Matthew 25:31-46
Those 'blessed by the Father' will be ushered to a kingdom prepared for them at the time of the foundation of the world. And they'll be surprised by what Jesus Christ tells them.
"But Lord, when did we see you? When did we serve you? Really?"
They will be surprised because this reward was not the reason for their works. They weren't expecting this reward. They served because it was incredibly natural, so natural it was subconscious. It was an overflow of what they had already received. It was compassion that bubbled over. They saw needs, incredibly basic ones like hunger and thirst and clothing and friendship, and they met them without a second thought. Therein lies their blessed surprise.
But if they had served to earn, there would be no surprise in their voice. They would have been works ultimately of self-service. They would have known full well all that they had done. They would be ready with their long list of good deeds to show the King as a justification of why they deserved the reward. They would not have been thinking about those in need, but about themselves. Each work would have been carefully calculated for the profit that would be received. And if this were in fact the case, the King would have said, "Here is your reward," and they would have responded without hesitation, strutting through kingdom gates, "But of course! The moment we've been waiting for! Thank you very much!" A response much different than the honest, humble question that is asked.
But they are not the only ones surprised.
Those who are 'cursed' will be ushered to an eternal fire. And they too are surprised.
"But Lord, when did we see you? When did we not serve you? Really?"
They will have been so centered on themselves that they missed and passed by the most basic of needs around them. But in their blindness, they didn't even know. They weren't expecting this. In their minds, they were good, good enough, deserving enough, not needing anything more outside of themselves. And because they needed nothing more, they looked only to themselves, and their eyes were never directed outwards to others in need.
As Calvin puts it, "They are so intoxicated by their fading prosperity, that they imagine they will always be happy." And therein lies their tragic surprise.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
The Good Samaritan 3: Missing the Point
So it's those pompous religious hypocrites that are the problem.
I'm tempted to say too much has been made of the characters Jesus chose to put in his story. We've taken it further, invented stories, made presuppositions, cast judgements. I'm not sure that was the intent, but still, Jesus surely has his reasons, even provocative ones.
We would all expect a priest to help, wouldn't we? But he doesn't. Why exactly, we don't know. Could it be he was worried about cleanliness laws that prohibited him from touching bloody, half-dead men? He would be losing his job, yes, but that also meant losing his apparent status before God. Sure, we can see the error in his thinking, but once we put ourselves in his shoes we can see just how serious of a matter this is for him. This is identity, livelihood, holiness, all that mattered in life. This isn't just "I'm-kinda-busy-and-can't-really-be-bothered," this is, "God-forbid!" in the strongest sense of the phrase.
And if not a priest, than surely a Levite, the assistant to the priest, the guy working behind the scenes but playing an integral part in all that was ceremonial worship. But he doesn't stop either. Why exactly, we don't know. Could he be on his way to work? He was ready to serve, perhaps blinded by his sense of duty and responsibility. Maybe distracted by the to-do list that would start the minute he arrived at the temple. Perhaps he was so convinced that this was the specific role God had called him to do, and thus helping wounded people on the side of the road didn't enter his job description; it was for someone else.
Again, here we go with our projections. We don't know the reasons. All we know is that a human being is in desperate need, and two fellow human beings decide to leave him there. The only clear reason Jesus seems to imply is that they are lacking compassion. They are blinded, seeing any number of other things instead of a man in need, and whatever the reasons, this is lamentable.
Next, Jesus goes to the opposite end of the spectrum. A despicable, lowly Samaritan. A bitter enemy. He chooses him to surprise us, to play with our expectations, to show a generosity that knows no limits, to show us from where compassion can come.
It's not necessarily that Jesus doesn't like what the Priests and Levites are doing, it's that they're missing the point. Like the lawyer asking the questions, they're part of the "wise and understanding" who aren't getting the big picture that Jesus mentions just before telling the story. Instead, it's the "little children" like the Samaritan who have understood what really matters.
Like Jesus tells the people upset at him for breaking the Sabbath, the law was made to serve men, men weren't made to serve the law (Mark 2:27). And God has always desired mercy and compassion more than he has sacrifice (Matt 12:7, Hosea 6:6). Religiosity can be ironically and tragically blinding.
This is, yet again, partly a scathing rebuke of the religious who are prone to missing the point.
But that doesn't mean that if you're not a Priest or a Levite, you're off the hook.
I'm tempted to say too much has been made of the characters Jesus chose to put in his story. We've taken it further, invented stories, made presuppositions, cast judgements. I'm not sure that was the intent, but still, Jesus surely has his reasons, even provocative ones.
