amazing faith

Heresies are often easy to understand, even as we recognize they’re wrong. Take, for example, the belief that God somehow needs our faith as some sort of energy source to heal or perform a a miracle.

You could easily conclude that from reading Mark 5. That chapter tells of a time Jesus was going to the house of a Jewish religious leader, Jairus, because Jairus’ daughter was critically ill. On the way a woman who had suffered from bleeding touched him in the middle of a huge crowd and was healed. Jesus felt the healing power go out of him and wanted to know who he hand healed. And then we read this, in verses 32-36: 

“But Jesus kept looking around to see who had done it. Then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and, trembling with fear, told him the whole truth. He said to her, ‘Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.’

“While Jesus was still speaking, some people came from the house of Jairus, the synagogue leader. ‘Your daughter is dead,’ they said. ‘Why bother the teacher anymore?’

“Overhearing what they said, Jesus told him, ‘Don’t be afraid; just believe.’”

Jesus says the woman was healed by her faith, and tells Jairus just to believe. It would be easy from that to assume that somehow God’s work is based on our faith, that in some way the strength of our belief contributes to his strength.

I don’t think that’s what Jesus was telling us. Here’s what I get from Jesus words: unless we have faith, unless we believe, we won’t take advantage of the grace and mercy God offers. Had the woman not had faith, she would never have touched Jesus’ robe. Had Jairus not believed, he would had agreed with the people and sent Jesus away.

The faith and belief Jesus refers to here is not a strength of confidence that itself enabled healing and resurrection. Rather, these things enabled these people to trust Jesus, and healing and resurrection came as Jesus fulfilled that trust.

That’s a huge relief, because it means Jesus can work in my life regardless of the power and focus of my own discipleship. In fact, even at my very weakest - which is often when I rely on Jesus most - his power to provide is completely available. I don’t have to solve things myself; I don’t have to have answers. In fact, having questions is often enough provided I ask them of God and not some earthly power.

So today I’m trying to live under the guidance Jesus gave Jairus: don’t be afraid; just believe. Our politicians can’t screw that up, terrorists can’t threaten it, the economy or our wars or bad diagnoses can’t alter the fact that Jesus says if I believe in him I have nothing to fear.

In the end, one of the most amazing graces that God provides is this amazing truth about faith.

never perceiving

I don’t completely understand why Jesus did some of the things he did. This morning I’m curious about the purpose of parables. 

According to Mark 4:33-34: “With many similar parables Jesus spoke the word to them, as much as they could understand. He did not say anything to them without using a parable. But when he was alone with his own disciples, he explained everything.”

Jesus’ own explanation given in verses 10-12 don’t help much: 

“He told them, ‘The secret of the kingdom of God has been given to you. But to those on the outside everything is said in parables so that,

‘“they may be ever seeing but never perceiving,

and ever hearing but never understanding;

otherwise they might turn and be forgiven!”’”

Doesn’t Jesus want people to turn and be forgiven? Why would he intentionally make his teachings incomprehensible?

I think I’m walking pretty close to the doctrinal concept of election, another thing I don’t completely understand. The idea that Jesus saves some but not all is kind of unsettling; it’s hard to reconcile with God as the very definition of love.

But God is also just, and that’s what election is all about: balancing God’s mercy and grace with his perfect justice. In some strange way, in order for mercy to really be merciful, we need to see and understand God’s justice as well. God’s justice demands death as the atonement for sin; God’s mercy moves him to spare Jesus’ followers from that justice.

My head gets that part, but my heart still doesn’t understand why Jesus intentionally blocked some people from understanding. I’m sure there are theologians and seminary graduates who get this quite well, but so far I haven’t met one that can explain it to me in terms I completely understand. 

This morning I’m remembering that part of faith is trusting that God is good even when I don’t understand what he’s doing, or what I read in the Bible. The same faith that keeps me confident in the face of tragedy and death equips me to believe that Jesus was good and right in his use of parables. I guess in some ways I may never perceive how God works, but that won’t shake my faith. I’m just grateful that I’m one to whom, by the leading of the Holy Spirit, the secrets of the kingdom of God have been given.

