Text: Luke 17:1-4
Yes, it's a short passage today. And it's one we'll never be done with as long as we live in this world.
How do we accept the inevitability of sin without becoming complacent about it, either in ourselves or in others with whom we are connected? It never ceases to amaze me that Christians are often clear enough on the doctrine of human depravity, yet think it is scandalous when people actually sin. They are offended, indignant, especially if the sin manifests itself in a manner that impacts them directly.
Jesus, speaking to his disciples again, acknowledges the universality of sin; it is indeed inevitable. But this does not negate human responsibility for sinning. What he is especially concerned with is the sin which causes other people to question or even reject the faith. Causing children or those new to the faith to stumble has severe consequences. Knowing this, his followers are not only warned to watch their own words and action, but to be watchful of brothers and sisters who are either already or very nearly placing stumbling blocks in the pathway of another. And one of the most dangerous ways to cause such stumbling is to refuse to forgive the brother who offends the believer. Simply, if we proclaim a gospel of forgiveness, it can do nothing other than cause great hesitation or stumbling to refuse extending forgiveness.
How many times have you been shocked by the actions or attitudes of another Christian? How many times have you overheard someone complaining about hypocrites in the church? How many times have we been guilty of putting the rock in the path of another? How many times have we cared enough to gently and lovingly sought to warn the ones we see endangering both their own standing and the growth of young believers? Today, take some time to think of all those who are in any way influenced by your way of being? The circle is probably wider than you may think. Then pray about how you maintain the type of conduct which will lead them closer, not farther from the truth.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Life Matters
Luke 16:19-31
Know any hard-headed people? The ones who will not change their minds or try a different perspective, even while everything around them is proving that the current way is not working and will only continue to fail, but at a faster rate? We think of new, untried strategies to open their eyes, clear their heads, reconsider their direction. With teenagers we put on demonstrations of the dangers of drinking and driving, of smoking, of undisciplined sexuality. Occasionally, it even works; but far too seldom.
We do these things because we love the kids; we're desperate to protect them from the potential consequences of their own choices. We want them to live in a manner which sees the long road of life and prepares them to act wisely. And what better way is there to accomplish this than to bring someone who has been through the experience in question? What if someone who died as a result of the bad choices came back to speak at an assembly? Wouldn't that make a dramatic difference?
If we are to believe Jesus, the answer is "no." The human will, as has been the case throughout our history, is not a rational faculty; it wants what it wants. The best we can do for it is to train it to want the right things. In our text we meet a man who has not so trained his will. He continues to want all of the finest things life has to offer while a poor beggar with desperate needs is placed at the entry to his home. He ignores the poor one who asks for virtually nothing. The rich man's tastes and pursuits of their satisfaction had been trained through years of choices, choices which set the direction of his subsequent attitudes and hence his willingness to open his heart, or at least his hand toward Lazarus (isn't it interesting that the beggar gets a name; the rich man does not?). And while his concern for his brothers still living is admirable, Jesus shocks him by indicating even Lazarus' return to those brothers would not change the choices made by the wills trained to consume on self and to ignore the other, the stranger, the cripple, the beggar.
It's difficult to say who has been placed at our gates in need of what we have. Today it seems no one is truly outside the reach of anyone else, and surely we cannot meet every need. Or is this just an excuse? I have a suspicion that if we are looking, the ones actually placed at our gates will become evident to us; if we're not looking, it will not matter. Our lives, our choices. They matter--not just for the time we have in this world, but forever. Life matters because it is where eternally significant decisions are made daily, developing a character that seeks the kingdom of God or ignores it. If we don't want it now, we never will.
Know any hard-headed people? The ones who will not change their minds or try a different perspective, even while everything around them is proving that the current way is not working and will only continue to fail, but at a faster rate? We think of new, untried strategies to open their eyes, clear their heads, reconsider their direction. With teenagers we put on demonstrations of the dangers of drinking and driving, of smoking, of undisciplined sexuality. Occasionally, it even works; but far too seldom.
We do these things because we love the kids; we're desperate to protect them from the potential consequences of their own choices. We want them to live in a manner which sees the long road of life and prepares them to act wisely. And what better way is there to accomplish this than to bring someone who has been through the experience in question? What if someone who died as a result of the bad choices came back to speak at an assembly? Wouldn't that make a dramatic difference?
If we are to believe Jesus, the answer is "no." The human will, as has been the case throughout our history, is not a rational faculty; it wants what it wants. The best we can do for it is to train it to want the right things. In our text we meet a man who has not so trained his will. He continues to want all of the finest things life has to offer while a poor beggar with desperate needs is placed at the entry to his home. He ignores the poor one who asks for virtually nothing. The rich man's tastes and pursuits of their satisfaction had been trained through years of choices, choices which set the direction of his subsequent attitudes and hence his willingness to open his heart, or at least his hand toward Lazarus (isn't it interesting that the beggar gets a name; the rich man does not?). And while his concern for his brothers still living is admirable, Jesus shocks him by indicating even Lazarus' return to those brothers would not change the choices made by the wills trained to consume on self and to ignore the other, the stranger, the cripple, the beggar.
