You are currently browsing the tag archive for the 'jesus' tag.
“Okay, so if you’re going to complain that much, next time I’ll be Lazarus, and you can be Jesus.”
(Leviticus 8-13)
Sin. Guess what? We all do it; we all struggle w/ it. Somehow, despite of Grace, we still cant avoid it, somehow finding some way of stepping in it–tripping over it. It has been the great human problem since the fruit hung on the tree, and the apple has never fallen far.
But why do people single out the sin in others? Okay, I know why–it’s easier to condemn others than it is oneself. Plain and simple. Moral stop signs, as Tom Wait’s character in The Fisher King points it. We focus on the sins of others so we can feel better about our own–or even convince ourselves that we are somehow better than others–more moral than others.
Yet Aaron had to offer a sacrifice for his own sin before he could offer one for the people. Even as a priest, one set aside and consecrated for service to the Lord, he had his own sin he was told to deal with before focusing on others.
You think of all those scandals you read about where those “consecrated for service” havent done this. Preachers who preach on the sanctity of marriage, but cheat on their wives–who preach stewardship, but embezzle money from their churches–who preach on the love of God, but condemn so many good people to hell.
Maybe I’m overly aware of sin–in good company there, though. Luther went so far as to whip himself–so I’m not that overly aware. But I did read a great book, either early in my seminary career or right before. It’s called The Spirituality of Imperfection. It is written within the framework of the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous but isnt written for Alcoholics. It’s written for everyone in recovery, and we are all in recovery–from a little thing called sin. We all have a “problem,” just not everyone gets busted for it.
“They made me feel like a murder,” the young woman wept as she struggled with the consequences of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Arent there worse things out there that people do?” ~You cant change the past, I said. And you have to accept the consequences. But you can make good on it.
I dont know where it came from, but you know what? That’s pretty good advice for anyone. We dont all get pulled over; we dont all get cuffed; we dont all get strung up in public for something we have done–not all of us. But that makes us no better, no different. The Apostle Paul said “We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory.” And Jesus taught, “Before you remove the speck from yr sibling’s eye, better take that two-by-four out of yr own!”
Aaron offered his own sacrifice. We all have ours to offer as well, so dont go building the fire for someone else first. Do a little widdling on yr two-by-four today b/c you never know who has a speck they need help with.
Luke 10.25-37
“What must I do to receive eternal life?” the teacher asked Jesus.
Interesting … the teacher, so used to giving answers had a question of his own. We may suspect of him a trap … one of those questions asked where the asker is testing you, wanting to hear what you’ll answer—IF you’ll answer as they would have you.
Jesus is great. Trap or no, Jesus answers with a question of his own—an appropriate question, considering the man’s field of work: “So what does the Bible say?”
“Oh that’s easy … Shema, Yisrael. Love Ha’Shem with all my heart, soul, strength. And my neighbor as myself.”
When the man taught about the ten commandments, he would lecture, “See how the first part helps us love God; the second our neighbors?”
“Boom goes the dynamite!” Jesus exclaimed. “Go and do that, and you’ll be fine.”
“But who’s my neighbor?” Again, we’re skeptical of this guy. Maybe he’s looking to see whether or not Jesus will just say, yr fellow Jews—certainly not Gentiles, certainly not the broken and beaten and bleeding people all around him. Certainly not.
Jesus goes on to answer the man’s question with a famous parable. A straightforward story. About neighbors.
But I pause this morning with simply the question “Who is my neighbor?”
Christians are supposed to help out Christians. And when they help others, it’s simply to make them Christians, right? To save them, as it were.
But Jesus answers the question “Who is my neighbor?” by talking about a man who did a good thing. He bound wounds, carried a complete stranger—on his own donkey—to an inn (which back then was the equivalent of the Gem Saloon on Deadwood). Paid for his stay. Never shared his faith, if he had any. Or prayed with the man. Quoted scripture. And as a Samaritan, he isnt even Jewish, much less Xtn. And yet he’s the neighbor in the story. All he saw was a man in need, and he helped him.
Ouch.
What must we do to receive eternal life? Yes, love God. Yes, love our neighbors. But be good neighbors like the Samaritan man. And that doesnt mean that we always have to share our faith (at least not in words), doesnt mean we have to pressure them to convert, all we have to do is bind wounds and be willing to carry complete strangers in our own hearts, on our own donkeys if need be.