Jesus untamed

The arts have a magical ability to get us to see truth. That’s one of the reasons I studied literature in college and still love it today - good literature holds life up in front of us in a way that makes us understand it differently.

I’m thinking these thoughts this morning because scripture seems today to echo a lesson I learned from C.S. Lewis when I read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. In this first of the Narnia chronicles we’re introduced to Aslan, the lion who is an allegory for Jesus, and of whom one character said, “He isn’t a tame lion. But he is good.”

This morning I read the story of Jesus sending demons from two possessed men into a herd of pigs, which then plunged into the sea and drowned. After this amazing display of authority, here’s what happened, from Matthew 8:34: “Then the whole town went out to meet Jesus. And when they saw him, they pleaded with him to leave their region.”

Jesus untamed frightened them. Jesus displaying a small fraction of his raw power seemed like he could wreck their town. Far from welcoming the Lord of the universe, they wanted him gone even as they recognized his supremacy.

It makes me wonder whether we too are more comfortable with Jesus at a distance. Would Jesus up close terrify us?

I think the nub of this issue is this: the people of that region didn’t know Jesus, didn’t understand what he was trying to do, and had as a result different priorities. This man, the most powerful they’d encountered in their lives, threatened to disrupt their peace and prosperity. For that reason, albeit unknowingly, they forfeited a chance to be with the Lord of the universe.

It’s a cautionary tale, because I think sometimes I do that. Sometimes when Jesus is moving in my church or changing my community, I sit it out on the sidelines. I prefer my own pursuits and my own goals, and I miss the chance to be where Jesus is working. I’m reluctant to give up being part of this world in order to live more fully in the kingdom of God.

Am I afraid of Jesus? More than I should be and yet not as much as he deserves. Jesus will not be conformed to what I think is comfortable: he’s not a tame God. But oh, is he good.

fear and faith

Faith is hard. Oh, intellectually it may not be - I know so much about who God is and what he’s done, and about the efficacy of Jesus’ lordship - but out at what the infantry calls the tip of the spear, that place where life really happens and choices have to be made, faith is hard.

I take a little bit of consolation from the fact that it was hard for the disciples too, even when they were in the physical presence of Jesus. Remember the time Jesus calmed the storm? Here it is, as told in Luke 8:22-25: 

“One day Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Let us go over to the other side of the lake.’ So they got into a boat and set out. As they sailed, he fell asleep. A squall came down on the lake, so that the boat was being swamped, and they were in great danger.

“The disciples went and woke him, saying, ‘Master, Master, we’re going to drown!’

“He got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm. ‘Where is your faith?’ he asked his disciples.

“In fear and amazement they asked one another, ‘Who is this? He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him.’”

Jesus told them to get in the boat and to cross the lake. He joined them, calmly sleeping, even as the storm built. I wonder if he didn’t feel a little more at home in the center of so much rampant power; I wonder if maybe he didn’t feel a little closer to God. Certainly, Jesus saw no threat in wind and water. And he seemed disappointed that his disciples showed so little trust.

I don’t feel the fear, because as I read this I’m not in the boat, so I tend to agree with Jesus. But then I think of all the times I fret and worry. I think of the events that made me wonder where God was, and whether he cared. I remember the many occasions I took action myself after praying to God. 

Faith is hard. When life isn’t going well, it takes steely nerves and unswerving trust not to blink. To remain serene in my confidence in God’s personal interest in and love for me seems almost impossible.

It’s good this morning to remember that Jesus is no farther from me than he was from the disciples in that boat. He knows what’s happening, how I’m feeling, and what would be best. And he already has a plan and knows how it will turn out.