It's difficult to say who has been placed at our gates in need of what we have. Today it seems no one is truly outside the reach of anyone else, and surely we cannot meet every need. Or is this just an excuse? I have a suspicion that if we are looking, the ones actually placed at our gates will become evident to us; if we're not looking, it will not matter. Our lives, our choices. They matter--not just for the time we have in this world, but forever. Life matters because it is where eternally significant decisions are made daily, developing a character that seeks the kingdom of God or ignores it. If we don't want it now, we never will.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Squandered Wealth
Text: Luke 16: 1-13
Christian theology has long affirmed that the righteousness we have is the gift of God, not a provision or attainment of our own. It is described biblically in numerous ways: riches, inheritance, treasure, etc. The fact that it is given, however, does not indicate a lack of responsibility for its use. It does not become a possession to be disposed of or neglected at our discretion or whim. It is far closer to an entrusted treasure than it is to a title transfer.
This, I think, is the point of Jesus' odd parable about an irresponsible manager. Note that the words are now addressed to the disciples. The entrusting of goods into the hands of an incompetent manager has resulted in losses for the owner. Probably, the man had extended credit to customers far beyond their ability to repay; so when the owner observes the manager's response--seriously discounting the amount owed--he likely sees it as a move which will cut his own losses. Jesus then returns to the idea of entrusting one's goods or riches into the hands of others; but this time, he asks rhetorically whether one who cannot handle a trifling matter such as money is capable of handling real, true, eternal riches. The right way to use the former is to do so with an eye toward the ultimate reward. That is, they are to use money in a way which benefits others and makes friends, as opposed to ways that only accumulate more wealth for our pleasure.
Is our material wealth, irrespective of how great or small it may be, a mere tool or a monstrous dictator? Is it our pattern to give in order to provide for others, to open them toward us and the life that we offer on behalf of the true master, or has it become a substitute master itself? John Wesley wasn't far from the mark when he encouraged Christians to gain all they can, save all they can, and give all they can--and equally close to the mark when he lamented that most believers seemed to stop after the second step. Three times in the closing verses Jesus ties faithfulness to handling the money, even though it is a "little thing." When is the last time you thought of money or a possession as a test of faithfulness, as a tool or means by which to be received into the company of one who needs the gospel?
Christian theology has long affirmed that the righteousness we have is the gift of God, not a provision or attainment of our own. It is described biblically in numerous ways: riches, inheritance, treasure, etc. The fact that it is given, however, does not indicate a lack of responsibility for its use. It does not become a possession to be disposed of or neglected at our discretion or whim. It is far closer to an entrusted treasure than it is to a title transfer.
This, I think, is the point of Jesus' odd parable about an irresponsible manager. Note that the words are now addressed to the disciples. The entrusting of goods into the hands of an incompetent manager has resulted in losses for the owner. Probably, the man had extended credit to customers far beyond their ability to repay; so when the owner observes the manager's response--seriously discounting the amount owed--he likely sees it as a move which will cut his own losses. Jesus then returns to the idea of entrusting one's goods or riches into the hands of others; but this time, he asks rhetorically whether one who cannot handle a trifling matter such as money is capable of handling real, true, eternal riches. The right way to use the former is to do so with an eye toward the ultimate reward. That is, they are to use money in a way which benefits others and makes friends, as opposed to ways that only accumulate more wealth for our pleasure.
Is our material wealth, irrespective of how great or small it may be, a mere tool or a monstrous dictator? Is it our pattern to give in order to provide for others, to open them toward us and the life that we offer on behalf of the true master, or has it become a substitute master itself? John Wesley wasn't far from the mark when he encouraged Christians to gain all they can, save all they can, and give all they can--and equally close to the mark when he lamented that most believers seemed to stop after the second step. Three times in the closing verses Jesus ties faithfulness to handling the money, even though it is a "little thing." When is the last time you thought of money or a possession as a test of faithfulness, as a tool or means by which to be received into the company of one who needs the gospel?
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Lost and Found, Part Three
Text: Luke 15
The lessons from this parable and the larger chapter are many. Our concern in this context has been with those aspects which will assist us in the disciplines of confession and repentance in keeping with Lent. It's an extended period over which to take such stock; yet without doing so, we will be far too likely to settle for a surface inspection while the interior of the soul slowly crumbles.
