sacrifices

A large part of Hebrews, much of the first 10 chapters, is a detailed explanation of how the old law of the sacrifice is past. Those old, ineffective sacrifices, meant merely as a temporary stopgap, were ended with the sacrifice of God himself on the cross.

But there are still sacrifices for Christians of our time to make. Two, to be specific.

Hebrews 13:15-16 says, “Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise—the fruit of lips that openly profess his name. And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.”

God expects our sacrifices of praise. He expects that with our words we will be bold to proclaim how good he has been to us. He also expects us to be good people who do good things and are generous with our blessings. Those are the sacrifices of the Jesus-follower of today.

How do I square that with the times I choose to keep silent rather than have people know of my faith? That happens sometimes, when I’m in a business setting and world views are being discussed. 

How do I square it with the times my lips have professed things that shame his name? The times I’ve spoken hatefully of earnest people who disagree with me were, in a way, professing negative things about God – I’ve openly identified myself with him, so it would be reasonable for people who hear me to assume that I’m reflecting God’s values.

How do I square these requirements with the times I’ve opted to stay home rather than join a service project, or kept money I could have given to a cause?

There are many, many times that I’ve brought these sacrifices. I profess God’s name and praise him daily, in these blogs. I think on the whole I’m quick to help and quick to give. But do I sacrifice in proportion to God’s goodness and what I owe him?

That’s a goal, to bring even more worthy sacrifices than I have.

discipline

Nobody volunteers for discipline, but everyone wants it.

When someone says, “She’s disciplined,” that’s a compliment. Discipline is an enviable character trait; I’ve summarized it before simply as the ability to say no to yourself. Discipline is the strength to do the good things we don’t want to, and to deny ourselves the bad things that we want. Discipline goes hand in hand with high achievement, because it focuses and leverages our strengths.

When someone says, “I need to discipline you,” that’s a bad thing. None of us wants that. Discipline at the hands of someone else feels like punishment. In fact, it may be that the only difference between the two is how much the person doing it cares about you.

But the fact is, you can’t be a disciplined person without sometimes having someone discipline you, and without routinely disciplining yourself.

Hebrews 12 discusses the correction our earthly fathers give us and contrasts it with God. Look at this, from verses 10 and 11: “They disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.”

There’s a significant difference between discipline as understood by most people and discipline as described by the author of Hebrews. We think of discipline as correction or self-correction that enables us to achieve. But God’s discipline is a paring away of harmful behaviors intended to make us more holy. Discipline as our culture understands it helps us get promoted or lose weight. God’s discipline gives us righteousness and peace. 

That changes things. Nobody volunteers for discipline, but I might raise my hand to an offer of more righteousness and peace.

confidence and hope

Confidence and hope seem to be dissimilar to me. Confidence suggests certainty. Hope connotes a level of uncertainty; we want some thing, we hope it comes to pass, but we’re just not sure. 

The author of Hebrews sees a close link, though, as expressed in Hebrews 11:1-2: “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for.”

Faith and hope are closely linked because faith at it’s core is an expression of belief in something we can’t prove. It doesn’t take faith to believe something that we can support with facts and evidence. It would take faith to believe in unicorns, but it doesn’t take any to believe horses exist. 

But, Hebrews says, faith makes us confident in what we hope for. Our hope isn’t a fervent wish, it’s a vision of a good future that we can know with certainty is coming. It’s assurance that even though we can’t see heaven, or God, they are as real as the homes we live in and the people we talk to every day.

That’s because at it’s root we don’t have faith in the thing, but in the God who promises the thing. He’s the guarantee of all our hopes. That’s why hope is the right word to describe how Christians live; confidence and assurance are good words to describe our hope.

spurs and encouragement

I’m challenged this morning about how I use my words. 

I talk, a lot. I don’t always want to, but it’s part of my job, and important to my relationships. Sometimes I talk more than I should, sometimes I don’t speak up when I should, but overall I talk as much as anyone.

And what do I do when I talk? Well, I coach and teach. I communicate requirements. I ask questions so I can learn and understand. I share my experiences. I explore new ideas, and interact to form opinions. So far, nothing much wrong.

