praise and cursing

I’ve heard some pretty vicious things said over coffee after church. I’ve heard nasty gossip, disgust about rivals, anger toward people on the opposite side of the church building question, and hatred directed at politicians. Oh, that’s not most of what I hear, but I think I hear something mean most Sundays.

Sometimes at work when someone says something horrible, someone else will say, “And you kiss your mother with that mouth?” James challenges us in pretty much the same way in James 3:9-11: “With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be. Can both fresh water and salt water flow from the same spring?”

How do I reconcile these dual uses for my mouth, the vile things I say with the same organs that I use to praise God? How do I make sense of the mean-spirited things I post and tweet with my attempts to use those same platforms for these devotional blogs? How do my praises not disgust God?

What Paul wrote is so true: there are two men inside me, the sinful man who wants to indulge my worst instincts, and the saved saint who lives for better things. But in this matter of how I use my voice, there aren’t two options. To mix the metaphor, I can be the fresh-water spring that brings life, or a flood of salt water that kills what it touches.

My choice. But it seems like passing on those chances to say the mean thing is a small price to pay to be able to bring true praise to God.

mercy triumphs

This is a rough political climate. We can debate the factors, but the outcome is that in our churches and communities, we’re more willing to fight over the upcoming election than at any time I can recall. We have a heightened willingness to get in each others’ faces over what we see as mistaken, even dangerous, views on national policy and polity. And on social media, look out.

It gets easier every day to discern who the good guys and bad guys are. At least, if we listen to the talking heads and more strident voices on our side.

There seems to me to be little of Godliness in all of this. James 2:12-13 says: “Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment.”

Aren’t we all about judgment? Am I not all about judgment? As an converted independent (formerly Republican) I’m appalled at the scheming and intransigence of the progressives. I’m equally disgusted with the callousness and tribalism of the far right. As far as I’m concerned, none of them are good for our country.

But that’s my judgmental side at work. James doesn’t encourage that, because Jesus wouldn’t either. James reminds me that the old law of judgment has been replaced by the Jesus-era law of gratitude. He points out that instead of legalism, I’m supposed to be moved by the mercy I received. Jesus didn’t judge me, he loved me. That’s the standard.

Christians are not called to judgment, not even when it comes to politics. We’re called to mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment, especially in the cosmic sense. 

Can I do it? Can I suspend my judgment and show loving mercy to all those people who are so obviously wrong? I don’t know, but if I believe James I have to try.

beards and mirrors

For the last few years, I’ve had a beard. If I say so myself, it’s a pretty good one. Oh, not everyone thinks so. My wife has used the word “scruffy,” and certain brothers gleefully point out the amount of gray. Even so, I like it and even better, my grandkids love it. They especially like it when I grow it out for Christmas and then, sometimes, I comb it backwards so it sticks straight out. Makes their grandma crazy.

There’s one thing I don’t like about it though: after decades of a no-maintenance look, I’m now dependent on mirrors. You see, a problem with facial hair is it can get stuff stuck in it, or it can stick out funny. So periodically throughout the day, and always after meals, I go look. When I see something unsightly, I fix it.

That’s an everyday experience for most that James uses to promote understanding in James 1:22-25: “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But whoever looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues in it—not forgetting what they have heard, but doing it—they will be blessed in what they do.”

James explains that the law is like a mirror: it shows us what’s wrong with us. It shows us what God – and many close to us – already see. It shows our selfishness and anger and self-indulgence. It shows our lusts and perverted appetites. It shows all the things we think we’re hiding. 

And if we see all that and choose not to change, it’s just a stupid as me leaving soup in my beard. 

We have a love-hate relationship with the law. We forget that it was given to us by God, and we forget why. We forget that without it we wouldn’t know what obedience looks like. We also forget that, by the grace of God, this mirror does something else. While it shows us what’s wrong with us, it also shows us at our best. It shows us what a perfect life would look like. 

When Jesus came, he obeyed the law perfectly. Then he paid the price of disobedience not for himself, but for us. So that, when we look into that mirror and see ourselves as we are, we also know that we can become that image of our perfect selves.

This mirror called the law is a critical tool for obedient living. I should look into it at least as ofte as I check my beard. 

perspective

Did you ever see one of those holographic pictures that changes according to the angle you look at it? Stand here, and it’s a sleeping lion; stand over there and the lion is awake and roaring.