That's likely what had happened in the lives of the Pharisees to whom Jesus addressed this timeless parable and whose resultant attitudes were personified in the older brother. It is doubtful that they had begun their love for the Law in a manner accompanied by a disdain for the people who listened to their teaching, or who had decided they were not needful thereof. Yet over time they developed a hardness which itself seems to have become institutionalized. Hence, when seeing Jesus spending time with the rejected and rejecting ones, they became indignant. Perhaps the most poignant contrast in this parable resides in these phrases:"your brother" and "this son of yours." The father wants his older, obedient son to identify with his disobedient sibling; the son rejects the association, referring to his brother in a manner which throws responsibility squarely upon his father, questioning his sense of fairness in the process.
Human anger is seldom if ever an attractive trait. When mistakenly identified as righteous indignation, it's face does not improve in the least. When displayed over the inclusion of people within the sphere of God's grace it becomes absolutely demonic--for who but the demons would prefer that the reach of such grace be limited?
Are there any people in our own lives whom we would rather refer to as God's own problem rather than fellows of ours on our journey, as people whose very presence we deem a blight on all things decent and orderly--and "godly?" Who are the tax collectors and sinners in our world? When they return to their Father in heaven, will we join in the joy of the Father, or sulk because we've worked so long and hard at doing the right thing without due recognition? Finally, will we not only join the celebration, but work--and work we must--to develop the heart of the Father in our own lives, so that we are going out to the road and seeking them ourselves?
The lessons from this parable and the larger chapter are many. Our concern in this context has been with those aspects which will assist us in the disciplines of confession and repentance in keeping with Lent. It's an extended period over which to take such stock; yet without doing so, we will be far too likely to settle for a surface inspection while the interior of the soul slowly crumbles.
That's likely what had happened in the lives of the Pharisees to whom Jesus addressed this timeless parable and whose resultant attitudes were personified in the older brother. It is doubtful that they had begun their love for the Law in a manner accompanied by a disdain for the people who listened to their teaching, or who had decided they were not needful thereof. Yet over time they developed a hardness which itself seems to have become institutionalized. Hence, when seeing Jesus spending time with the rejected and rejecting ones, they became indignant. Perhaps the most poignant contrast in this parable resides in these phrases:"your brother" and "this son of yours." The father wants his older, obedient son to identify with his disobedient sibling; the son rejects the association, referring to his brother in a manner which throws responsibility squarely upon his father, questioning his sense of fairness in the process.
Human anger is seldom if ever an attractive trait. When mistakenly identified as righteous indignation, it's face does not improve in the least. When displayed over the inclusion of people within the sphere of God's grace it becomes absolutely demonic--for who but the demons would prefer that the reach of such grace be limited?
Are there any people in our own lives whom we would rather refer to as God's own problem rather than fellows of ours on our journey, as people whose very presence we deem a blight on all things decent and orderly--and "godly?" Who are the tax collectors and sinners in our world? When they return to their Father in heaven, will we join in the joy of the Father, or sulk because we've worked so long and hard at doing the right thing without due recognition? Finally, will we not only join the celebration, but work--and work we must--to develop the heart of the Father in our own lives, so that we are going out to the road and seeking them ourselves?
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Lost and Found, Part Two
Text: Luke 15
Lost doesn't feel good. Oh, it may be an adventure for a while, but when the realization strikes that we don't know where we are, no one else knows where we are, and the prospects for a quick return are diminishing by the second, the adventurous feeling changes into something closer to panic.
The tax collectors and irreligious (the original rendering of what is translated as "sinners" in many versions) folks knew what it was like to be lost. They, like so many of their counterparts today, gave every impression that they didn't care about God, about being in His company. They had filled their needs for acceptance, love, and participation with substitutes that did not satisfy them. So when the real live God showed up in their neighborhood, and took time to meet with them, speak with them, hear about their lives and longings, they continued to come and fill themselves with the best nourishment for mind and spirit they could ever imagine.
So with the one we know as the prodigal son. After squandering the good stuff from his father's house he still needed to be filled. Lost people continue to eat, not just literally, but figuratively as well. They consume anything which appears for the moment to satisfy the very same needs for love, acceptance, and purpose. Most of what is ingested fills but does not nourish--it takes the pain away temporarily, but it returns in a way that now seems to need more than before. Lost people need something better to eat, and their Father longs to give them the best. So Jesus went to the tax gatherers and drop-outs; the father went searching for his lost son. And the former were filled with the words and presence of Jesus; the latter by his father's lavish banquet. It feels so good to be found and to be fed well again.
Sometimes we eat the junk food of the lost, substitutes for the mind and spirit's real needs; we wander from the father's house, maybe long enough to eat the lesser fare of our culture. During Lent, we should examine our diet and eat so that we may be filled with all the best food for the soul and have much left over to share with the lost ones along our way.
Lost doesn't feel good. Oh, it may be an adventure for a while, but when the realization strikes that we don't know where we are, no one else knows where we are, and the prospects for a quick return are diminishing by the second, the adventurous feeling changes into something closer to panic.
