need

There’s a story about a young man who told Socrates he wanted to gain wisdom. Socrates dunked his head in the water until the man gasped and begged for air. The Socrates supposedly said, “When you need wisdom as much as you just needed air, come back and I’ll teach you.”

The point of the story is that Socrates could see this young man wanted something cheap and easy that would help him move ahead quickly. He wanted to be able to say he’d studied under the great Socrates and be esteemed because of it. He didn’t really want to put in the lifetime of hard work Socrates had dedicated to becoming wise.

In the first two verses of Luke 15 is a sad story of misunderstood need: “Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear Jesus. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, ‘This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.’”

At this point Jesus had already revealed himself as the Messiah, and confirmed it with many signs. This group of sinners clustered around him because they craved what he offered. The Jewish religious leaders, on the other hand, stood back and criticized.

The key difference is this: the religious leaders, although they led a religion centered on the prophesied Savior, didn’t really think they needed one. They felt they were doing fine by themselves, with their own good works and exceptional compliance with the law. The tax collectors and sinners, on the other hand, knew they needed to be saved; they craved a Savior.

Which am I? A complacent Christian confident in my performance? Or a desperate sinner grasping for salvation like Socrates’ young man gasped for air?

Note: Tomorrow I leave for a couple of weeks of vacation with uncertain access to the internet. The break will be a blessing, but it does mean I won’t be posting for a while. I did this once before, when we toured Europe, and I lost about a third of you. I value you all, so this time I want to specifically ask you to rejoin me on August 6. Thanks for reading!

no repayment

There’s a reason I struggle with discipleship and faithful living. It’s because kingdom thinking is so strikingly different from the ways of our culture. Being a Christian really does require us to be counter-cultural, when what we want so often is to just fit in.

Take this, for example, from Luke 14:12-14: “Then Jesus said to his host, ‘When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or sisters, your relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.’”

There are a couple of odd ideas here, if I can say that about a teaching of Jesus. The first is this idea of having a dinner and not inviting our friends. Dinners in our circles are social. They’re for relationship building and having fun. We have them to relax and unwind. We don’t typically throw them as a service to other people. When we want to do that, we do it as a church group and hold the meal at church.

But to Jesus there were no casual events. He was never off-duty; everything he did was calculated to get him another step closer to completion of his mission. Jesus didn’t have his work and his private life. Jesus’ work was his life. So to be a Christian is to buck our culture by seeing our purpose and the purpose of our skills and wealth differently.

The other odd idea is not only to expect no repayment, but in fact to ensure it. Jesus says to make sure we serve people who can’t possibly repay. He isn’t impressed by fee-for-service arrangements or quids pro quo. Jesus likes to see us pouring ourselves out for other people. He doesn’t intend that we will receive back from them, but that we will receive back from him.

In our what-have-you-done-for-me-lately society, that’s just weird. If we live like that, we’re not going to look like other people. We’re not going to fit in.

But that, I think is the point. Christians should stand out. If our faith doesn’t make us different, then it won’t be much good to us.

not willing

Back in the day, there was a phrase used in the services to describe troops you could or should send on a mission: ready, willing and able. Those are three words to describe three different necessities. Able, of course, means that person was capable of doing the task. Ready means they were prepared. They had the right training and equipment, and were healthy and fit. Willing meant they would. They agreed with the mission, at least enough to give it their best.

It isn’t hard to find ready and able people. Willing people are another matter. Especially where hard work, deprivation or danger are involved, most people opt out.

I thought of that again this morning when I read Jesus’ lament for Jerusalem in Luke 13, especially this part from verse 34: “‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.’”

That’s striking, isn’t it? Jesus longed to protect and provide for the Jews of Jerusalem; he wanted achingly to save them. But they weren’t willing. They didn’t want it. They clung stubbornly to their sin and their laws and their hierarchy of power. And maybe they didn’t think life as they knew it was so wonderful, but they thought change would be for the worse. They opted not to rock the boat.

We can be so blind. We can love this world so much, even as we complain about how it’s going to pot and moan about how hard life is. But, like the ancient Jews, we cling stubbornly to what we have. We push back against Jesus. I can’t remember the exact words, but C.S. Lewis once compared us to little kids who won’t leave our mud puddle because we can’t imagine the wonders of a day at the seashore.