Life can be like that. Viewed through the lens of our humanity and earthbound experience, it can look bleak and hopeless. Given God’s perspective, though, and you see a fantastic world.

Mary had that. Look at this vignette from the resurrection story, as given to us in John 20:14-17: 

“At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.

“He asked her, ‘Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?’

“Thinking he was the gardener, she said, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.’

“Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’

“She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, ‘Rabboni!’ (which means “Teacher”).

“Jesus said, ‘Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.”’”

All of Mary’s human experience told her that Jesus was dead and gone. With that perspective, the empty tomb was just one more cruel trick played by the Jewish leaders. One more thing to make a bad morning even worse. Through her dim vision, even Jesus just looked like a gardener.

Then, her perspective shifted. Jesus spoke. Jesus proved he was alive, and told her his plans. And suddenly, defeat and despair and hopelessness were gone. That gloomy garden must have seemed like the most beautiful place on earth.

Do I see it? When I look around, I often see us losing. I see morality decaying, civility pretty much gone, kindness only situational and tarnished by selfish motives. I see predators and abusers of all kinds, and countless victims broken in their path. I see Christianity labeled as superstition, and Christians responding by compromising their values. Satan seems to be on the march, effortlessly rolling over goodness. This doesn’t look like victory to me.

But then Jesus puts his hand on my shoulder and turns my head. Then I see the cross towering over it all, casting an unmistakable shadow across the world. I see faithful Christians moving about the battlefield, tending to the wounded and fighting to maintain safe places for the refugees. I see the desperation in the enemy as he realizes that this is his last, best effort and it’s not going to be enough. And I realize that Jesus has him whipped, and is waiting just long enough for the last of his people to be gathered in. Jesus is a no-person-left-behind kind of leader, and his people are spending themselves completely on that mission. I’m on the winning side, and I get to help save the remainder.

It’s a compelling, inspiring vision of the world, and I can see it as long as I stay by Jesus. 

flogged

John 19:1: “Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged.”

I read the story of Jesus’ torture and execution this morning with a chill. For whatever reason, this verse, which I’ve read often before, shocked me this morning.

Imagine the reckless, unknowing disregard of danger. There’s a phrase we use sometimes when people provoke someone they shouldn’t, or pick a fight they can’t win: poking the bear. But think of what it means to whip God. To beat the creator of the world. To flog the one who would rise to become Lord of the universe. With one little flare of his temper, Jesus could have flattened the whole building, or the whole city. Only his determined self-control save the men who tormented him.

Imagine the indignity. Imagine being God, existing outside of time but everywhere in the world, constrained by nothing or no one. Imagine voluntarily accepting the ball and chain of a human body and the limitations of a human existence. Imagine living the only perfect life ever lived by a man or woman. And then, imagine being bound and flogged. In addition to the physical pain, the emotional shock of the debasement and dehumanization must have been immense.

Imagine both of those things, and then feel guilt. The reason Jesus had to go through this is because we can’t get it together. Despite our love of God we continually serve our sins. Far from fleeing temptation, we stand rooted in place as it draws near, or even step closer out of curiosity. Our broken relationship with God breaks more every day, so that only the life and death of Jesus could have any positive effect on it.

Imagine flogging God. 

Imagine being the reason God was flogged.

truth

Occasionally, scripture sounds so contemporary you could almost imagine seeing it unfold on Fox or CNN. Here’s an from Jesus’ hearing before the Roman governor Pilate as found in John 18:37-38: 

“Jesus answered, ‘You say that I am a king. In fact, the reason I was born and came into the world is to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.’

“‘What is truth?’ retorted Pilate.”

What is truth? That’s really hard to tell these days, isn’t it. Truth is what we want to hear. Bad news is fake news; news that supports the ideas and positions we already have is truth. And in this weird way, we become the thing that makes something true. Truth is what we want to believe, therefore what we believe is true.

There’s something supremely ironic about Pilate, face to face with the divine God become man who revealed himself as the Truth, asking, “What is truth?” He should have asked, “Who is truth?” and the answer would have been right there in front of him.

Had Pilate been on the side of truth, as Jesus says here, he would have listened to Jesus. Instead, he never sees Jesus for what he is.

Pilate is what we too often are: a cynic. He’s skeptical about what he’s told, and trusts his own judgment above what he hears from others. So he too becomes a person who defines his own truth by what he believes.