It’s also good to know that, in my life, he has a singular purpose: my sanctification. To grow me to be more and more like him. And sometimes that takes a squall. After all, there’s an ancient saying to the effect that fair winds don’t make skilled seamen. Sailing through storms does that.

weeds and wheat

I’ve written about this before, but once again this morning I’m grateful that God doesn’t immediately crush the wicked people in this world. I’m convinced it’s a part of his grace toward the ones he intends to save.

The New Testament has many passages related to this, but the one I read this morning was this parable from Matthew 13:24-30: 

“Jesus told them another parable: ‘The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared.

“‘The owner’s servants came to him and said, “Sir, didn’t you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?”

“‘“An enemy did this,” he replied.

“‘The servants asked him, “Do you want us to go and pull them up?”

“‘“No,’ he answered, “because while you are pulling the weeds, you may uproot the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest. At that time I will tell the harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into my barn.”’”

Why doesn’t God just smite the wicked? Because we live too close to them. Our roots are too intertwined. Our hearts are too connected. Our motivations and goals and activities are too enmeshed. God won’t pull the weeds until all of his elect can safely be separated out.

One day, and I hope it’s soon, God will harvest all of us. At that time, he can safely take the evil ones and burn them. If he goes too soon though, if he moves before the wheat is mature enough, some of the wheat will be lost with the weeds.

God loves his people too much to let that happen.

Are you one who longs for justice, who has a passion to see evil eradicated? It won’t happened until all God’s elect are saved, and that’s the work he’s called us to. So if you want to see the wicked get what they deserved, then get to work bringing in the harvest.

eyes

What we look at is harmless, right? It doesn’t really matter, so long as we don’t act.

That’s not what Jesus said. Look at this, from Luke 11:33-36: “‘No one lights a lamp and puts it in a place where it will be hidden, or under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, so that those who come in may see the light. Your eye is the lamp of your body. When your eyes are healthy, your whole body also is full of light. But when they are unhealthy, your body also is full of darkness. See to it, then, that the light within you is not darkness. Therefore, if your whole body is full of light, and no part of it dark, it will be just as full of light as when a lamp shines its light on you.’”

Did you know that, statistically, a large percentage of men in the church look at pornography? Did you know that that includes many pastors? Most Christians are OK with R-rated movies too, and these days more movies are rated R for violence, blood and gore than for sex.

Books are another thing. Fifty Shades of Grey and others like it simply are the culmination of a couple of decades of what we call bodice-rippers, those romances that venture ever deeper into the bedroom. And modern western and action literature is dripping with blood and violent sex. 

But we’re adults, right? We’re discerning. We can look at whatever we want, because we can separate out the bad stuff and only take in the good.

If only that were true. Jesus says that our eyes are key to our holiness. Jesus says that healthy eyes fill us with light, and unhealthy ones take in darkness. He’s not talking about cataracts here; Jesus is talking about the kinds of sights our eyes bring into our brains.

Can you look at a dismembered body without effect? Can you watch the most intimate acts of a marriage and not feel anything? What about depraved expressions of sex, the ones where one partner dominates and humiliates the other, and what God intended as a beautiful expression of love becomes a degrading display of power?

There’s a lot of bad stuff we can look at, and all of it will put poison in our minds. To even look is to acknowledge that there is a response to evil that is something other than abhorrence and avoidance.

Less obvious, though, are all the things that get us to accept a compromising message. When we take in literature that gets us to see affairs and unfaithfulness sympathetically, that’s as bad as porn. When we look at memes that dehumanize people who don’t agree with us, that’s bad too. Anything that gives us the idea we should use our physical strength or size to dominate, or violence to solve our problems, or power to defeat our enemies, or pain to punish, or shortcuts to build our wealth, or beauty to manipulate, are insidiously dangerous. There are so many subtle ways that the world gets us to laugh or mock or accept things that Jesus would weep over.

Jesus offers us life-saving wisdom: see that your eyes bring light into your soul, and not darkness. That’s hard to do in this world. But it’s critical if we want to be saved.

empty words

Sometimes I read things in scripture that scare me. This morning, it was Matthew 12:37: “‘But I tell you that everyone will have to give account on the day of judgment for every empty word they have spoken. For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned.’”