Am I willing to take everything Jesus is ready to give? Freedom from guilt; an antidote to fear; joy and hope and love in abundance – Jesus has promised all of these things. Life lived close alongside him would be a giddy, exciting, exhilarating and fun ride through this world. Instead of plodding along, I could be living fully – my relationships would be better, my work would be more fulfilling, my wants would be simpler, and my dissatisfactions would wither away. I imagine my days would be fast-moving, full of vivid experiences and memorable people, because I’d see it all the way Jesus sees it. 

Am I ready to stop playing in the mud and go see the world as Jesus created it to be? Jesus would gather us to him like chicks, to care for and nurture and empower and lead, if we were only willing.

no secrets

I wonder how many of the things I’ve said in the last week would have come out of my mouth if I knew eventually everyone would hear them.

I wonder because of this bit of teaching from Jesus in Luke 12:1-3: “Meanwhile, when a crowd of many thousands had gathered, so that they were trampling on one another, Jesus began to speak first to his disciples, saying: ‘Be on your guard against the yeast of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy. There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known. What you have said in the dark will be heard in the daylight, and what you have whispered in the ear in the inner rooms will be proclaimed from the roofs.’”

It’s an interesting setting. With a huge throng gathered to hear Jesus teach, he has a few words in private with his disciples first. Presumably it’s something they need to hear before he talks to the crowd. And this important bit of context is this: don’t be hypocrites like the Pharisees.

Eventually, Jesus says, hypocrisy will be found out. Your secrets will be known. Your private words won’t be private anymore.

That’s especially true these days, when screen captures of people’s private texts are often posted to social media. We have new and improved ways not only to gossip, but to get even. Everyone has a camera in their phone, and secrets are growing harder and harder to keep.

In some ways, that’s good. Elsewhere Jesus admonishes us to live in the light, rather than hide our deeds with darkness. A life of witness needs to be witnessed.

But it’s still scary. I’m not ready for that kind of transparency. I say too many things assuming the person I’m talking about will never hear them. I do too many things believing that people who might expect something different from me will never know.

But it’s a good goal. Can I live a day, or a week, as if everything I do or say will be known by all my family, my friends, my pastor and elders, my co-workers? How different would it be?

Oh, and then once I clean up my words and actions, can I clean up my thoughts too?

no middle ground

Sometimes things have to wait. Maybe more money is needed before we can think about buying a house. Maybe we wait until after the kids are grown to look for a new job. Maybe our dreams wait until retirement.

Sometimes that’s the attitude we take toward Jesus. Right now there’s a lot going on, between trying to get promoted, running the kids to soccer or getting to the grandkids’ programs, keeping ahead of the mowing and not getting behind on our social life. It’s hard to find time for regular devotions and prayer, those things that build and strengthen our relationship with God. Active church membership would take more time and money than we have available. And mission, whatever that might mean in the context of our particular gifts, talents and context, just isn’t happening right now.

That’s a big problem. This is what Jesus told the Jews of his day, in Luke 11:23: “‘Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me scatters.’”

It’s easy to say, “But I am with Jesus. I’m a believer, I go to church, I tithe. I’m one of his.” But then the second part of the sentence comes, and I feel less good. Jesus seems to be saying that if I’m not there working with him, then I’m actually working against him. If I’m not gathering in the harvest, then I’m actually contributing somehow to it being scattered beyond reach.

Does that mean if I choose to wait with being a living witness to my neighborhood, that I’m actually enabling my neighborhood to more easily ignore the fact that God is with us? Does that meant that if I choose to spend my money now on buying a new car and paying off a huge mortgage, that I’m actually letting the problems of poverty and injustice grow worse?  Could it be that, as I wait to use and gain expertise in my gifts, I squander their productiveness?

I don’t want it to mean those things. Surely Jesus knows all of my good intentions for later.

But still . . . “Whoever does not gather with me scatters.” That doesn’t seem to leave any middle ground.

hard love

In Luke 10:27 Jesus summarizes God’s law (or, if you prefer, Jesus’ commands) this way: “He answered, ‘“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind”; and, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”’

So which is easier? Probably, given our neighbors, loving God, right? God has done so much, and we depend on him so much. Our neighbors? Well . . . .

But with all my heart? As in, there isn’t another thing I love as well, or even close to as well? Or, if I read it literally, the only love I have for other things is really to God for the goodness he shows through them? Is that how I love God? And, on top of that, I can’t really say I love him with my entire soul (too many things in this world look good to me) or strength (most of that goes to life in general) or mind (I’d hate to admit some of the junk I’ve put into my mind).