The tax collectors and irreligious (the original rendering of what is translated as "sinners" in many versions) folks knew what it was like to be lost. They, like so many of their counterparts today, gave every impression that they didn't care about God, about being in His company. They had filled their needs for acceptance, love, and participation with substitutes that did not satisfy them. So when the real live God showed up in their neighborhood, and took time to meet with them, speak with them, hear about their lives and longings, they continued to come and fill themselves with the best nourishment for mind and spirit they could ever imagine.
So with the one we know as the prodigal son. After squandering the good stuff from his father's house he still needed to be filled. Lost people continue to eat, not just literally, but figuratively as well. They consume anything which appears for the moment to satisfy the very same needs for love, acceptance, and purpose. Most of what is ingested fills but does not nourish--it takes the pain away temporarily, but it returns in a way that now seems to need more than before. Lost people need something better to eat, and their Father longs to give them the best. So Jesus went to the tax gatherers and drop-outs; the father went searching for his lost son. And the former were filled with the words and presence of Jesus; the latter by his father's lavish banquet. It feels so good to be found and to be fed well again.
Sometimes we eat the junk food of the lost, substitutes for the mind and spirit's real needs; we wander from the father's house, maybe long enough to eat the lesser fare of our culture. During Lent, we should examine our diet and eat so that we may be filled with all the best food for the soul and have much left over to share with the lost ones along our way.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Lost and Found, Part One
Text: Luke 15 (first of three reflections on this familiar chapter)
Have you ever been chastised, criticized, belittled, or otherwise denigrated because of the company you keep? Perhaps in school, especially in the later elementary grades, when the lines of acceptable and socially untouchable are being drawn in some detail. And it doesn't seem to stop there. Middle school, or junior high school for those of us from another educational era, are notorious years for defining whom one will and will not associate with according to those ever hardening lines. We continue to distinguish between "us" and "them" for too many of our years.
In reflecting on the parable of the prodigal son, we often overlook the entire sweep of the chapter which gives it its poignancy. It needs to be read as a whole in order to catch the contrasts and indictments Jesus intended. It begins with Jesus crossing those lines of proper and improper associations--and being roundly criticized for doing so. "Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear him." Wait a minute. When is the last time in your experience that such people gathered to hear what Jesus has to say?
It is difficult to believe that people do not want the gospel of grace, of mercy, of God's overwhelming desire to accept and embrace, to give meaning and hope where none has been known. That's why they all gathered around Jesus. But it's not difficult to believe that the very people charged with that message are the one who turn the hurting ones away with their attitudes of superiority, for whom God is a possession limited to those who meet certain standards of respectability. It's not difficult because we continue to see it, and maybe even practice it ourselves. The whole point of the parable is to change our focus regarding who is acceptable to God. He wants us, dare we say he needs us to see people as lost, and their return as cause for celebration. A sheep is lost, a coin is lost--and no one hesitates to celebrate with their owners when they are found. Indeed, the sheep and the coin were characterized specifically by their lost condition.
Are we any better than grumbling Pharisees if we fail to see the marginal, the poor, the drug addicted, the sexually confused as anything but the lost children of the heavenly father? Are we the older brother? Lord, what attitudes, and what characteristics of our hearts need to change before these lost ones all gather around your body, the church, to hear you?
Have you ever been chastised, criticized, belittled, or otherwise denigrated because of the company you keep? Perhaps in school, especially in the later elementary grades, when the lines of acceptable and socially untouchable are being drawn in some detail. And it doesn't seem to stop there. Middle school, or junior high school for those of us from another educational era, are notorious years for defining whom one will and will not associate with according to those ever hardening lines. We continue to distinguish between "us" and "them" for too many of our years.
In reflecting on the parable of the prodigal son, we often overlook the entire sweep of the chapter which gives it its poignancy. It needs to be read as a whole in order to catch the contrasts and indictments Jesus intended. It begins with Jesus crossing those lines of proper and improper associations--and being roundly criticized for doing so. "Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear him." Wait a minute. When is the last time in your experience that such people gathered to hear what Jesus has to say?
It is difficult to believe that people do not want the gospel of grace, of mercy, of God's overwhelming desire to accept and embrace, to give meaning and hope where none has been known. That's why they all gathered around Jesus. But it's not difficult to believe that the very people charged with that message are the one who turn the hurting ones away with their attitudes of superiority, for whom God is a possession limited to those who meet certain standards of respectability. It's not difficult because we continue to see it, and maybe even practice it ourselves. The whole point of the parable is to change our focus regarding who is acceptable to God. He wants us, dare we say he needs us to see people as lost, and their return as cause for celebration. A sheep is lost, a coin is lost--and no one hesitates to celebrate with their owners when they are found. Indeed, the sheep and the coin were characterized specifically by their lost condition.
Are we any better than grumbling Pharisees if we fail to see the marginal, the poor, the drug addicted, the sexually confused as anything but the lost children of the heavenly father? Are we the older brother? Lord, what attitudes, and what characteristics of our hearts need to change before these lost ones all gather around your body, the church, to hear you?