Wow, that sounds bad. 

I want credit for all the good and constructive things I say. My “full” words, as compared to the empty ones. But Jesus himself is quoted in scripture as saying that I’ll have to explain everything I say. My positive words don’t excuse the negative ones.

On top of that, this is the opposite of my tendency to think what I do is important, but what I say is less so. Sticks and stones, and all that. Jesus says, “For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned.”

The verses immediately preceding this verse help me understand. This statement is made as part of an overall point Jesus made about our fruits - works - and the fact that good trees bear good fruit and bad trees bear bad fruit. And then he says, “For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of. A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in him, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in him.”

This sounds to me like Jesus is saying it’s all connected. Our words reflect our hearts; our hearts reflect the things we’ve “stored up” in them. So as we harbor malicious and hateful feelings, they show themselves in callous and cruel words. Conversely, a heart full of love and joy won’t ever express itself in statements that wound or demean.

The words are outcomes of our hearts, and the lesson in the end is to guard our hearts. All the brooding and refusal to forgive and let go, all the frustration and feeling that life isn’t fair, become a toxic soup in our souls that spills across our tongues and out of our mouths to poison other people.

That’s why Jesus says I’m going to have to account for all of it. Thinking back across just the past few days, it makes me want to cringe. Thank God that where there’s recognition and repentance, there’s forgiveness.

outcomes

One of the hardest things is when you have to decide whether to support someone or not. Is President Trump a person we should back? Franklin Graham and Jerry Falwell, Jr. think so. What about Kamala Harris or Corey Booker? In my community, do we support Phil Dorr or not?

The followers of John the Baptist had a choice like that. John himself wondered if Jesus was the Messiah. In fact, in Luke 7, he sent some of his disciples to ask Jesus directly. Here’s how Jesus responded, in Luke 7:22-23: 

“So he replied to the messengers, ‘Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor. Blessed is anyone who does not stumble on account of me.’”

Jesus’ answer seems to be this: “Look at what you see happening. Does it fulfill prophecy or not? Is it consistent with what you know about God or not? Does it result in good things or bad things?” 

Jesus subtly points out a key truth: Satan never does good. Later in Luke 7 he acknowledges that people look at what he says and think he’s a drunkard or crazy, or worse. But, he says to John’s followers, don’t I back up what I say by what I do?

No one does the good that Jesus did; God is, after all, the ultimate source of every good thing. But I think this is a legitimate measure of whether public people deserve our support. Are they, in fact, doing good? And the best way to know is to look at the outcomes, especially as measured by the ones God has shown a fierce affection for, the widow and orphan and alien. In other words, the ones that are easiest to abuse because they have no power. 

Does what Kamala Harris or Corey Booker do result in good things for people who can’t speak for themselves? Do Donald Trump and the MAGA crowd look out for the weakest in our society, and our world? Is Phil Dorr concerned for the hurting people in our community?

I can’t answer those questions, but I submit them to you as things worth asking. After all, if Jesus himself said, “Judge me by my works and their outcomes,” isn’t that a valid yardstick for every other person?

places at the feast

There’s an amazing promise and a sobering possibility in Jesus’ vision for his kingdom. He spelled it out for his disciples in Matthew 8.

The setting is this: on his way into the city of Capernaum, Jesus was asked for help by one of the officers of the occupying Roman force. This centurion had a valued and loved servant who was debilitated with a condition that left him paralyzed and suffering. When Jesus offered to come and heal him, the centurion’s reply was remarkable. 

“No,” he said, “I don’t deserve that, and you don’t need to. You have authority over our bodies and our health, and, as a man with a little bit of authority myself, I know how it works. All you have to do is give the order.”