But those neighbors can be hard to love too, especially if the standard is as much as I love me. I’m not sure I love anything that much. Oh, intellectually I do, and I guess there have been those times when I’ve put myself in harm’s way for someone else. But day in and day out, I’m mostly focused on how events affect me, on whether I’m happy or sad or comfortable. On what I want to eat, what I want to do. I don’t very often, as I walk home from work, think, “I wonder what I can do for someone else tonight?”

Probably I’m just an unusually selfish jerk; I’m sure most Christians don’t have to fight self-centeredness like I do. Most Jesus-followers are probably overflowing with love for God and neighbor. But for me, the struggle is real.

It’s another reason to be grateful for God’s grace in granting us the Holy Spirit. Without that, I’d have no chance at all.

ashamed

A friend recently confessed that he wished Christians weren’t so rigid. A Christian himself, he felt that we make the Gospel seem off-putting when we’re so dogmatic about things.

He was talking about the pressure we feel as Christians to go along with where our culture is at. These days, it means we should support a lot of lifestyle choices that were unthinkable a few generations ago. If we don’t, we’re intolerant. We oppose diversity. We’re whatever-ist. We are depicted as haters and losers clinging to old superstitions and ignorant of scientific progress.

If we want to be cool in this culture, to get ahead at work, to get along with our non-Christian friends, then sometimes the gospel goes beyond being inconvenient and becomes embarrassing. If those are our goals, then the label “Christian” is not an advantage.

It’s good to remember what Jesus said in Luke 9:23-26: “Then he said to them all: ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self? Whoever is ashamed of me and my words, the Son of Man will be ashamed of them when he comes in his glory and in the glory of the Father and of the holy angels.’”

We have that choice. We can be embarrassed by Jesus and his requirements. We can be stealth Christians, just keeping our mouths shut and hoping no-one finds out. We can be AWOL Christians, opting to skulk away rather than engage in the moral fights of our times. We can be Quisling Christians, choosing to join with our occupiers. We can do all those things if we’re embarrassed about our faith, if it costs us too much.

But then we should expect Jesus to be embarrassed about us as well. We should anticipate the day when we stand before him and he might say, “This is how you chose to represent me? This is what you thought was discipleship? You really thought that was what I wanted? I’m ashamed you ever carried my name.”

It’s a horrifying thought. 

auxilliary society

A lot of schools, especially private schools, have auxiliary societies. Traditionally they used to be made up of women – moms and grandmas – but now most include both parents. The idea of these societies was to support the work of the school with funds and by volunteering.

I never realized until this morning that Jesus had one of those. Here it is, from Luke 8:1-3: “After this, Jesus traveled about from one town and village to another, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom of God. The Twelve were with him, and also some women . . .” I’m going to break in here, because look at the qualification it took to be in this society: “. . . who had been cured of evil spirits and diseases . . .”

Imagine, this group of women who had been unable to lead normal lives but then suddenly could, thanks to Jesus. What they chose to do, rather than return to their families and towns, was to serve Jesus. And look at who these women were, in words taken straight from scripture:

·      “. . . Mary (called Magdalene) from whom seven demons had come out . . .” Seven! Imagine her suffering! Imagine the drama of their exorcism! 

·      “. . . Joanna the wife of Chuza, the manager of Herod’s household . . .” So, a woman used to living in Herod’s palace, whose husband depended on one of Jesus’ enemies for his living, chose instead to wander with Jesus.

·      “. . . Susanna . . .” We don’t know anything except her name. I like to think she represents all of us who work without recognition.

·      “. . . and many others.” This, I think, is to let us know that Jesus had helped many, many people beyond just the ones we read about.

And look what they did: “These women were helping to support them out of their own means.” These weren’t dependent people hanging on because they had nowhere else to go. They, out of gratitude and through hard work, were enablers in Jesus’ ministry. They went beyond pulling their own weight; they provided food and other necessities for the disciples out of their own pockets.

This is a passage I’ve skimmed over so many times, but this morning it strikes me as a great picture of what grateful living should look like. All of us who know Jesus have been saved from similar demonic influence; if nothing else, we bought some lies from the Father of Lies that led us to do some pretty stupid stuff. Now we’re free of that, just like these women. Shouldn’t we respond just like them? Shouldn’t we choose to follow Jesus, working with him and for him and contributing in any way we can to his work?

Would anything less be sufficient to show how grateful we really are?

wisdom’s children

I heard a presentation once on how the way we think shapes the way we interact. The presenter talked about two kinds of thinking.