Luke 10.17-24
When the disciples came back, they were so excited. Seventy-two of them–like the animals into Noah’s Ark, Jesus sends them out two by two–thirty-six pairs in all, for all you math-minded folks out there.
These are the ones Jesus to whom Jesus gives authority. Authority to go out the kinds of things that he had been doing. “I’ve shown you all what to do, taught you what to do. Now go out there and do it!”
And when they all came back they were pumped. Maybe they didnt know they had it in them. Apprehensive they’d be rejected. “But Jesus,” they said, “we could even cast out demons in your Name!”
Their excitement psyched Jesus up. Luke tells us that he was filled with joy by the Holy Spirit … joy in seeing his disciples go out and make a difference in the world. And he thanks God, b/c he knows from where the ability to do such things–even the littlest of things—comes.
We are all called out–sometimes in pairs, sometimes in groups, sometimes as individuals–to go out and make a difference in the world. That’s what choosing to follow Christ is all about. It means going out and do the types of things that make a difference in the lives of others.
One of the things we did last night, that I think made a difference in the world, was gather–five of us–and simply pray. We prayed for the world–all those facing economic hardships, all those waiting for employers to call to set up interviews, all those trying to sell houses, all those struggling through life emotionally, physically, spiritually. Yes, those of you out there who dont know me, or the four people w/ whom I prayed, we prayed for YOU.
A little thing like that, when people gather and put their hearts in the one Spirit that can and does make a difference, Jesus is psyched.
Little differences is all it takes to transform lives. And as I preached on Sunday, though it may seem such a little thing to smile at someone, laugh with someone, help someone fix a flat, pray for a complete stranger, it’s a huge deal.
So go make a difference somehow today, even if it means stopping and praying for those who lost loved ones in the cold Atlantic Ocean, those who feel alone, those who are struggling with self-doubt and anxiety. Those who are lost somewhere in their own lives.
Not only will it cheer you up, it’ll psyche Jesus up as well.
Ezekiel 3.4-14; Luke 9.37-50
God never made it easy on the prophets.
Ezekiel. God says if I sent you to strangers—even people who spoke a different language than you—THEY would listen. But no, I’m sending to your own people—MY people—and guess what? They WONT listen.
No wonder he was bitter and angry when God led him away.
And then there’s Jesus, saying to his disciples who couldnt drive out the demon of the epileptic boy, even though he had given them the authority to do so. “How unbelieving and wrong you people are! How long do I have to put up with you?! Bring him here … I’ll do it myself.”
Not bitter and angry like Ezekiel, but certainly frustrated.
People wont listen, wont always appreciate us. They will only remember, focus on what we have NOT done—what we have done wrong. We may become bitter, angry, frustrated. But is the problem theirs or ours?
The tough thing about being a Christian is sticking to rightness in a world that wont always reward us, appreciate us, or acknowledge us. Sometimes even those closest to us. Being a Christian simply means trying to do your best for God by giving your best to others. But what we learn from Ezekiel and Jesus, that’s a lonely vocation to have.
But for all those who wont see, or hear, or understand, there will be that one who does. That foster child in whose life you wonder whether or not you’ve made a difference as they’ve grown up and gone on. That student in the seat to whom no one else could get through. That person who stops by the church, looking for a fix but asking for help with food. A son or daughter, maybe a parent, a friend, a complete stranger.
God will see, and God will smile.
Luke 8.40-56
She wasnt kept in chains in a cemetery like Batallion, but she may as well have been.
The woman was among the living dead. No one could touch her, especially not a man. Not in her condition.
She walked as if a woman twice her years, bent over, eyes always to the ground. It was no problem though, passing through crowds. They parted like wheat in the wind as she moved through. IF she moved through. Usually, she kept to herself. It was the Law, after all.
But today she braved the crowds. She stood as straight as her abdomen would allow, and kept her eyes on the man ahead of her, his cloak swaying back and forth as he moved along amidst the crowd.
She had heard about the man on the other side of the lake, the one who had been transformed. This man Jesus had given him HIS life back, breaking the chains of his imprisonment with a touch. He could do the same for her.
Quickly now she swam through the crowd. She brushed up against them. She didnt care. One way or the other it was all about to be over. She would either be healed, or else stoned for her sin—intentionally condemning a man to her unholiness by her tender touch.