But as I do it, I often use sarcasm. I’m not above the occasional pointed barb. In keeping with the spirit of our current culture, I sometimes pander to the general admiration of snarky putdowns. And sometimes, I share too much about what I don’t like, and drag people into gripe sessions that serve only to exaggerate the actual problem.

Hebrews 10:24-25 says, “And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another —and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”

How much of what I say encourages love and good deeds? I don’t think sarcasm, snark and rants are effective ways to do that. Certainly anything I say that encourages us to look at someone else as “them” is the opposite of encouraging love.

There’s a way to improve my engagement in love and good deeds, a way to reduce the meanness that creeps in all too often. It’s in this passage too, advice not to give up meeting together. You see, there’s a place where we’re all encouraged: God’s church. Love and good deeds is the church’s thing because it’s what God wants.

So churchgoers do more than just encourage each other; we spur each other on. Spurs are used to goad horses, so it’s not a metaphor that really speaks to most of us. It’s more like we’re all running partners, right there side by side, putting in the effort, not wanting to be the one who drops out, slowing to allow each other to keep up, pulling each other along with our support. Spurring each other on, not to finish a run, but to show love and good deeds.

Extending that metaphor, I fear too often I incent people to drop out. It’s not what I want, so I guess it’s time to be sure I show up at church.

happy servants

It’s easy to think so much about grace and salvation that we forget there’s a reason. God is love, but he didn’t save us just for ourselves, so we could live the lives we want. He saved us for his own purposes.

Hebrews 9:14 says: “How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God!”

We get clean consciences and freedom from death so that we can serve. God has work for us to do. He has goals for the world, things he intends to do. Those things involve us, the ones he has saved.

At first that doesn’t sound good, does it? It sounds not far from slavery. “OK, I saved you so now I own you and you have to do what I tell you to.” That’s truth, of course, but our human natures don’t like it. Because we don’t realize that what our natures want isn’t going to make us happy. But serving God will. 

We were made for exactly this. All of our giftedness and our sociability and our love of engagement perfectly fits us for God’s purposes. When we serve as we were made to, we find joy. When we push back against God and try to go our own way, we end up miserable. 

In the end, all God is trying to do is bring us back to what he knows (because he designed and made us) will make us happiest. That’s why he saved us.

once

Once there was a man, a Jewish carpenter who became a rabbi. This man was also God, immaculately conceived and perfect in every way. He lived, and then he died. Once.

But that wasn’t an ordinary death – not even close. When Jesus died, he paid for every sin that ever was; he covered every sinner who ever lived. After tens of generations of faithful priests who killed millions of animals to temporarily atone for peoples’ sins, Jesus did it for all time by dying once.

Because of that, I’ll die once and be judged once, but on judgment day God will see me spotless. When I show up in my grimy sinner-clothes, Jesus will say, “He’s one of mine,” and cover me with a stainless robe of salvation, one just like he wears. When God looks to judge me, he’ll see instead the perfection of Jesus, and instead of recounting my sins he’ll recall Jesus on the cross.

Hebrews 9:27-28: “Just as people are destined to die once, and after that to face judgment, so Christ was sacrificed once to take away the sins of many; and he will appear a second time, not to bear sin, but to bring salvation to those who are waiting for him.”

Hallelujah, what a savior!

better hope

I’ve disappointed more than one of my friends and family, and probably some of my readers, by my opinion that we Christians put way too much faith in political power. I’ve said many times in many different ways that power can enforce behavior but not belief, and that you’ll never change a heart with a law. Saving souls isn’t something the government can do; as Chuck Colson famously said, “Salvation doesn’t come on Air Force One.”

I doubt I’ve changed many minds. In fact, almost everyone I know still thinks a conservative Supreme Court will counter our moral decline.

But here, in Hebrews 7:18-19, I find what appears to me to be some support for my belief: “The former regulation is set aside because it was weak and useless (for the law made nothing perfect), and a better hope is introduced, by which we draw near to God.”