One, which she found to be by far most prevalent, she called soldier thinking. Soldier thinkers, she explained, see two sides to everything. If you’re not on the right side, you must be defeated. Any ideas that help your side are defended vigorously. Any information that helps the other side is attacked relentlessly.

Sounds a bit like our national discourse these days, doesn’t it? But it was also true in Jesus day. Look at what he said to the religious leaders in Luke 7:33-35: “’For John the Baptist came neither eating bread nor drinking wine, and you say, “He has a demon.” The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and you say, “Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.” But wisdom is proved right by all her children.’”

I think it was one of Bill Clinton’s people who said, during his presidency, that it doesn’t matter what’s true. What matters is what you can make people think might be true. That’s the kind of thinking that can make evil out of both abstinence and drinking. That’s soldier thinking.

The other kind of thinking this presenter called scout thinking. She noted that in war a scout’s job is to find out the truth. How many enemy are there? Where are they? Can that river be crossed? Is there snow in the pass? Accurate information is worth lives in combat, and it does no good to deceive yourself with things you’d like to be true. Scout thinkers don’t let themselves be seduced by what they want to believe; they constantly look for evidence of the truth.

I think that gets close to what Jesus meant with his last comment. Who are the children of wisdom? Aren’t they the thoughtful conclusions and appropriate actions that come from understanding what is true? If wisdom is knowing what’s right in light of what’s true, then wisdom’s children must grow up with a clear-eyed vision for truth.

Soldier thinking can get you in trouble. Soldier thinking wins no new friends. Soldier thinking ensures only that you will have a lifetime of conflict.

Wisdom’s children, on the other hand, avoid all that. Wisdom’s children know that all truth springs from the one who named himself Truth, and lies and conflict were never his way. When we accept our new place as Truth’s brothers, we have to set soldier thinking aside and look only for the truth.

a good heart

It seems to me to be a pretty basic principle: you don’t get to call yourself a good person if you do bad things. If you use nasty language or even decent language to say nasty things. If you push other people down as you climb up. If you leave other people behind as you move ahead. It doesn’t matter how justified you feel, or if you think they’re worse than you are. If your motives, methods, or end results are bad, you can’t say you’re good.

Here’s how Jesus put it, in Luke 6:45: “A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.”

That’s what it comes down to, the fact that our hearts will always betray us. Good-hearted people do good things. Any other kind of heart doesn’t produce good.

In truth, though, there are no good-hearted people, not by ourselves. Left on our own, we’re all self-centered. We’re all mean-spirited to people who wrong us. We’re all stingy. We’re all rule-breakers. That’s human nature.

But then we meet Jesus, and the first thing he does is spiritual heart surgery. Our bad hearts become good, and our mouths begin to speak the good that’s in our hearts. Our hands do the things our mouths say. And we become good people.

We don’t get to say, “I know I do bad things, but basically I’m a good person.” The only good people are Jesus people, because they’re the only people with changed hearts.

three responses to Jesus

Luke 5 give an interesting review of the three ways Jews responded when they encountered Jesus.

In verse, after Jesus provided fish for the fishermen, this was Peter’s reaction: “When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, ‘Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!’” Peter didn’t even want to be near Jesus; his shame at his own sinfulness was too great to bear.

A few verses later, a leper saw things a little differently, in verses 12 and 13: “While Jesus was in one of the towns, a man came along who was covered with leprosy. When he saw Jesus, he fell with his face to the ground and begged him, ‘Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.’” This leper saw a savior when he saw Jesus; he hoped for mercy, and he got it.

In contrast to Peter and the leper, look at the response of the religious leaders, in verse 21: “The Pharisees and the teachers of the law began thinking to themselves, ‘Who is this fellow who speaks blasphemy? Who can forgive sins but God alone?’” They were disdainful and dismissive; Jesus didn’t meet their standards or fit into their expectations of a rabbi, so they labeled him a blasphemer.

These seem to me to be examples of three ways we can respond. We can deny who Jesus is and defy his lordship over our lives. We can run away in shame, thinking our sin is too much even for the Savior. Or we can turn to him in hope.

At times, I think I’ve done all three. Right now, by the grace of God, I’m able to follow the example of the leper.

authority

One thing about Army units was that rumors were always flying. Everyone heard something from someone about where we were headed next, or what our next mission would be, or whether we were getting how chow or more MREs. In the absence of good information, we scrounged it wherever we could find it, and sometimes it wasn’t very reliable.