Monday, February 22, 2010
Life Interrupted
Text: Luke 14: 25-35
Hating family members: carrying crosses; counting costs; useless salt. What's up with all of that?
In recording the journey of Jesus to Jerusalem, Luke notes here that Jesus changes the recipients of his teaching. Instead of addressing the Pharisees and religious leaders, sometimes with very pointed words, he now turns to the large numbers of curious bystanders and would-be followers. His words to them are hardly welcoming. His message, if not each piece of it, is quite clear: this new kingdom is not to be taken lightly. It may well require some very difficult reckoning.
How is it that we have often turned this very daunting challenge of following Jesus into something else? In emphasizing the graciousness of the gospel, have we cheapened it by neglecting the cost? Jesus uses a couple of very direct analogies to the matter of deciding whether or not to set out on the path toward the kingdom of God: a construction project and a war. Anyone would judge as foolish the one who began either project without due assessment of resources and costs. Note that even if the builder of the tower or the king contemplating war are successful, they have had to give up the resources required to complete them. That seems to be the point of v. 33, where we are told that any possessions, including personal relationships, may be required.
Yes, there are dangers on the side of appearing to work for our salvation; but those dangers cannot blunt the force of what Jesus said. Know what you're getting into when you accept the king's invitation. For just as the originally invited guests to the banquet (vv. 15-24) had excuses dealing with their possessions and were rejected as a result, the others brought in from the highways also needed to make a choice between life as planned and going to be with the king. The banquet is worth the cost, beyond any doubt; but there is a cost.
Hating family members: carrying crosses; counting costs; useless salt. What's up with all of that?
In recording the journey of Jesus to Jerusalem, Luke notes here that Jesus changes the recipients of his teaching. Instead of addressing the Pharisees and religious leaders, sometimes with very pointed words, he now turns to the large numbers of curious bystanders and would-be followers. His words to them are hardly welcoming. His message, if not each piece of it, is quite clear: this new kingdom is not to be taken lightly. It may well require some very difficult reckoning.
How is it that we have often turned this very daunting challenge of following Jesus into something else? In emphasizing the graciousness of the gospel, have we cheapened it by neglecting the cost? Jesus uses a couple of very direct analogies to the matter of deciding whether or not to set out on the path toward the kingdom of God: a construction project and a war. Anyone would judge as foolish the one who began either project without due assessment of resources and costs. Note that even if the builder of the tower or the king contemplating war are successful, they have had to give up the resources required to complete them. That seems to be the point of v. 33, where we are told that any possessions, including personal relationships, may be required.
Yes, there are dangers on the side of appearing to work for our salvation; but those dangers cannot blunt the force of what Jesus said. Know what you're getting into when you accept the king's invitation. For just as the originally invited guests to the banquet (vv. 15-24) had excuses dealing with their possessions and were rejected as a result, the others brought in from the highways also needed to make a choice between life as planned and going to be with the king. The banquet is worth the cost, beyond any doubt; but there is a cost.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Whose Reality?
Text: Luke 14: 15-24
The benefits of the kingdom of God seem so attractive that it is difficult to comprehend how or why anyone could possibly choose against it. Ask yourself if you would rather live in a reality of pure justice, benevolent rulership, willing obedience to a law known to be in our best interest, or in one which is characterized by corruption, self-seeking, inequities of all kinds and no prospect of things ever changing for the better. And oh, by the way, the former is eternal, just awaiting its full inauguration. In the meantime we get to live by its precepts and under the loving guidance of its monarch.
Simple choice, right? Apparently not. It seems that in that interim period we find ourselves so entwined in the things of that second kingdom that we be unable to let go at the critical moment. For Jesus' immediate audience fields, equipment, purchases, and relationships were singled out as temporary obstructions to acceptance of the king's gracious offer. Just how different are we from that audience? Don't we often have a hard time putting aside anything and everything else because the Lord has issued us a summons to be with Him, to attend to the things of His kingdom? The two kingdoms mentioned above do not necessarily contain different interests, activities, and relationships; but they are worlds apart when it comes to the ordering of those very things.
The lesson from today's passage is that we are always to be on guard to preserve the priority of the kingdom of God. When the Lord calls, can we put all else aside? If we are unable to do so here and now, we may find that we have indeed become so caught up in the reality created by these things that we lose out on that which is "really real," that which will bless our souls forever. During this season, let us repent of all the things we have allowed to threaten our sharing in God's kingdom.
The benefits of the kingdom of God seem so attractive that it is difficult to comprehend how or why anyone could possibly choose against it. Ask yourself if you would rather live in a reality of pure justice, benevolent rulership, willing obedience to a law known to be in our best interest, or in one which is characterized by corruption, self-seeking, inequities of all kinds and no prospect of things ever changing for the better. And oh, by the way, the former is eternal, just awaiting its full inauguration. In the meantime we get to live by its precepts and under the loving guidance of its monarch.