Further irony: we are the worst people in the world to judge truth as it pertains to us. Our feelings are unreliable. Our feelings make mountains out of molehills all the time; we let our fears make cowards of us, jumping at shadows and guarding against things that not only aren’t there but never come to pass. In anyone else we call this crying wolf; in ourselves we trust it as a superior knowledge of the truth.

What is truth? It’s the reality of God and his work in our lives. As such, it’s incomprehensible to anyone who doesn’t listen to Jesus.

given

Some things in scripture become richer the more I think about them. I ran across one of those passages again this morning, in this part of Jesus’ prayer at the Last Supper as recorded in John 17:6-12: 

“‘I have revealed you to those whom you gave me out of the world. They were yours; you gave them to me and they have obeyed your word. Now they know that everything you have given me comes from you. For I gave them the words you gave me and they accepted them. They knew with certainty that I came from you, and they believed that you sent me. I pray for them. I am not praying for the world, but for those you have given me, for they are yours. All I have is yours, and all you have is mine. And glory has come to me through them. I will remain in the world no longer, but they are still in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them by the power of your name, the name you gave me, so that they may be one as we are one. While I was with them, I protected them and kept them safe by that name you gave me. None has been lost except the one doomed to destruction so that Scripture would be fulfilled.’”

There’s something really reassuring in the idea that God, to whom belongs every single one of his image bearers, gave some of them to Jesus. I understand this passage to refer to the men and women who recognized Jesus for what he was, who believed his revelation, and who followed him. And at the very end Jesus prayed this prayer for that group. It’s a touching demonstration of his love and concern for them, and also an intriguing glimpse into the doctrine of election.

When I read this, I like to imagine God deciding to give me to Jesus. I think about what that transfer looked like. Was I one of a group? Did God point me out to Jesus by name? I know this is fanciful thinking, but it helps me to see my election as a personal thing.

When I think of it like this, I soon begin to think of the kind of love involved, and the very personal relationship I have with God. And I realize that, because my salvation is founded not on my fickle behavior but on his immutable character, that relationship will never be at risk. I can damage myself with my bad choices. I can make a wreck of my earthly life. But as long as I cling to the cross of Jesus as my only hope, that hope will be sufficient.

So I like to think about it. God probably didn’t wrap me up in a gift box and pass me to Jesus at a party or ceremony, but I like to think something as significant was involved. I like to think I was given in love to a Lord who loves me.

advocate

You don’t see those WWJD bracelets as often anymore, but when I was a young dad everyone had one. They were a useful reminder that if we carry Jesus’ name, we should behave the way he would want us to.

Sometimes it’s hard to know what Jesus would do, though. It’s a complicated world, and in our relationships, our voting, our finances and our personal behavior it seems so often that there aren’t good answers.

That’s true, but I’m feeling this morning like that’s not really an excuse. There is a way to know with some certainty what Jesus would do. He made sure of it.

John 16:7 and 12-15 tell us this: “But very truly I tell you, it is for your good that I am going away. Unless I go away, the Advocate will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you. . . . But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all the truth. He will not speak on his own; he will speak only what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come. He will glorify me because it is from me that he will receive what he will make known to you. All that belongs to the Father is mine. That is why I said the Spirit will receive from me what he will make known to you.”

We have an advocate, someone who counsels us, but this advocate is someone special, the Advocate with a capital A. This one tells us exactly what Jesus would tell us; in fact, Jesus explained in great detail that the Spirit would be sent directly by him just for that purpose. We can consider what we hear from the Spirit to be exactly what Jesus would say; we can know by listening carefully what Jesus would do.

It’s one of the mysteries of the Trinity, these separate persons of the single God we serve. I think the truth is even more complex, so much so that I’d never grasp it. This is God’s way of dumbing down reality to a point we can understand it. So the fact that Jesus is ascended but God is with us we see to be true because the Holy Spirit never leaves us.

And the Spirit never steers us wrong. Never ever, not once in the history of all humankind has it given the wrong counsel. All we have to do to get it right is to ask, listen and do.

hated

We want everyone to love us. One of the hardest realizations as you grow up is the fact that not everyone does. And when you run into someone who actively hates you, it’s a shock. 

That’s another way our faith is counter-cultural. We should expected to be hated.

John 15:18-20 says, “‘If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you. Remember what I told you: “A servant is not greater than his master.”If they persecuted me, they will persecute you also. If they obeyed my teaching, they will obey yours also.’”