Jesus came precisely because laws can’t save us. Laws make it very clear how we should be, but have no power to actually make us that way. At most, they can make us do things we wouldn’t otherwise in those situations where someone is watching. (Don’t believe me? Ever hit your brakes when you see a cop?) It’s like the thing about cats: you can’t train them to stay off the counter. You can only train them to stay off the counter when you’re in the room.

There is no hope in the law. There’s a world of hope in changed hearts. Wouldn’t this be an amazing country if people wanted to be morally and ethically good? If no one wanted to use drugs or gamble or hurt anyone else? We’ve been unable to solve those problems despite a comprehensive legal code and the best police forces in the world, because too many hearts are wicked.

Here’s the thing: only Jesus can change a heart. Jesus showed us what a perfect life looks life, and died himself to cover our imperfections. Jesus is the very Word that spoke this world into being. Jesus is the omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent Lord of the universe. He’s not only a better hope, he’s our only hope.

Only Jesus can change a heart, but any one of us can introduce someone to Jesus.

diligence

As I commented about a co-worker, “She’s really diligent,” I realized that I considered that a trait that set her apart. I don’t really expect diligence from people anymore. 

Diligence is an admirable trait; it’s that characteristic of keeping your focus on the right things, taking care of the details, and never letting things get away from you. Diligent people are on top of things. It’s a quality we should value and encourage.

That’s what the author of Hebrews does in Hebrews 6:10-12 when he notes: “God is not unjust; he will not forget your work and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them. We want each of you to show this same diligence to the very end, so that what you hope for may be fully realized. We do not want you to become lazy, but to imitate those who through faith and patience inherit what has been promised.”

This man recognized that there comes a point in our faith life when it isn’t new anymore. We’ve felt the excitement relief of being forgiven, and have responded in love and gratitude that poured out on other people. At that time we became less selfish and more selfless, and our time and resources flowed to the benefit of others.

Then, there comes a temptation to coast. We’ve proven our love, we’ve demonstrated our faith, and we’ve gotten our life more or less in order. We may feel it’s time to start enjoying the blessings. We may decide that younger, newer believers can carry the load now.

Don’t give in, the writer tells us. Keep showing that admirable trait of diligence. When God has work to be done, show up. Be faithful in prayer. Put in the hard work of Bible reading, meditation and discussion. Why? Because that’s how we make the most of the new hope we have; that’s how we inherit the things we were promised.

In a lot of areas of life we can say, “I’ve paid my dues.” Christians can’t say that. We pay not what is due, but what our loving, grateful hearts want to give. If that giving ever stops, it’s a heart problem.

not trying

“You’re not even trying!” I wonder how often I’ve said that to one of my kids, or grandkids, or employees. I wonder how often it’s been said to me.

Sometimes, when people don’t care very much, they don’t try very hard. Sometimes, when they perceive that they already have the benefits, they no longer want to do the work.

Sometimes, “they” becomes “we,” as in we long-term Christians. Look at this, from Hebrews 5:11-12: “We have much to say about this, but it is hard to make it clear to you because you no longer try to understand. In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again.”

If we were really trying to have a growing relationship with God, and were trying hard to understand what he wants, then by this time we’d be teachers. Yet there we are, sitting in the pew Sunday after Sunday, still not always able to follow what the pastor is saying. Sometimes, not even trying, but instead thinking through the rest of the day, or yesterday’s game.

It’s hard for even the best teacher to explain if we aren’t trying. But if we aren’t trying, why not? Is it because we think we already have the benefits, and Bible study seems like hard work? Devotions seems like they take too much time? Taking sermon notes seems like a hassle?

My wife teaches piano, and can tell within minutes how much effort a student put in since the last lesson. Pastors can tell from the pulpit how much effort people put in to listening. But God knows immediately how hard we’re trying to know him and understand his revelation. And he cares the most.

sharp words

Some thoughts in scripture are too deep for me. For example, take this well known passage from Hebrews 4:12-13: “For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.”

What does in mean that God’s word is alive and active? When we say the Bible is the living word, what exactly are we saying?

In one respect, maybe this refers to Jesus, who is the capital-w Word often referred to in the New Testament. But I think there’s more here; in some mysterious way God’s revelation in the Bible is more than old ink on inert pages. It is evergreen, showing new fruit every season.