Simple choice, right? Apparently not. It seems that in that interim period we find ourselves so entwined in the things of that second kingdom that we be unable to let go at the critical moment. For Jesus' immediate audience fields, equipment, purchases, and relationships were singled out as temporary obstructions to acceptance of the king's gracious offer. Just how different are we from that audience? Don't we often have a hard time putting aside anything and everything else because the Lord has issued us a summons to be with Him, to attend to the things of His kingdom? The two kingdoms mentioned above do not necessarily contain different interests, activities, and relationships; but they are worlds apart when it comes to the ordering of those very things.
The lesson from today's passage is that we are always to be on guard to preserve the priority of the kingdom of God. When the Lord calls, can we put all else aside? If we are unable to do so here and now, we may find that we have indeed become so caught up in the reality created by these things that we lose out on that which is "really real," that which will bless our souls forever. During this season, let us repent of all the things we have allowed to threaten our sharing in God's kingdom.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner
Text: Luke 14:7-14
Who is it who gets the best seat for dinner at your house? As you plan for the arrival of guests, do you figure out who will sit where, making certain that the most respected of guests is not relegated to the corner spot at the table--the one where the legs don't quite fit under the table and the challenge is to get fork to mouth cleanly because of the awkward angles?
Jesus speaks of two situations of entertaining for dinner. I find that fascinating in itself, that the Lord is so very familiar with the routines of social life in his time. I suspect he knows ours quite well also. The first is the occasion of being entertained; the second is about throwing the dinner party oneself. In each case he is particularly interested in the dynamics of invitations; in each case he gets at the heart of our real selves, our real concerns and desires for relationships and standing in this world. This is not a "raise your hand if you love other people" type of question. It asks it in a much more difficult but much more meaningful way. Where do you expect to be seated given your assessment of yourself with respect to the others present? Whom will you honor with the gift of an evening meal carefully and thoughtfully prepared?
I have a suspicion that most of us have more trouble with the second of Jesus' directions than with the first. We'd much rather invite to our homes the ones who can directly or indirectly provide us some benefit, even if it be only a return invitation. Of course, if the prospective guest also happens to be in a position to provide even more significant benefits or promotion in status, so much the better. "Invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind." The ones you'll have to work harder for just to serve the meal. When it's over, you might have a greater clean-up chore, and no return invitation or rise in prestige. In all honesty, few of us imitate Jesus by giving this kind of preference to the friendless and needy ones. What kind of invitation, if not to a dinner, will you offer, will I offer as an unmerited gift to another in response to our Lord? Let's at least think about it--and perhaps include our past failures as part of our Lenten confession.
Who is it who gets the best seat for dinner at your house? As you plan for the arrival of guests, do you figure out who will sit where, making certain that the most respected of guests is not relegated to the corner spot at the table--the one where the legs don't quite fit under the table and the challenge is to get fork to mouth cleanly because of the awkward angles?
Jesus speaks of two situations of entertaining for dinner. I find that fascinating in itself, that the Lord is so very familiar with the routines of social life in his time. I suspect he knows ours quite well also. The first is the occasion of being entertained; the second is about throwing the dinner party oneself. In each case he is particularly interested in the dynamics of invitations; in each case he gets at the heart of our real selves, our real concerns and desires for relationships and standing in this world. This is not a "raise your hand if you love other people" type of question. It asks it in a much more difficult but much more meaningful way. Where do you expect to be seated given your assessment of yourself with respect to the others present? Whom will you honor with the gift of an evening meal carefully and thoughtfully prepared?
I have a suspicion that most of us have more trouble with the second of Jesus' directions than with the first. We'd much rather invite to our homes the ones who can directly or indirectly provide us some benefit, even if it be only a return invitation. Of course, if the prospective guest also happens to be in a position to provide even more significant benefits or promotion in status, so much the better. "Invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind." The ones you'll have to work harder for just to serve the meal. When it's over, you might have a greater clean-up chore, and no return invitation or rise in prestige. In all honesty, few of us imitate Jesus by giving this kind of preference to the friendless and needy ones. What kind of invitation, if not to a dinner, will you offer, will I offer as an unmerited gift to another in response to our Lord? Let's at least think about it--and perhaps include our past failures as part of our Lenten confession.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Gray on the Other Side
Text: Luke 14:1-6
Do you know anyone who is constantly on the watch for a misstep? You know, the ones who know the rules inside and out, and are just waiting for the violator to cross that line. The description seems to fit our cultural mood at times. In the media there are always diggers of dirt ready to blow whistles and sound sirens when someone of the opposing political party transgresses. And it doesn't matter whether it's Morley Safer on the left or Rush Limbaugh on the right. Jesus was all too familiar with the phenomenon. Pharisaical attitudes abound; most of us have been in their company as accomplices at one time or another.