This passage makes me think of all the times I’ve wanted to be loved by the world. There was a time when having a blue check mark on Twitter seemed like a worthy goal; having tens of thousands of followers hanging on my next tweet seemed like the ultimate in affirmation.  At other times I’ve been overly attentive to how strangers react to these posts. And for much of my life, I wasted a lot of energy trying to make sure that everyone at work though highly of me.

Yet Jesus tells us that if the world loves us, we have the wrong allegiance. The world loves its own, it doesn’t love Jesus-followers.

I stopped focusing on having everyone at work like me when I realized that many negative reactions come from people who don’t want to be held accountable, or don’t want me to be effective. Those are people who think that they should be allowed to skate, and don’t like it when I shine the light on their behavior. Or they feel threatened by people who out-perform them.

That’s probably why the world hates Christians. We remind them that they’re living wrong; we prove by our behavior that you don’t have to be enslaved by your desires. When we stand for the truth, we call them out for saying there is no absolute truth.

When you think about it, the only way not to be hated by our culture is not to stand for anything Jesus stands for. But what does it gain a person to win the world and lose his soul?

untroubled hearts

Over coffee the other day, a friend confided that he can’t get rid of a hanging cloud of uneasiness. It started early in the Kavanaugh nomination battle and has been in the back of his mind ever since, a sense that we’re in a bad place with no immediate prospects for things to get better. I don’t think he’s the only one who feels that way.

There’s a treatment for that feeling, the same thing that gives us hope in any situation: our faith. Jesus.

Look at this, from John 14:1-7: “‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.’

“Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?’

“Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.’”

Don’t have a troubled heart, Jesus says. Why? Because you believe in him. Because he has a plan that includes heaven. Because this thing that’s getting you down is only temporary, especially compared to eternity. 

But here’s the thing: there isn’t another hope. If you’re not leaning on Jesus, then your heart should be troubled. There’s only one way to God, only one way to heaven, only one source of salvation: Jesus. You can’t say that everyone can decide how they approach God; Jesus is the only way. All roads don’t lead to heaven, or even many. There is one narrow way. Salvation can’t be found or bought or earned, it only comes by faith in Jesus.

With that faith, you’ll never have a reason for a troubled heart. Without it, trouble is all you should expect.

all power

There’s something fascinating in the story of the Last Supper as told by John. I never noticed it before, but I find it hugely comforting. In fact, to me it’s inspirational.

Look at the first three verses of John 13: “It was just before the Passover Festival. Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.

“The evening meal was in progress, and the devil had already prompted Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, to betray Jesus.”

I was caught by the fact that the devil had already, at the start of the meal, prompted Judas. I tend to think of my own temptations as being internally generated. I want bad stuff, the opportunity pops up, and it’s my own weakness combined with the desires of my heart that lure me into sin. Through that lens, I’ve tended to understand Judas’ betrayal as the product of his greed combined with disappointment that Jesus wasn’t grabbing the political power that was in his grasp. 

I know that Satan tempts, and his minions do too, but I also know that the Bible says we are tempted by our own desires, and that seems more in line with my own experience. So it was interesting to note that this was one of those times when Satan got directly involved, rather than just enjoying the havoc that his lies cause as they propagate throughout the world. It makes sense considering everything that was at stake.

But then, look at verses 26 and 27: “Jesus answered, ‘It is the one to whom I will give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.’ Then, dipping the piece of bread, he gave it to Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot. As soon as Judas took the bread, Satan entered into him.”

Did you catch it? The devil prompted Judas, but he couldn’t possess Judas until Jesus gave him permission! As John noted in verse 4 of this chapter, God gave all power to Jesus. Satan knew that. He wanted Judas as his tool to assassinate Jesus, but he couldn’t have Judas until Jesus let him.

I’m dumbfounded by two things. The first is the complete power that Jesus has over Satan. That’s an amazing thing to contemplate every time I think Satan is winning in this country.

But the other is even more wonderful: Jesus went ahead anyway. Jesus knew of Satan’s plotting, he knew of the torturous death to come. God had given him all power; he could do whatever he wanted. He could have denied Satan, and he could have defied Pilate. But he went ahead, because that was the only way to save us. 

Knowing full well, he did it anyway. By choice. It blows my mind.

human praise

I’ve told the story before, about my fear of praying before meals in the mess hall in Basic Training. I just wanted to fit in; drawing attention is a bad thing to do in Basic. After several days of guilty stealth-praying I finally went ahead and prayed openly; when I did, I found out no one paid any attention. That’s one of the few things Drill Sergeants don’t care about, and my fellow trainees were sympathetic to whatever got me through the day.