And this is how Jesus responded, in Matthew 8:10-12: “When Jesus heard this, he was amazed and said to those following him, ‘Truly I tell you, I have not found anyone in Israel with such great faith. I say to you that many will come from the east and the west, and will take their places at the feast with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven. But the subjects of the kingdom will be thrown outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’”

Jesus came as the Messiah of the Jews, but he intended to save everyone. The amazing promise is that people from every part of the globe will be at the heavenly feast with the fathers of faith. The sobering possibility is that many who consider such a place their birthright will be kicked out.

It’s a reminder that faith is one of the most individual things there is. No one can be saved by the faith of another. Bloodlines and denominational affiliations and ecumenical pedigrees don’t make even the tiniest bit of difference. Only a personal faith in Jesus results in salvation.

The good news: since Jesus didn’t limit his salvation to the Jews I have a chance for a place at the feast. The better news: by the mercy and grace of God, that place is now secure.

authority

There’s a lot of great stuff in the Sermon on the Mount. If you go by the subheadings in my Bible, he had 19 points that outline how we related to each other, how we fulfill the law, and how we worship. And all of it was radically counter-cultural at that time, and in ours.

And in the end, this, as recorded in Matthew 7:28-29: “When Jesus had finished saying these things, the crowds were amazed at his teaching, because he taught as one who had authority, and not as their teachers of the law.”

Isn’t that interesting? Their teachers of the law were quick to club them with the law; they used the law to denounce, and to deny entrance to the temple. They wielded a ton of authority in Jewish society by enforcing the law. And yet, compared to Jesus the people thought they didn’t have authority.

Here’s the difference, as I see it. Where the Jews tried to enforce their own authority, they quoted the laws of Moses, overlaid by a thick layer of their own interpretations. But Jesus, son of the God who gave Moses the law, had authority over the law itself. And he used his authority to free the people, not bind them.

Look how often in his sermon he said, “You have heard it said . . . but I say to you.” In effect, he tells the people, “As the one who made the law, let me tell you what it really means. Here’s how you satisfy God regarding this law.” And his clarification focused on tolerance and kindness and good relationships. 

No wonder the people responded. They could see what’s so obvious to us: our God doesn’t want to beat us into submission. He loves us and wants what’s good for us.

I’m inspired to reread the Sermon on the Mount and examine in particular what the Jewish leaders did with these laws and then what Jesus preached. I think the gaps are stark, but I think there’s an important reason to be interested. We who serve in God’s church today are easily tempted to use scripture the way the Pharisees used the law.

We do that sometimes, don’t we? We try to enforce dress codes and certain expectations for participation by quoting small snippets of scripture. We even sometimes use Bible verses to tell each other how to vote, where to buy coffee, or which sports are OK. 

When we do things like that, I hope people see that we’re speaking without authority. If we want to project authority, the only way is to let Jesus shine through us. Any other power is illegitimate.

ultimate blessing

Jesus, in his Sermon on the Mount, introduces that famous speech with a series of blessings we know as The Beatitudes. And he winds up those blessings with something that I think really gets at the nub of why it’s hard to be a Christian. Here’s what he said, from Matthew 5:11-12: 

“‘Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.’”

That doesn’t sound like a blessing, does it? Who wants insults, persecution and slander? In what way will that make my day better? This is the kind of thing that’s hard for Christians to understand, and certainly hard to explain to people curious about our faith. Why follow a God who wants to drag you through this?

Well, first of all, because he’s the only God and putting faith in anything else is literally suicidal. Beyond that, though, this is a fascinating case study in how Jesus taught and what it really means to follow him. 

As always, when I’m trying to understand something hard in scripture I go back to the basic purpose of the Bible, which is to reveal God to us. Scripture is how God tells us about himself, and how we learn what he expects from us. So I ask myself what Jesus reveals about himself by saying we should see insults as a blessing.

Here’s what I think: there is huge blessing, perhaps the basis of all blessing, in conforming ourselves as closely as possible to Jesus. But Jesus knew, and we’ve always struggled to accept, that the more we look like Jesus, the less we’ll look like most of our fellow citizens. Mostly, we just want to fit in rather than stand out. We tend to go along to get along.