But there is something about Jesus' disarming opening question: "Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath or not?" Is it lawful? When asked by Jesus in this context, tables are turned. Is it okay to do something good? That's the kind of question we're not ready for. More frequently we ask whether something is lawful from the other side of morality--not whether something is good, which obviously is good, but whether something which probably is questionable or compromising at best, is REALLY sinful after all. We are far more prone to press the bounds of morality from the side of evil than from the side of good.
The Pharisees could make no response. Of course not. Instead of performing healing, loving, redemptive acts, they were looking for evil ones to point out in others. How are we doing on that score; how am I doing on that score? The problem of legalism is deeper than we sometimes think; it's not only a matter of fault-finding, but of virtue-refusing. When Paul told the Philippians to focus on the things good, beautiful, just, virtuous, and praise-worthy, he knew full well that this means giving up a focus on the real and imaginary transgressions of others. Today's reflection is a call to repent of seeking the violations of others, and to find and do the good which is not only lawful but redemptive.
Do you know anyone who is constantly on the watch for a misstep? You know, the ones who know the rules inside and out, and are just waiting for the violator to cross that line. The description seems to fit our cultural mood at times. In the media there are always diggers of dirt ready to blow whistles and sound sirens when someone of the opposing political party transgresses. And it doesn't matter whether it's Morley Safer on the left or Rush Limbaugh on the right. Jesus was all too familiar with the phenomenon. Pharisaical attitudes abound; most of us have been in their company as accomplices at one time or another.
But there is something about Jesus' disarming opening question: "Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath or not?" Is it lawful? When asked by Jesus in this context, tables are turned. Is it okay to do something good? That's the kind of question we're not ready for. More frequently we ask whether something is lawful from the other side of morality--not whether something is good, which obviously is good, but whether something which probably is questionable or compromising at best, is REALLY sinful after all. We are far more prone to press the bounds of morality from the side of evil than from the side of good.
The Pharisees could make no response. Of course not. Instead of performing healing, loving, redemptive acts, they were looking for evil ones to point out in others. How are we doing on that score; how am I doing on that score? The problem of legalism is deeper than we sometimes think; it's not only a matter of fault-finding, but of virtue-refusing. When Paul told the Philippians to focus on the things good, beautiful, just, virtuous, and praise-worthy, he knew full well that this means giving up a focus on the real and imaginary transgressions of others. Today's reflection is a call to repent of seeking the violations of others, and to find and do the good which is not only lawful but redemptive.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Self Knowledge
Text: Luke 13:31-35
It must be a freeing, empowering feeling to be absolutely certain of who one is and what one must do--even if what one must do is extraordinarily dangerous. We once grew up hearing tales of such people, some of which tales had some elements of truth liberally seasoned with legend and folklore. Think, for example, Kuster's Last Stand or the Alamo. Even knowing some of the heroic stories we've been told are embellished versions, we admire the traits which are the reason for the telling. Bravery, confidence, self-sacrifice for a greater good.
What makes the picture of Jesus on the way to Jerusalem so compelling is the certainty he held regarding both the necessity and the outcome of this final journey to the Holy City. He held these in spite of what anyone else would think, say, or do. He was told of Herod's designs, even if the telling was less than compassionately motivated; he knew the history of people so like the ones addressing him at the moment; he knew from direct personal encounters over the course of ministry how stubbornly and self-destructively the neediest of souls resisted the God who longed to embrace them for their healing and wholeness.
In pondering this, it is all too easy to take up his cause and condemn the rascals for him; they deserve it. But before setting off on that road, we should pause to reflect on something else that Jesus knew. He knew what those who would follow later, even today, would be like. Not just the enemies; but his own as well. Just as nothing in the original scene deterred him from his appointment on Calvary, neither did the knowledge of your and my resistance, our preference to live just at the edge of his wingspan, rather than securely within it. And that we as much as the people of his day were lost unless he completed that trip. What grace, mercy, and love we only partially accept.
It must be a freeing, empowering feeling to be absolutely certain of who one is and what one must do--even if what one must do is extraordinarily dangerous. We once grew up hearing tales of such people, some of which tales had some elements of truth liberally seasoned with legend and folklore. Think, for example, Kuster's Last Stand or the Alamo. Even knowing some of the heroic stories we've been told are embellished versions, we admire the traits which are the reason for the telling. Bravery, confidence, self-sacrifice for a greater good.
What makes the picture of Jesus on the way to Jerusalem so compelling is the certainty he held regarding both the necessity and the outcome of this final journey to the Holy City. He held these in spite of what anyone else would think, say, or do. He was told of Herod's designs, even if the telling was less than compassionately motivated; he knew the history of people so like the ones addressing him at the moment; he knew from direct personal encounters over the course of ministry how stubbornly and self-destructively the neediest of souls resisted the God who longed to embrace them for their healing and wholeness.