I thought of that this morning, because reading in John 12 made me realize I may still struggle with the same problem. Read this, from verses 42-43: “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.”

There are a lot of ways these days to love human praise more than praise from God. I can choose to keep silent when Christians are bashed. I can decide that legally I’m prohibited from being open about my faith at work. I can accept un-Biblical views on biology or sexual behavior in order to be more in tune with everyone else.

At some time, I’ve been tempted to do each of these things, and more. Sometimes I’ve been a stealth Christian because I didn’t want to be seen as different, to be left on the outside. 

Basic Training was a long time ago, but in some ways not much has changed. For a confident man nearing the top of his profession, I can be pretty sensitive about how people see me. More sensitive than I am about what God thinks; after all, God is known for forgiveness and my fellow humans really aren’t. Even at church – I once heard Christianity described as the faith that shoots its own wounded.

Most of the time, I think I’m better than that. Most of the time people can’t mistake my faith. But sometimes, the sound of human praise is pretty seductive.

God’s glory

Nobody wants bad things. I’m probably not unusual that I take them personally.

When I get sick or hurt, or when events keep me from something I was hoping for, I can get resentful. Sometimes I get angry. Life isn’t fair; I work hard, do the right things, and don’t expect much in return. Is a sunny Sunday when I finally have time to run too much to ask?

But then I think about all the folks in Florida dealing with hurricane damage. I think of my friends coping with cancer. Even then, though, I tend to parse it in personal terms: “I’m such a bad person for moping about my small troubles.” “I’m grateful I’m not going through that.” Oh, I think about and pray for the people involved, but my first thoughts are often about me.

I do that even though I’ve learned that very little of life is actually about me. But everything is about God.

John 11:1-4: “Now a man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. (This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.) So the sisters sent word to Jesus, ‘Lord, the one you love is sick.’

‘When he heard this, Jesus said, ‘This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.’”

Lazarus, Mary and Martha must have looked at Lazarus’ illness as very personal. It had to have consumed their lives. And yet, Jesus tells us that the story of Lazarus was intended from the beginning to be all about God. Lazarus would sicken, die and be brought back to life to glorify Jesus.

That’s what my life is supposed to do, too. All of my conscious choices are supposed to glorify him. My responses to the things I don’t choose should as well. I know this, and I profess to live it.

So why is it that, too often, my reactions are first of all about me? 

Once again, it’s a reminder that my default state is selfishness. Unless I focus on Jesus, unless I feel the gratitude that moves me to selflessness, unless I put effort into looking outward, I will naturally go back to belly-button gazing. I make myself the center of the universe every moment I’m not consciously working to please the creator of the universe.

I wonder if it would help to remind myself, as often as necessary, that my life and Lazarus’s death have the same purpose. God is to be glorified in all of it.

sheep gate

Sometimes the truth is confusing. Sometimes it only seems confusing, because what people say is truth isn’t. The difference between being confused by the truth and not trusting lies is this: God’s chosen, by his grace, have a nose for the truth.

I think that’s what Jesus meant when he said this, in John 10:7-10: “Therefore Jesus said again, ‘Very truly I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who have come before me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep have not listened to them. I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved. They will come in and go out, and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.’”

The world is full of predators, people who don’t care about us but only want to take from us. They value us for the ways we can help them. They want us to see them as caring, but they don’t care. And we know it. If we really are Jesus’ sheep, we can tell, and we don’t follow.

Jesus gives us the image in John 10 both of himself as shepherd – the one who does care – and the gate. As sheep gate he is the only way for us to get through to the safe pasture, where we can have the fullest kind of life. And he says in these verses that as his sheep, we can see that for truth. We recognize the good shepherd in the same way that we reject the thieves and robbers. 

That’s comforting to me in these times of competing messages. People seem to think the louder they yell, or the more all-caps and exclamation points they use, the more convincing they will be. They start their posts with “Let’s be clear,” and “make no mistake,” and then spout any kind of garbage they want. Their only goal is to get my support for their cause, however questionable it or their methods might be.

It all feels wrong, offensive even, because by God’s grace I can pick out the predators. I can remember that Jesus had a different way and a different message. I can go with the other voices to my own death and destruction. Or I can go through the sheep gate and find that full life. 

from God

It was a puzzle: somehow, a blind man could see. He didn’t know who healed him, and the Pharisees couldn’t figure it out either. The story is told in John 9.