Arm outstretched, tears in her eyes, faith in her heart so deep that she didnt care about anything, anyone else but Jesus.
The fringe of his cloak was soft to the touch, but it was as if she had touched a live current. A wave washed over her, a momentary pain as if she had been kicked in the gut that had condemned her to her lifelong prison. And then … nothing.
She stood up straight, for the first time since her pubescent rite of passage. Laying her hands on her belly, the tears fell like rain.
“Who touched me?”
“Who can tell?” Peter and the others replied. “Look around you. Take your pick.”
She never thought of running. She was standing for the first time in her life, as tall as any man. Lifting her chin, wiping her eyes, she spoke. Things couldnt get any worse for her b/c everything was better.
“I did. I touched you b/c I believed. I believed that you could do for me as you had for that man in the graveyard. And as you have done to the least such as me, I believe that you can do for anyone.”
She waited for the rebuke of the crowd. For them to take up stones. But Jesus spoke before any of them could react.
“Such faith has made you well. Go in Shalom.”
But she didnt. She just stood there, as the messenger from the synagogue came and told the father that his daughter was dead.
“Not dead,” she thought to herself. “Only sleeping.”
She had seen the look in Jesus’ eyes. She had felt his power in her body. So too would the girl feel it in hers.
Here was a man who was giving people their lives back, and she knew he wasnt finished yet.
Luke 8.16-25
They spoke in whispers as Jesus slept. “What sort of soil do you think I am?” John asked Peter. “Good soil.” He hadnt hesitated.
“This coming from the Rock,” John laughed, the others w/ him, until Phillip nudged him, pointed at Jesus. Sleeping.
Though they had felt the possibility of rain in the air, they had not expected the storm that leaped upon them like a mountain lion. Waves crashing over the sides of the boat. Stinging their eyes. Choking. Grabbing for ropes, trimming the sails, hanging on for dear life. Not all of them were fishermen.
Lightening cracked the sky, illuminating whitecaps on waves, and the serene face of Jesus. Sleeping. His head nodding back, bottom jaw slack. Were it not for the roaring of the sea, they could’ve heard him snoring.
The sail moaned in the wind. The bottom of the boat, filling with water. The God of Jonah was certainly on the sea that night, and there was only one person who could save them.
“Jesus!” they all but shouted at once. And a second time, being that the Lord could sleep like the dead.
Though his eyes opened immediately, it was not as in the panic of anyone else roused from sleep, saying “What? What?” He didnt have to ask. He knew. And unlike everyone else, he was calm.
He stood and prayed the Tefilit Geshem: “Abba, You are God, abundant in Your saving acts, who makes the wind to blow and the rain to fall. For blessing, not for curse. For living, not for death. For plenty, not for dearth.
“Winds be still,” he continued in his own words. “Sea, sleep now.”
There was no parting of the clouds, no ray of sunlight. The wind became calm, yet brisk enough to fill a sail. The boat still rocked on the waves, but manageable.
The disciples stood there—dripping, panting, staring. “Where was your faith?” was all Jesus asked, as he lay down and went back to his dream.
Luke 8.1-15
Luke, chapter eight, is one of the best chapters in all of Scripture, and I’m excited to get to walk through it this week.
We begin with Jesus, just having been anointed by a sinful woman’s tears, much to the shame of his host, who hadnt offered him hospitality. Forgiving sins, healing the sick, welcoming the outcast—these things and more have attracted quite a following, including women like the one in the previous chapter. (In particular, Mary Magdalene, who as we see here is noone other than a woman from whom seven demons had been cast. Not a sinner; not a prostitute; not the woman caught in adultery—here, simply the woman from whom seven demons had been cast; later, the woman who was first to the tomb, whom Jesus called by name.)
To this ragtag group of disciples, not just the Twelve, Jesus tells the familiar parable of the sower. Man goes out, sows seeds, flinging them out. He doesnt, of course, expect all of them to take root—just enough. That sower is God, Jesus will explain to his inner circle. God has cast out seeds (the implanted Word) knowing that not all of them would take root and bear fruit. Knowing this b/c God knows us better than we know ourselves. We let concerns, selfish desires and external pressures, stunt the growth of the Word in our lives. Our hearts are soil, as Jesus says, and we should make sure that they are “hearts made fertile by honesty and goodness. And w/ “patient dependability,” such hearts will bear the fruit of the Word.