That’s why during the first Persian Gulf war, when it looked like I was going to deploy, every passage in Dawn’s devotions seemed to be about war. It’s why scripture never fails to meet a need, even the ones that seem brand-new to our time (for example, what do you do when your spouse has PTSD, or child identifies as a different gender?).

That’s because, in the end, it isn’t possible to separate God’s capital-w Word from all the other words that were Spirit-breathed and preserved for us. They are both unfailing, ever accurate revelations of who God is, how we relate to him, and what he expects of us. Jesus perfectly lived out every syllable of God’s revelation; more than that, he made it all make sense.

That’s why it has the power to judge our thoughts and attitudes, to divide the parts of us still stuck in fleshly lust from the parts trying hard to live right.

It’s why we have to read it. Nothing else will get us right with God.

thoughts

Yesterday I wrote about the amazing truth that Jesus became just like us. He became fully human and lived out the entirety of a human experience here on earth, only without sin.

That led to one of those “therefore” (read, “because of that”) statements, this one in Hebrews 3:1-3: “Therefore, holy brothers and sisters, who share in the heavenly calling, fix your thoughts on Jesus, whom we acknowledge as our apostle and high priest. He was faithful to the one who appointed him, just as Moses was faithful in all God’s house. Jesus has been found worthy of greater honor than Moses, just as the builder of a house has greater honor than the house itself.”

Because Jesus successfully lived a life, we should think only about Jesus as the example of what we want to become. The ancient Jews looked to Moses. We tend to look to self-help gurus or very successful people. Maybe we ask our friends, or put the question out on social media. There are a lot of places we look for answers.

Don’t bother, the author of Hebrews says. None of them can save you. But Jesus can. Thoughts about wealth, plans for getting 10,000 Twitter followers, schemes to land that next promotion – all these things will leave you disappointed. Don’t spend your mental energy there.

No, fix your eyes not on who your Moses is, that earthly role model you think can show you how to win. Fix your thoughts on Jesus. That’s how we can make the most of ourselves, and our lives here on earth.

like us

I remember as a young officer being mentored on leadership. At that time Colin Powell was one of the leading generals in the Army, and our instructor said, “You can look at General Powell and see exceptional leadership in action, but don’t spend too much time figuring out how he did it. You aren’t Colin Powell, so you’ll never be able to lead exactly the way he does. But Colin Powell couldn’t be you either.”

That’s advice I’ve taken to heart since when I’m tempted to try to make myself over in the mold of someone I admire. But this morning, I realized that Jesus is the exception to the rule.

Hebrews 2:17-18 says, “For this reason he had to be made like them, fully human in every way, in order that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God, and that he might make atonement for the sins of the people. Because he himself suffered when he was tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.”

I can’t be like Jesus, although I’m supposed to try. But Jesus was able to be just like me. He knows what it’s like to get blisters on his hands, eat simple food, look forward to a good night’s rest. He’s been sad and mad and happy and weary. And he knows what it’s like to be tempted. Jesus came to earth to be human, and he didn’t cut any classes or skip any grades.

He didn’t sin either. And in those two things is all of my hope. He knows what I face, and understands why I sometimes fail. But he never failed, so when God took him as a substitute sacrifice, it covered all my sins. And yours, if that’s where you put your hope.

Jesus was like me. That’s one of the things that helps me become more like him.

God spoke

“If only God would just let me know the right thing.”

I’ve often wished God would just talk out loud. I want to hear from him. As I noodle through the little puzzlers of the day and as I grapple with the big problems of life, I often wish he would just tell me what to do. I feel like there’s a right answer, or at least a best answer, and I want to do that thing.

This morning, reading in Hebrews 1, I got a pretty clear answer for all the times I’ve thought like that. Look at this, from verses 1-4: “In the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, and through whom also he made the universe.”

God has let me know the right thing. I have the documented words of Jesus. I have the example of the life of Jesus. I have the record of God’s character and expectations in the Old Testament. And I have the counsel of men who walked and talked with Jesus, and a man who Jesus spoke to directly from heaven on the road to Damascus. I can’t claim I don’t know the right thing.