The position of the Pharisees is summed up in verse 16: “Some of the Pharisees said, ‘This man is not from God, for he does not keep the Sabbath.’” Hey, this guy doesn’t follow our rules! He must be wrong!

The healed man saw things differently, as he explained in verses 30-33: “The man answered, ‘Now that is remarkable! You don’t know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners. He listens to the godly person who does his will. Nobody has ever heard of opening the eyes of a man born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.’” In other words, God wouldn’t perform a miracle for someone who doesn’t follow him. My healing itself proves he is from God.

And then, in verse 34, the Pharisees countered with scintillating logic: “To this they replied, ‘You were steeped in sin at birth; how dare you lecture us!’ And they threw him out.” With nothing left to say, they used their authority to demean and silence.

This is a cautionary tale for any who lead in church or the home, because we want to judge people the way the Pharisees did. People who do God’s work the way we expect, in conformity with our rules and culture, we like. People (sometimes our kids) who don’t know all the rules and expectations seem to us to be disruptive, and we try to silence them.

But Jesus was disruptive. Jesus was counter-cultural. And in fact Jesus had healed the blind man. He not only was from God, he was God. 

If Jesus came among us today with his radical message and outlandish expectations, would we listen? Or would we try to silence him? Of course we want to say we’d listen, but then why are we so averse to some of his disruptive messengers?

language barrier

I noticed something about witnessing: you can’t do it right away. Even if I’m talking to a neighbor or someone at work, there’s a language barrier. We don’t use words in the same way; our ideas of things like marriage or lying or justice aren’t the same.

My brother Eric tells me that’s caused by world view. People with different world views – say, atheists – see things differently. He’s right, of course – older brother, so that’s a fact of my life – but I think there’s more to it.

Here’s how Jesus explained in when he debated with the Jewish leaders in John 8: 43-45: “‘Why is my language not clear to you? Because you are unable to hear what I say. You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father’s desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies. Yet because I tell the truth, you do not believe me!’”

Those verses suggest to me that it goes back to spiritual language. Jesus-followers understand the language of truth, even if they don’t always speak it as fluently as they should. Love, kindness, patience – all those spiritual gifts – are a natural part of our lexicon. Even more, grace and forgiveness and gratitude. The language of truth is rock-solid, never changing.

Satan uses a different language to seduce people from the truth: he speaks lies. He talks of competition and scarcity, of individual rights and greed and selfishness. He lures with indulgence and self-gratification; his language is slippery and morphs with the times, so that it can mean almost anything you want.

That’s why witnessing doesn’t work right away. I’ve found that to make them interested in what I might have to say, I should first intrigue them with the things I do. I know I’m getting there when they start asking questions like, “Why would you do that?” Or “How can you be happy right now?”

There are some words they understand right away, words like guilt, depression and fear. Those are words they feel in their gut, not matter what lies they’re thinking in their heads. That’s why the things they are drawn to are contentment, joy and peace, three words they don’t understand yet but want to.

In the end, it’s a language barrier. Even if we set aside our Christian jargon, we can’t get started until they begin to see, however dimly, the difference between a truthful or lying life.

any time

There’s a fascinating story in John 7 where Jesus’ brothers, not really believing he’s anything special, are prodding him to prove himself. Here’s how it’s related in verses 3-6: 

“Jesus’ brothers said to him, ‘Leave Galilee and go to Judea, so that your disciples there may see the works you do. No one who wants to become a public figure acts in secret. Since you are doing these things, show yourself to the world.’ For even his own brothers did not believe in him.

“Therefore Jesus told them, ‘My time is not yet here; for you any time will do.’”

When I read those verses this morning, it hit me that too often, I’m as pushy with Jesus as his brothers were. Sometimes it’s things like, “Why don’t you just show yourself and prove to the world you exist?” “Why don’t you just strike like a lightning bolt from the sky and put and end to those abusers?” “How long do we have to wait until you bring justice?”

Sometimes it’s more personal, like when I’m sick of praying about something and set out to solve it myself. Or I don’t even pray because I know God will be too patient and I want results.

For me, any time will do. In fact, for me, too often my attitude is, “Any time now, Jesus. I’ve waited long enough.” But God’s timing is exquisite. Beth Moore recently commented on a saying of a favorite teacher of hers: “God is never late, but he doesn’t very often take advantage of a good opportunity to be early either.” That’s how it seems to us, but the truth is, God always acts exactly at the point of greatest impact, of highest value.