True Jesus-followers can no longer demonize the other side. True Jesus-followers acknowledge people of every race, gender, political persuasion, or nationality as people created in God’s image. Once you spend time with Jesus, you realize that there are only two categories of people: the ones who know Jesus and the ones who are still buying Satan’s lies. In other words, the ones like us, and the ones like we used to be and still are some days. Or, as I like to say, the healed and the wounded. It’s not our job to shoot the wounded; we’re supposed to find them and bring them to an aid station.

What happens when we think like that? Everyone else sees us as other, as “not-my-tribe.” We might vote Republican, but when we speak sympathetically of Democrats we become RINOs to other Republicans. We might honor and respect women, and uphold them in every way we can, but if we won’t call masculinity toxic we become part of the patriarchy to most feminists. On the other hand, if we at the same time think the new Gillette ad raises an important topic, many men will call us betas and suggest we buy a pink purse to go with our Gillette blades. These are a couple of examples of how no one will accept us if what we want is to love everyone.

I think it’s likely that Jesus isn’t saying here that we should try to get people to insult and persecute us. He’s not calling us to pick unnecessary fights or put ourselves intentionally in confrontational positions. What he seems to be saying is the simple actions and basic opinions that are part of faithful living will inevitably attract some venom.

When that happens to you, be glad. It’s proof that you have the ultimate blessing: you’re starting to look more like Jesus than like the world. 

prayerful decisions

Hard decisions are part of life. Tough choices pop up; so do problems with seemingly no viable options. Somehow we have to find our way to a good path forward. What do you do?

Is there something in Jesus’ life to help us answer that question, a technique of some sort? Of course. Here it is, in Luke 6:12-16: 

“One of those days Jesus went out to a mountainside to pray, and spent the night praying to God. When morning came, he called his disciples to him and chose twelve of them, whom he also designated apostles: Simon (whom he named Peter), his brother Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, James son of Alphaeus, Simon who was called the Zealot, Judas son of James, and Judas Iscariot, who became a traitor.”

I wonder what Jesus in prayer sounds like? What would a perfectly divine yet completely human son say to God himself about life on earth? I’d love to know, but I don’t think it would help me because God would have revealed it to us if it would.

God did make sure we’d know the outcome, though: Jesus came back off the mountain after a whole night of prayer and picked his disciples. He’d come to the conclusion that he needed and intimate inner circle. There was something about this small group of twelve that would be instrumental in carrying out God’s plan, something not available from his larger following. This makes me want to read the New Testament with a special focus on the ministry of the disciples.

Even more, Jesus picked Judas, the man who would steal from his ministry and sell him out. It’s not that Jesus didn’t know what Judas would do or what kind of man Judas was; certainly God, who he spent the whole night praying to before choosing the disciples, knew. So, following the same train of logic, Judas was also an important part of the plan. And he was, because Jesus’ success depended on his betrayal.

But here I am, sidetracked by the fascinating decision Jesus made after prayer. I’m no longer asking if there’s a way I can make those hard choices better. Could it be that I don’t want to think about that because it’s what I knew already?

Praying is absolutely the best way to make good decisions. Why, then, don’t I do it? I have a lot of techniques I use, methods of gathering information and analyzing data. I’m good at defining screening criteria and evaluation criteria, at weighting factors and validating assumptions. I think I’m good at evidence-based decision making.

But honesty compels me to admit that there’s a small subset of decisions I actually pray about. Like a lot of church people I know, I tend to put prayer in that category of things I try last. Prayer too often is what I do when I don’t know what else to do.

I think Jesus would say, pray first. And praying during. And then pray after. I’m pretty sure if I did that, I’d make better decisions.

family

There’s an obscure little vignette in Mark 3 that I’ve never really thought about before. As Jesus becomes more famous, drawing larger crowds and putting him at cross purposes with the Jewish religious establishment, this happened, told to us in verses 21-22, 31-34: 

“Then Jesus entered a house, and again a crowd gathered, so that he and his disciples were not even able to eat. When his family heard about this, they went to take charge of him, for they said, ‘He is out of his mind.’