In pondering this, it is all too easy to take up his cause and condemn the rascals for him; they deserve it. But before setting off on that road, we should pause to reflect on something else that Jesus knew. He knew what those who would follow later, even today, would be like. Not just the enemies; but his own as well. Just as nothing in the original scene deterred him from his appointment on Calvary, neither did the knowledge of your and my resistance, our preference to live just at the edge of his wingspan, rather than securely within it. And that we as much as the people of his day were lost unless he completed that trip. What grace, mercy, and love we only partially accept.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
On the Way
(Note: This is the first in a series of devotional thoughts for the season of Lent; it will continue through Easter. Comments, questions, insights are welcome. Bible passages will be referenced but not printed. You are encouraged to read them before considering the thoughts which follow here.)
Wednesday, February 17. Text: Luke 13:22-30
Are you a goal oriented person? Perhaps a single-minded, tunnel-visioned, focused person? In today's world, especially regarding career goals, athletic or artistic prowess or other things, we are often encouraged to let nothing stand in our way. Everything is secondary, expendable in light of where we see ourselves headed. Or maybe you are on the opposite side of things related to destinations. In true postmodern fashion, the focus is on the journey, not the destination; it's the experiences, not the specific direction which counts. In this case, the stops along the way are what end up determining the endpoint.
As Lent begins this year, I am drawn the journey of Jesus toward his destination and how he dealt with the things that happened and the people he encountered as he went toward Jerusalem. This is not the first time in Luke's telling of the gospel that Jesus is described as heading toward Jerusalem. In Lk. 9:51 Luke writes that, "he resolutely set his face to go to Jerusalem." That determination, that purposive setting of direction never wavered. Yet at several points the narrative is punctuated by reminders that events occurred, people were healed, and words were spoken "along the way." Today's text begins similarly: "He was passing through from one city and village to another, teaching, and proceeding on his way to Jerusalem." He knew where he was going--and what would occur when he would arrive. Yet he was ever the teacher and healer, the convictor of the comfortable, comforter of the afflicted as went on his way.
The words which follow are words of stark warning to those who would "consume" religion without having it shape their actions and attitudes. Outsiders would find his kingdom while the consumers would be left out. As we begin the traditional period of Lent--a time of reflection, repentance, and humility--it is appropriate to consider whether we have prayerfully sought the balance between setting our sights on a worthy goal in such a way that we minister the love and grace of Christ to those we encounter "on the way." And it may be especially relevant to those who are in ministry to be mindful of that precarious balance. God may have placed a certain goal or destination on our hearts. But He does not want us to pursue it in such a way that we fail to see the needs of people encountered on the journey; nor does He want us to allow the ever-present neediness around us to deter us from the pursuit of His calling.
Let us help one another in seeking the narrow way.
Wednesday, February 17. Text: Luke 13:22-30
Are you a goal oriented person? Perhaps a single-minded, tunnel-visioned, focused person? In today's world, especially regarding career goals, athletic or artistic prowess or other things, we are often encouraged to let nothing stand in our way. Everything is secondary, expendable in light of where we see ourselves headed. Or maybe you are on the opposite side of things related to destinations. In true postmodern fashion, the focus is on the journey, not the destination; it's the experiences, not the specific direction which counts. In this case, the stops along the way are what end up determining the endpoint.
As Lent begins this year, I am drawn the journey of Jesus toward his destination and how he dealt with the things that happened and the people he encountered as he went toward Jerusalem. This is not the first time in Luke's telling of the gospel that Jesus is described as heading toward Jerusalem. In Lk. 9:51 Luke writes that, "he resolutely set his face to go to Jerusalem." That determination, that purposive setting of direction never wavered. Yet at several points the narrative is punctuated by reminders that events occurred, people were healed, and words were spoken "along the way." Today's text begins similarly: "He was passing through from one city and village to another, teaching, and proceeding on his way to Jerusalem." He knew where he was going--and what would occur when he would arrive. Yet he was ever the teacher and healer, the convictor of the comfortable, comforter of the afflicted as went on his way.
The words which follow are words of stark warning to those who would "consume" religion without having it shape their actions and attitudes. Outsiders would find his kingdom while the consumers would be left out. As we begin the traditional period of Lent--a time of reflection, repentance, and humility--it is appropriate to consider whether we have prayerfully sought the balance between setting our sights on a worthy goal in such a way that we minister the love and grace of Christ to those we encounter "on the way." And it may be especially relevant to those who are in ministry to be mindful of that precarious balance. God may have placed a certain goal or destination on our hearts. But He does not want us to pursue it in such a way that we fail to see the needs of people encountered on the journey; nor does He want us to allow the ever-present neediness around us to deter us from the pursuit of His calling.
Let us help one another in seeking the narrow way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
