a long time ago with a private investigator. He told me the two things he did most of all were watch people, and look at their accounts. He said you can learn almost anything you want to know about a person by finding out where he or she spends time and money. 

I think that Jesus was getting at the same point in a little different way when he said these words, recorded by Luke in chapter 12:32-34:  "Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will never fail, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

Where I spend my time and money reveals my heart. Why, then, do I resist Jesus' admonition to sell my possessions and give to the poor? Shouldn't my heart be where Jesus' heart is?

The fact is, I have sometimes found reasons not to give to the poor. I can resent the amount that our social safety net costs this country, and decide they don't need even more. I can point to habits I think are wasteful and argue that the money will just go down the drain anyway. When I do that, I reveal my heart.

In fact, although I spend time in service and give to a number of causes, I don't know that very much of either is targeted at the poor, at least not directly. I tend to give both things to my church, to mission partners, or to our local Christian schools. 

I'm encouraged by the fact that there are individuals who struggle financially that I have helped, and it seems there have been a fairly steady stream of them through my life. I guess I just do better with individual poor people than the poor as a class. So in all honesty, I have to say I don't have the same heart for the poor that Jesus did. That shames me.

I wonder what other priorities Jesus had that get little or none of my time and money. Do I share his passion for justice? Do I share his hatred of sin? Am I committed to the saving of souls? 

I probably do better than I give myself credit for, but I think that PI would conclude that I'm not completely on the same page as my Lord. At the end of his investigation, he'd probably say, "There's a guy who loves his family, and thinks a lot of his new house. He's pretty committed to his church, but not any more than he is to his hobbies. He has planned pretty well for retirement, though."

That doesn't sound good enough to me. 

woe to you

The Beattitudes are some of my favorite scripture, but I never really caught on, as many times as I've read through the Bible, that in Luke there's a set of anti-Beattitudes that stand as warnings. I've seen them before but haven't consciously juxtaposed them against those other, positive verses. And frankly, now that I look at them more closely, I'm not reassured.

Luke 6:24-26 says, 

"But woe to you who are rich,

for you have already received your comfort.

Woe to you who are well fed now,

for you will go hungry.

Woe to you who laugh now,

for you will mourn and weep.

Woe to you when everyone speaks well of you,

for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets."

These are four words that could be used to describe me. Oh, in the American sense I'm not rich, but I'm way beyond the point where I worried about money. In every rational sense I have to consider myself wealthy. But I'm certainly well fed. In fact, my struggle with food is not over-consuming. And I laugh a lot, and make other people laugh too. And finally, although it doesn't sound modest to say so, there are plenty of people in my life who speak well of me. 

So it would be a fair reading of these verses to say that I've already received my comfort, that I'm going to be hungry and weeping in the future, that in fact I may be a false prophet. But why? I'm trying to be obedient, and I think much of the time I succeed. What am I doing that deserves this?

It's likely that, in this as in all Scripture, context is important. I want to think that maybe Jesus meant these things not so much as a counterpoint to the Beattitudes, but as a clarification to them, a corollary of sorts. 

Maybe it's rich people who cling to their wealth in the face of needy poor people who are warned. Maybe it's the well fed who give no thought to the starving, or the ones who laugh when others mourn. And probably the saying about others speaking well of me is meant to make me ask, "Who said that?" Maybe I want to make sure that it isn't the world praising me, but the church.

Read that way, there would be blessings for ones who share their wealth and food, the happy people who still cry when a brother or sister is crying, and the man or woman who legitimately earns the appreciation of God's people.

I hope I'm seeing this right, because it changes for me the way I read the Beattitudes themselves. They've always made me feel guilty because they describe a group of have-nots I don't feel part of. I always think that I have to work harder at being less happy.

Now I wonder if Jesus' words aren't really a call to see the people less fortunate than me, and then to join them where appropriate and minister to them where needed. Maybe the point isn't just that God has special blessings for the have-nots; maybe part of the point is that in God's kingdom the resources aren't held so tightly by individuals but flow freely to where there is need.