In the past, this writer says, God sent prophets to tell the people directly what God expected. But here’s the thing: even with that kind of direct communication, most of the people didn’t listen. Being a prophet was a hard job because mostly you were ignored or abused.

Am I guilty of doing the same thing with this new communication from God? Do I fail to listen to the words of Jesus, those red letters in so many of my Bibles? Do I ignore his example? Do I disbelieve Peter and John and James and Paul when they tell me what they know from first-hand experience?

Not on my good days. I read the Bible pretty much every day, and most of the time I mull over what I read. I’m thoughtful and deliberate about trying to understand. Most of the time.

But still, I too often say, “I wish God would just tell me what’s right.” 

without hindrance

In Jerusalem they tried to kill Paul. They were so outraged that he brought the gospel to the Gentiles that they plotted assassination attempts and made up charges to try to get him.

In Rome the Jews wouldn’t believe. They listened because this “new sect” called the Way was so controversial, and some believed, but most didn’t. They left Paul in his house arrest rather than defend him.

The Romans, however, were more tolerant. The last verses of Acts, Acts 28:30-31, tell us “For two whole years Paul stayed there in his own rented house and welcomed all who came to see him. He proclaimed the kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ—with all boldness and without hindrance!”

Awaiting a hearing as a prisoner, Paul was treated decently. More so, he was allowed to openly preach. During his two-year confinement he did exactly that, teaching and proclaiming to anyone who was interested.

I wonder what the result of just those two years of ministry were. How many saved people? How many changed lives?

My next thought is to wonder what the result of a similar period of “proclaiming without hindrance” might have done in Jerusalem. But that wasn’t to be; the city that killed Jesus wanted desperately to kill Paul too. The Romans, in their tolerance or perhaps just indifference, allowed Paul a more effective ministry than God’s own people.

It’s an interesting end to Paul’s story. I can’t decide if it’s a sad one, or good. But it reminds me that it is possible for an established church to hinder the spread of the good news. If we put roadblocks in the way of racial reconciliation, or allow fear to keep us from opening our arms to new people, or declare tradition as our basis for excluding certain kinds of people from leadership, we could be hindering.

It’s a sad thought that sometimes God’s saints have to get away from our established churches and most churched communities to do their best work.

Julius

Often in scripture I encounter people I wish I could have met in real life. One of those, Julius the centurion, is a player in Paul’s story at the ends of Acts. A centurion was a man who commanded 100 soldiers (hence “centurion”). To me, that makes him a company commander – I immediately relate, because I was one once. There’s a lot of responsibility with that job, and some power. He would have been one of 5 to 10 men of his rank in a Roman regiment.

Julius was given a mission that happens to Army officers sometimes – prisoner transport. Honestly, it’s really a sucky job. Nobody wants it, but it’s given only to trusted, humane officers because there’s too much potential for abuse. That tells me Julius was a stand-up guy.

And he proved it already in the first three verses of Acts 27: “When it was decided that we would sail for Italy, Paul and some other prisoners were handed over to a centurion named Julius, who belonged to the Imperial Regiment. We boarded a ship from Adramyttium about to sail for ports along the coast of the province of Asia, and we put out to sea. Aristarchus, a Macedonian from Thessalonica, was with us.”
“The next day we landed at Sidon; and Julius, in kindness to Paul, allowed him to go to his friends so they might provide for his needs.”

Through the drama of Acts 27, Julius rolls the dice on a judgment call, choosing to set sail in clear weather but during a risky time of year. That decision didn’t pan out, and Julius, his soldiers, the sailors and prisoners would all be shipwrecked. Even in that, Julius heeded Paul and protected him. Like I said, a stand-up guy.

Julius makes me think of all the non-believers I’ve worked with and served with and rubbed up against over the years. Most are decent people. Most helped me more than hindered. Most were doing the best they could. And all had one thing in common: most of what they know about Jesus they learned from watching me and other Christians.

Paul’s life was a powerful witness to the gospel, and I’d like to think Julius met Jesus through him. Maybe one day Julius and I can discuss prisoner transport missions in heaven. But maybe not – odds are Julius didn’t convert.