Patient dependability. Honesty, goodness. Fertile soil. Weeds of bitter envy, greed, jealousy cleared away. Thorns in the side, smoking on the burn pile. Slugs of selfishness, kept at bay. With enough Son-light to have a thriving garden—colorful, fruitful, eternal.
Fertile soil takes work, hours and hours of mostly my wife’s work. I cut the grass; I weed-whack around the trees and shrubs—on the rocky slope where I cannot cut. She weeds, sprinkles out the slug killer, or else puts out the saucers full of beer. (They die happy, at least.) All just to make sure the hostas have a chance to thrive.
Should we be so vigilant, tending to our hearts so that the seed planted w/in—the Word of God, Christ himself—not only has a chance to grow, but to THRIVE.
The aforementioned Mary met someone she mistook for a gardener that Easter morn—maybe she wasnt mistaken at all, for we all need tending.
Daniel 5.13-30
Numbers. Weights. Divisions. That’s what was written on the wall for Belshazzar. Numbers. Weights. Divisions.
Daniel didnt hesitate to say it as he saw, regardless of what might’ve happened. Sure, the king said he’d be promoted, but who knows. Daniel wasnt in it for the money or the reputation—he had a gift and he used it. He had a word and he spoke it.
Numbers. Weights. Divisions. The numbers meant Belshazzar’s days were numbered. The weights, that when his time for judgement came he would be too light. Division—that what would happen to his kingdom.
And though for Belshazzar these three words were a death sentence, we can turn them into a challenge for our own lives.
Numbered—how would you be living differently knowing that your days were numbered? Read a story the other day—I think it was in the book, “Jesus: Life Coach.” Wife, with cancer, husband by her side—stunned at how courageous she was. “How do you do it?” he asked. “How do you live each day knowing that you are dying?”
“How do you live each day trying to pretend you’re not?”
A sense of urgency. Purpose. Trying to make the most of each day we’ve been given … numbers.
And weights. Belshazzar was too light b/c he was too full of himself. And people who are full of themselves like this are empty, regardless of what they might believe, empty. Less of self, more of God … weights.
Finally, divisions. Parker Palmer wrote a great book about living the “undivided life,” of merging ones desires, actions, plans with those of God. Moving from simply playing a role in ones life to living ones soul—ones created purpose. It’s not so much balance as wholeness. The mobius strip. Waters from two streams merging into one, clear stream … undivided.
Numbers. Weights. Divisions.
Live like your dying.
Fill yourself up with God.
Undivide your life.
The hand of God upon the wall.
John 14.15-31
This is part of what we might describe as Jesus’ final discourse. After washing his disciples’ feet and just before he is betrayed, Jesus fills the time giving last minute instructions and words of encouragement. This passage falls into the latter category—words of encouragement that no matter what happens, even the eventual departure of Jesus from earth, they shouldnt be worried.
Peace, Jesus says, is the legacy he leaves behind. He doesnt give gifts as we’re used to getting them. No price tag removed, gift receipt in the box. No yearly sweater. No check in an envelope. These things are for us to exchange during our annual commemorations of birthdays, anniversaries, holidays. Peace. That’s a Jesus gift.
And how much we need it today. Debt, piled up. Retirement savings, gone. Fifty bucks a week in gas—double that. For Sale signs in yard that homeowners like ourselves just want to mark out and say, Puh-Lease! Tax refunds, if you’re so lucky to get one—these are already spent. So many people out there with the arms open but few catching a break.
Peace. The Jesus gift. There every day, wrapped in the light of morning waiting to be opened. Peace in knowing that you have someone to love—and someone who loves you back, forcefully. Peace in knowing that there is grace—that whatever your part in the mess life can become, it’s forgiven. Peace in knowing that things WILL work out—that God DOES have a plan for you. Blessing. Life. And peace.
Wish I could say that there’s a check in the mail to pay off all your debt, to buy up the rest of your mortgage, to fill your gas tank and eat a Chickfile sandwich every day for a year, but there’s not. Instead, Christ has sent his peace. And there’s no return policy. Just keep it. Cherish it. Draw upon it daily—hourly. And relax. “Bob Marley” it, singing “Everything gonna be all right.”
It is.