I need to remember that. When I want to say, “Any time now,” to Jesus, I need to remember when he said, “Any time might do for you, but I know the right time, and this isn’t it.” That seems to me to be a basic part of faith.

already in mind

There’s a coaching technique I use a lot: I ask questions. I do that to make people think things through. 

This morning, reading in John 6, I saw Jesus using the same technique. Here it is, in verses 5 and 6: “When Jesus looked up and saw a great crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, ‘Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?’ He asked this only to test him, for he already had in mind what he was going to do.”

I forget that Jesus always knows what he’s going to do next. He’s never at a loss. He never needs time to figure it out. In fact, time as I understand it doesn’t limit him at all. 

Whenever it seems to me that God isn’t giving me an answer, it isn’t because he doesn’t have one. In fact, he has a plan before I even have a problem. He sees me like he sees Philip, an earnest disciple trying to figure out what discipleship really means in the face of day-to-day conundrums. So he gives me space to think. He gives me time to trust.

Too often, I don’t. Too often I fear. Too often I see the hard thing looming in front of me, and that fills my mind. I don’t think through all the promises God has given; I don’t remember his faithfulness. 

Just as often, though, I do. I trust. I say a prayer and move forward. Even eagerly sometimes; sometimes I’m aware that it’s God’s thing and I want to see what he’ll do.

Because I know for sure he’ll do something. In fact, he already has in mind what he’s going to do.

something worse

Am I really ready for a Savior? Am I ready for the hard truth? Am I ready for the radical demands?

In the first part of John 5 there’s the story of the invalid who lay for 38 years by the pool of Bethesda, hoping for healing. Jesus healed him. And then, this is what Jesus said, in verse 14: “‘See, you are well again. Stop sinning or something worse may happen to you.’”

Is that what I want?

I certainly want Jesus’ grace. I want him to make me well, to solve my problems, to remove my limitations. But am I ready for the accountability? Am I ready to follow?

Jesus comes to me in my reading today and says, “I’ve shown you grace; now stop sinning.” Am I ready for that? Am I ready to become a voice of grace and graciousness in a culture that admires nastiness? Am I ready to stop indulging myself, and excusing my indulgences? Am I ready to love without judgment, and judge truth without bias? Am I ready to be done with lust and addiction in any of their forms?

But Jesus doesn’t pull any punches. He says, “I’ve shown you grace, but your own sins are going to bring worse on you than what I’ve so far healed you from.” His admonishment to stop sinning is itself a form of grace, intended as it is to save me from a dire future.

Jesus doesn’t make his grace contingent on me turning my back on sin. Jesus compounds his grace by caring enough to give me wise counsel. His blood is still sufficient for all my sin, but his love is great enough that he also wants me to avoid self-inflicted pain. 

Am I ready for that kind of savior, one who won’t leave me alone? One who’s going to be there every time I turn around, who will pursue me if I run? One who, having saved me, will nag me about my sins? Jesus is a savior who will tell me the hard truth, that just like too much fat or sugar, my sinful habits are killing me. He’s a savior who, knowing why I was made and whose image I was made in, will hold me accountable to standards higher than I can ever achieve.

Am I ready for that? Because that’s what I have.

harvest season

There’s a reason many basketball coaches insist on starting each season by practicing the fundamentals. Sometimes as we learn more and get better at things, we forget the basics that we’ve known since the beginning. That can be true in our faith lives as well.

In John 4:35 Jesus says to his disciples, “‘Don’t you have a saying, “It’s still four months until harvest”? I tell you, open your eyes and look at the fields! They are ripe for harvest.’”

The concept of harvest is fundamental for disciples of Jesus. It was his primary mission, so it becomes ours as well. In fact, I don’t think it would be a stretch to refer to the time between Jesus’ resurrection and the day of judgment as harvest season. The old world will pass and the new heaven and new earth begin once the harvest is finished.

Am I a harvester? Am I showing up and doing the work? In this same chapter of John, Jesus refers to the “wages” of righteousness that will be noted and remitted in heaven, wages that some workers are earning in the harvest field. I don’t really know what form those earnings will take, but I do wonder how much I’ve earned. Probably not as much as I want to think.

Most of my time is taken up with my vocation – the work I do to earn a living – and general life functions like feeding and caring for myself, keeping a house, and so forth. For many Christians, missional discipleship is an avocation – that thing you do because it’s the passion of your heart. Unfortunately, when it comes to what gets our juice, avocation is often behind other parts of life. It just isn’t as urgent.