Still, there will be more Juliuses in my life. Maybe I can work a little harder to make sure they get to meet Jesus.

crazy talk

Paul got most of the way through his defense in front of King Agrippa until he got to the thing that the governor, Festus, just couldn’t accept: the resurrection of Jesus.

Here it is, in Acts 26:22-25: “‘But God has helped me to this very day; so I stand here and testify to small and great alike. I am saying nothing beyond what the prophets and Moses said would happen — that the Messiah would suffer and, as the first to rise from the dead, would bring the message of light to his own people and to the Gentiles.’ 

“At this point Festus interrupted Paul’s defense. ‘You are out of your mind, Paul!’ he shouted. ‘Your great learning is driving you insane.’

“‘I am not insane, most excellent Festus,’ Paul replied. ‘What I am saying is true and reasonable.’”

To Festus, the idea that Jesus could come alive again was preposterous. That’s sad, because it means Festus couldn’t see the beauty of Christianity.

For Christians, death is no longer to be feared. All our hope is found in the fact that for Jesus, death wasn’t an obstacle. His resurrection from the dead and ascension into heaven are historical facts that make all the difference. The conqueror of death sits at God’s side, speaking for all of us who call him Lord.

It's sad that, for so many of my friends and neighbors, this is crazy talk. It’s even more sad that the same is the case for many of our leaders. But it’s not because Festus was right, that people who believe this are insane. It’s because listening to Satan makes good news sound like insanity.

It’s why we need the Holy Spirit. Without that wise counselor, it easily does seem like crazy talk.

unreasonable

I don’t get why Festus didn’t just let Paul go.

Festus inherited Paul from the previous governor, Felix. He refused the request of the Jewish leaders to send him back to Jerusalem, but he didn’t really know what to do with Paul. So when King Agrippa showed up, he brought Paul before him.

And here’s what he said, from Acts 25:24-27: “Festus said: “King Agrippa, and all who are present with us, you see this man! The whole Jewish community has petitioned me about him in Jerusalem and here in Caesarea, shouting that he ought not to live any longer. I found he had done nothing deserving of death, but because he made his appeal to the Emperor I decided to send him to Rome. But I have nothing definite to write to His Majesty about him. Therefore I have brought him before all of you, and especially before you, King Agrippa, so that as a result of this investigation I may have something to write. For I think it is unreasonable to send a prisoner on to Rome without specifying the charges against him.”

Festus recognized that Paul hadn’t done anything wrong. He was willing to take the easy way out by sending Paul on to Caesar, as Paul requested. But he couldn’t figure out what to charge Paul with. Nothing fit, because Paul was a good man. To send him on without charges, though, would be unreasonable, so Festus asked the King for help.

I wonder what would have happened if Festus would have let Paul go. Maybe the Jewish leaders would have assassinated him. Maybe he would have gone on to plant more churches. But he wouldn’t have gone to Rome to witness to the government officials there. And he may not have written the book of Romans, which he did while in prison in Rome. I can’t imagine the impact on the world if we never had the wisdom of Romans.

In the end I marvel at how God works out his plans. To all of Paul’s friends, this multi-year imprisonment was a tragedy. Paul walked into it willingly, trusting God to be working out his kingdom even if Paul couldn’t see how. He did that because he knew God had something working, something he wanted Paul to help him with.

I wonder if God has ever been working something in my hardships, only I was too self-absorbed to see it. I wonder if, in the future, when he does that I’ll be spiritually sensitive enough to see it that time.

conscience

The Bible is full of old words, many of which we no longer use in normal conversation. I was struck by one of those today, one I hadn’t realized until now had fallen out of usage.

I was reading about Paul’s defense of himself before Felix. Here’s part of what he said, from Acts 24:14-16: “‘However, I admit that I worship the God of our ancestors as a follower of the Way, which they call a sect. I believe everything that is in accordance with the Law and that is written in the Prophets, and I have the same hope in God as these men themselves have, that there will be a resurrection of both the righteous and the wicked. So I strive always to keep my conscience clear before God and man.’”

