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.
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