Right now combines are busy all over my county, bringing in the harvest of corn and soybeans that fuels much of Iowa’s economy. That’s a good reminder to me that anything diverting me from God’s harvest is a distraction from my purpose in being alive.

only Jesus

These days we’re being asked to be tolerant of a lot of things. In fact, many Christians want to go along with the culture and permit a variety of behaviors that have long been recognized by the church as un-Biblical. And we’re asked to recognize that truth might vary according to your world view, and there are a lot of different paths to God.

Except there aren’t. John 3:35-36 says,  “The Father loves the Son and has placed everything in his hands. Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life, but whoever rejects the Son will not see life, for God’s wrath remains on them.”

This is the thing that makes our culture hate Christianity: ours is a supremely exclusive faith. There aren’t multiple ways to God. There is only one. There aren’t multiple perspectives on truth, there is one absolute truth. Right isn’t what we decide based on how we feel; right is decided for us by the God who created us. Salvation can be found only in the cross of Jesus Christ.

We hate the idea of condemnation because we want everyone to be OK, but there is a stark truth to be found in scripture. If you want to be saved, Jesus is your only hope. Any wavering or “what about” or “but this” means God’s wrath remains on you.

It’s sobering and scary, but if we don’t believe that, then pretty soon we’ll accept almost anything.

mother

There’s a well-known story I love from early in Jesus’ ministry, retold in the first part of John 2. It’s the story of the wedding at Cana, and the part I love is found in verses 1-5: 

“On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, ‘They have no more wine.’

“‘Woman, why do you involve me?’ Jesus replied. ‘My hour has not yet come.’

“His mother said to the servants, “‘Do whatever he tells you.’”

I love it because it seems so human to me; this is one of those stories of Jesus and family that reminds me he lived my life. He’s at this wedding, the host has a problem, and his mom knows he can do something about it. She brings the issue to him, and then completely ignores his protests, knowing full well from a couple of decades of parenthood that he was going to mind his mother.

And he does. Jesus, the God become man, living out fully what it means to be human, relates to his mother the way any of us would. Even though he has reasons not to, ministry-related reasons, he goes ahead because his mom told him to. And he saves the wedding.

In this moment Jesus seems more human than at almost any other point related to us in scripture. And in his humanity he reminds me of a couple of things.

The first is that our moms are worthy of our respect. They earned it with their selfless love, and their track record of using life’s moments to teach us good values. Even Jesus listened to his mom.

The second is that Jesus knows all about family dynamics. He knows his mom wasn’t perfect. He has memories of when she was angry and unreasonable, or tired and non-responsive. He can relate to any of us who have trouble with family members.

But Jesus honored the best in his mother even after seeing her at her worst. In this small thing he modeled for us what it means to treat each other with respect. From his position of higher authority and superior knowledge, Jesus gave his mother her due and did what she wanted. Throughout his ministry he would submit to all kinds of earthly authority in the same way. He was indeed the perfect model for our behavior.

I’m amazed again at the wisdom of God in sending Jesus to live on earth as a man.

the Word

For centuries before the time of Jesus, the Greeks tried hard to make sense of the world. They did it by pursuing what they called Logos, logic or, as they often translated it, words and ideas. They didn’t know they were really seeking God, questing for that thing that would perfectly match the shape of the hollowness they felt inside. 

The Gospel of John begins this way, in John 1:1-4: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.”

Jesus was the capital-W Word by which God created the world. That means that in some way, God’s words aren’t just sounds vibrating the air or letters put on a page. God’s words are active in the same way our muscles are; in fact, in a very real way God’s words are themselves God. What God says, in the instance of creation, was accomplished and made true by Jesus.

Which is wonderful news, because John tells us later, in verse 14, “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”

That same power of God to create the world was sent to save it. His son, the Word made flesh, took every word of God’s revelation and put them into action. He changed them from promises to accomplishments. And by doing so, he replaced the law of Moses with the grace and truth of God’s love for his original, sinless image-bearers.

Now, I as a Christian am encouraged to know intimately the word of God. I tend to think of this as scripture, the words by which God revealed himself through the centuries. Now I see that this is also a call to a relationship with Jesus, the Word who became flesh and then became Lord of the universe. In some way that I won’t understand until I live with God himself, the word and the Word are the same thing. Both are the revelation of God to us and the power by which he changes the world.

But it is the Word that brought us light and life.