And there that old-fashioned word is: conscience. It’s that thing that helps us discern right and wrong. When I was younger, that word came up a lot. “Let your conscience be your guide.” “How can she sleep with that on her conscience.” “He’s suffering from a guilty conscience.”

This morning, I can’t think of the last time I heard someone use the word conscience. And I wonder why not.

I get it that it’s human nature to try to get away with things, to do what pleases us and, if it’s not a good thing, to just try not to get caught. That’s not a new thing; it’s been around forever. But when did doing the wrong things stop bothering us? Have our consciences been so deadened that they no longer register right and wrong? Are expediency and indulgence so much a part of us now that ethics and morality are secondary?

It strikes me that a sensitive conscience is a great blessing. Paul kept his conscience that way by staying close to the source of all goodness, the very standard of right and wrong: God. And then he used his Spirit-guided conscience as the measurement of his activity. As a result, it took lies and false charges to get him into trouble. There wasn’t anything legitimately bad they could say about Paul.

I wonder how different life would be if my primary goal was to end each day with a clean conscience, one that was clear before God and man? Would I make different choices?

confidence

After a day of riots and dangerous near-beatings, of arrest and chaining and release, Paul faced his accusers. The Roman commander brought in all the religious power players: the high priest, the Pharisees, and the Sanhedrin.

This is how Paul started his defense: Acts 23:1: “Paul looked straight at the Sanhedrin and said, ‘My brothers, I have fulfilled my duty to God in all good conscience to this day.’"

I’m struck by the confidence of this simple statement. Despite all the physical threats of the day and the legal jeopardy he faced, Paul only cared what God thought. He was sure enough of God’s providence and protection that he dared make this statement. 

It was also an appeal, though. It seems to me in this simple statement he was trying to remind everyone there that they served the same God. Put aside the politics, he seems to be saying. Let’s consider what we both know to be more important.

I wonder what it feels like, in the middle of big events, to be able to say, “I have fulfilled my duty to God in all good conscience.” I think I’ve had days where I have, but I think more times I’ve fulfilled my duty to something less than the full measure of my capability.

This looks to me to be a good model for resolving differences among Christians. First, be sure you’ve met your duty to God completely; in other words, that you can represent your position from a place God will approve. Then, trust God that he will not leave you hanging if you tell the truth. Finally, remind everyone that we serve not our own agendas but God’s kingdom.

In the end, it didn’t work for Paul but that’s because God wanted him to testify before the governor and king, and finally before the highest leaders in Rome. Paul’s courage and devotion to duty were needed by God for bigger things.

Which is another sign of God’s approval, one I’d love see for myself.

flinging dust

Despite being arrested and hauled away because of a riot, Paul had the mob in the palm of his hand. With the permission of the office of the Roman guard, he spoke to them. Because he spoke in Aramaic, their language, they calmed down and listened. And as he recited his pedigree and history, they became more and more settled.

And then this, from Acts 22:21-23: “‘Then the Lord said to me, “Go; I will send you far away to the Gentiles.”’
“The crowd listened to Paul until he said this. Then they raised their voices and shouted, ‘Rid the earth of him! He’s not fit to live!’”
“As they were shouting and throwing off their cloaks and flinging dust into the air, the commander ordered that Paul be taken into the barracks.”

Just the thought that God might reach out to other people made that crowd nuts. Once again, if it wasn’t so serious, it would be funny: look at them, throwing their coats off and flinging dust in the air, getting it all over themselves and everything else.

Flinging dust. All of a sudden, I have a new phrase for what we do with our disagreements. We grab our rage in both hands and toss it all over everyone in reach. We take great fistfuls of deceit and use them to obscure the truth. With our handfuls of outrage, we stoke everyone around us. All because someone we don’t like might get something we already have.

That’s bad enough when it’s politics or business, but when in matters of faith this is horrible. God wants everyone to hear what he has to say; when we think one group or another shouldn’t belong, we’re assuming God’s rightful role of judge.

I want to be done with flinging dust. I want to love all my neighbors the way God loved the Gentiles. It would do me good to remember that, as a Gentile, in this matter of the covenant I was one of those others the faithful wanted to exclude. And all the dust-flinging was over the idea that I might be included.