But when the Colonel showed up, we shut up and listened. This was the person who knew. He (or she, at one point in my career) made the decisions and approved the plans; this was his unit. Once the Colonel let us know, the scuttlebutt stopped.

I thought of those times this morning when I read Luke 4:31-32: “Then he went down to Capernaum, a town in Galilee, and on the Sabbath he taught the people. They were amazed at his teaching, because his words had authority.”

There are a lot of people telling us what to think and how to live. Keto diet or Atkins or South Beach, traditional medicine or holistic, Republican or Democrat, Christian or something else – there are a lot of viewpoints out there. Let immigrants in or keep them out? Single-payer or private insurance? Talk to North Korea or walk away? Depending on who you listen to, any of these things is either our salvation or a road to disaster.

We want that authoritative voice to tell us what’s right, which way to go, how to behave. But we forget that we have it.

Jesus, the Lord of this universe, has spoken. He gave us the Beatitudes and the Sermon on the Mount. He gave us his example along with his words. He gave us an entire Bible full of revelation. And his words change lives; they change everything.

If we only listen and believe. Otherwise, they change nothing.

fire

Today is the Fourth of July. It’s that holiday where we Americans celebrate our freedom and nationhood by charring meat and exploding huge amounts of money. 

Normally those activities don’t remind me of the gospel story, but this morning, I’m struck by John the Baptist’s prophecies regarding Jesus. Here’s an example from Luke3:16-18: “‘He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn, but he will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.’ And with many other words John exhorted the people and proclaimed the good news to them.”

Our passion for firecrackers and night-blossoms is, I think, intended to be a vicarious enjoyment, made safe by distance and a massive degree of scale, of the “rockets’ red glare” of war that won our freedom. Today instead it reminds me of the fiery purification of the world that will happen when God finally is finished with the harvest and gets down to business. And it reminds me that true freedom has nothing to do with military might or being a world superpower.

One day I’ll be threshed like wheat, and my impurities will be seared away – my baptism too will include fire. One day, all of the unsaved, those to whom the things of God seemed foolish, will burn. That will be a horrible, beautiful day; not a holiday, but certainly a holy day.

consolation?

There’s a line from the movie The Princess Bride that I think of a lot: “You keep saying that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” This morning, reading in Luke 2, I wanted to apply it to Simeon.

Take a look at the verses that struck me, verses 25 and then 34 and 35:

“Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was on him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. . . .

“Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

The word I’m wondering about is “consolation.” I always thought it had something to do with, maybe, consoling. I didn’t really think someone called the consolation would cause the falling and rising of many, or would be an unwelcome sign that revealed heart-felt thoughts that people wanted to keep to themselves. Nor should he be a sword that pierces his mother along with everyone else.

But that’s Simeon’s prophecy for Jesus.

It reminds me that God sees what we need, not what we think we ought to have. Israel would only be consoled through a restored relationship with God, and for that to happen Jesus first had to confront them with their sin and call them to repentance. His life would always be opposed by people who were part of the status quo, and welcomed those who longed to be changed.

It’s not a consolation I would choose for myself, to be confronted and convicted and humbled. But it’s the consolation I need, because it leads to forgiveness.

delayed singing

Luke 1 is an interesting chapter. I don’t often read the whole thing at once, because it’s quite long, so it was a nice experience this morning to see something new in these very familiar verses. What I see is a story of two blessings, and two singers, with a strong contrast between the two.

First we read of Zechariah, who learns from an angel while working in the inner temple that his dream is about to come true. Zechariah and Elizabeth are about to have their long-desired son, at a point when they’d bout given up hope. Zechariah was so overjoyed he composed and sang a song.

Then we get the story of Mary, told by the same angel that she will be the mother of Jesus. This wasn’t something Mary wanted; in fact, it was likely to make a mess of her life. But she too made up a song and sang it.

Here’s the contrast though. When Zechariah was told his news, this is his response, from verse 18: “Zechariah asked the angel, ‘How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.’” As a result, Zechariah doesn’t sing for most of a year, until after his son is born, because he was struck dumb for his doubt.

Mary, on the other hand, immediately said this, in verse 38: “‘I am the Lord’s servant,’ Mary answered. ‘May your word to me be fulfilled.’” She then immediately went to visit her pregnant cousin Elizabeth, and sang her song right away. She got to celebrate right away.

Doubting Zechariah responded in verse 18 and didn’t sing until verse 67. Willing Mary responded in verse 38 and sang in verse 46. In the end, though, both God’s servants sang.