“. . . . Then Jesus’ mother and brothers arrived. Standing outside, they sent someone in to call him. A crowd was sitting around him, and they told him, “Your mother and brothers are outside looking for you.

“‘Who are my mother and my brothers?’ he asked.

“Then he looked at those seated in a circle around him and said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does God’s will is my brother and sister and mother.’”

It must have been a painful thing for Jesus, to have his family show such a lack of confidence in him. At that moment, he must have felt truly alone, except for his disciples. And that’s what he said: You are my family now.

There some special irony because of what happened in verses 23-30, the part I skipped. The Pharisees accused Jesus of being demon-possessed, leading to his famous statement that a house divided against itself cannot stand. This is the well-known story in Mark 3, the thing that overshadows the part about his family. But Jesus’ point could have been made about his family; it too was divided against itself.

Can it sometimes be said of the church? Of course, but there’s comfort in Jesus words to his disciples: whoever does God’s will is our family. Members of our congregation might hurt us, our own family might not believe in us, even our pastors and elders might let us down, but we are never alone. Not only is God always with us, but we always have family.

Soldiers know there is no friend closer than the one who has suffered at your side. The same is true of Christian soldiers: those are the best and closest companions, another great blessing for our walk in this life.

mercy not sacrifice

I’ve spent most of five decades reading  and trying to understand the Bible, and it still challenges my assumptions. That happened again today as I was reading through the first part of Matthew 12. Look at verses 1-8: 

“At that time Jesus went through the grainfields on the Sabbath. His disciples were hungry and began to pick some heads of grain and eat them. When the Pharisees saw this, they said to him, ‘Look! Your disciples are doing what is unlawful on the Sabbath.’

“He answered, ‘Haven’t you read what David did when he and his companions were hungry? He entered the house of God, and he and his companions ate the consecrated bread—which was not lawful for them to do, but only for the priests. Or haven’t you read in the Law that the priests on Sabbath duty in the temple desecrate the Sabbath and yet are innocent? I tell you that something greater than the temple is here. If you had known what these words mean, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice,” you would not have condemned the innocent. For the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath.’”

You see, if you’d caught me cold and asked, I’d have probably said God prefers sacrifice. I’d have been focused on my sin and God’s justice and the fact that my relationship with God was irrevocably broken until Jesus fixed it. 

And, I’d have pointed to a lifetime of false practices whereby church leaders - sometimes me - stopped people from doing things in the name of God. We’ve shamed them into skipping World Series games for church, and pressured them to give their money to ministry instead of other things they might use it for. We tell kids that movies and and parties and books and music and video games aren’t befitting children of the king. Whether we’re right or wrong to say those things, we soon create the impression that following God is all about giving up things we want.

In this passage, though, Jesus’ disciples violated one of the most precious core values of the religious establishment: those books full of rules about what people could and couldn’t do on the Sabbath. There were entire careers built around the intricacies of these laws; they were serious business.

Yet the rabbi Jesus, who was supposed to be teaching holiness and piety to his disciples, instead defends their law-breaking. He declares them innocent. He proclaims himself as the living fulfillment of everything the temple and Sabbath law pointed to. And he did it while saying that God prefers mercy to sacrifice.

Jesus reminds us that God’s plan from the beginning of time was to bring him and us back to a place where he could forgive us without demanding our death. His passion has always been for mercy. He always intended to fix what was broken at his expense, not ours. The sacrifice was necessary so that he would not be unjust, but it isn’t what he wanted our relationship to be.

It’s a huge relief to realize that God didn’t settle for mercy over sacrifice, he really desired it. His first choice would be to show grace - giving me good things I don’t deserve - and mercy - not giving me the bad things I do deserve. That’s where is heart is.

I have a Lord who wants to cut me all the breaks he can, because he loves me. That’s a Lord who’s much easier to follow than the one who always demands sacrifice.