We would all expect a priest to help, wouldn't we? But he doesn't. Why exactly, we don't know. Could it be he was worried about cleanliness laws that prohibited him from touching bloody, half-dead men? He would be losing his job, yes, but that also meant losing his apparent status before God. Sure, we can see the error in his thinking, but once we put ourselves in his shoes we can see just how serious of a matter this is for him. This is identity, livelihood, holiness, all that mattered in life. This isn't just "I'm-kinda-busy-and-can't-really-be-bothered," this is, "God-forbid!" in the strongest sense of the phrase.
And if not a priest, than surely a Levite, the assistant to the priest, the guy working behind the scenes but playing an integral part in all that was ceremonial worship. But he doesn't stop either. Why exactly, we don't know. Could he be on his way to work? He was ready to serve, perhaps blinded by his sense of duty and responsibility. Maybe distracted by the to-do list that would start the minute he arrived at the temple. Perhaps he was so convinced that this was the specific role God had called him to do, and thus helping wounded people on the side of the road didn't enter his job description; it was for someone else.
Again, here we go with our projections. We don't know the reasons. All we know is that a human being is in desperate need, and two fellow human beings decide to leave him there. The only clear reason Jesus seems to imply is that they are lacking compassion. They are blinded, seeing any number of other things instead of a man in need, and whatever the reasons, this is lamentable.
Next, Jesus goes to the opposite end of the spectrum. A despicable, lowly Samaritan. A bitter enemy. He chooses him to surprise us, to play with our expectations, to show a generosity that knows no limits, to show us from where compassion can come.
It's not necessarily that Jesus doesn't like what the Priests and Levites are doing, it's that they're missing the point. Like the lawyer asking the questions, they're part of the "wise and understanding" who aren't getting the big picture that Jesus mentions just before telling the story. Instead, it's the "little children" like the Samaritan who have understood what really matters.
Like Jesus tells the people upset at him for breaking the Sabbath, the law was made to serve men, men weren't made to serve the law (Mark 2:27). And God has always desired mercy and compassion more than he has sacrifice (Matt 12:7, Hosea 6:6). Religiosity can be ironically and tragically blinding.
This is, yet again, partly a scathing rebuke of the religious who are prone to missing the point.
But that doesn't mean that if you're not a Priest or a Levite, you're off the hook.
Friday, April 19, 2013
On Freedom
For reasons I’m not even sure I understand, I’ve never been much of a patriot. When it comes to celebrating my country’s heritage, especially in light of its wars, I am at best hesitant, conflicted.
But this week I’ve found myself on the beaches of Normandy with my family and I’m realizing a good portion of my patriotic reluctance has simply come from ignorance. For the first time in my 29 years, I’m understanding what exactly D-Day was and why it was important, not to mention the war itself.
And so I surprised myself today, walking through the American cemetery of Omaha Beach with my two boys. I felt like a real American dad, like I was doing my duty in educating them young, a true patriot. It didn’t feel like me, but it felt strangely right, it felt important.
Some of the conflict is still there. I looked at a giant commemorative statue that mentioned something about the Glory of the Lord surrounded by maps of war strategy. And I thought to myself that surely we have made an idol out of freedom. We have made liberty and democracy and security the ultimate thing. Freedom is salvation and the soldiers are our saviors. But what good is it if a man lays down his life for his country, gains all the national freedom in the world, and still forfeits his soul? And surely True Freedom is not constrained to be lived out within the confines of national freedom. National freedom does not equate True Freedom, nor is it a prerequisite.
But there I go again.
I by no means want to belittle the preciousness of our freedom nor the sacrifice of thousands of brave young men. I take that liberty for granted daily and am a shameful coward compared to them. National freedom is not the ultimate, but it is certainly overwhelmingly sweet, meant to be savored and celebrated, and undoubtedly it must be a small part of what God desires in this complex world of his. It is indescribably right and good and beautiful.
And so we left the cemetery and drove to Pointe du Hoc, a central part of D-Day landings high atop oceanside cliffs, now littered with rusty barbed wire, caved-in cement bunkers, and countless craters left behind from the bombing. It is a strange, other-worldly experience. We followed winding paths ducking into one hole after another, exploring one crude concrete barracks after another, trying to imagine it all, trying not to imagine it all.
It didn’t seem quite right to let my boys innocently play here. At least a little morbid, or perhaps worse: disrespectful, like we’re making light of something that is anything but. But I quickly realized the beauty of it, that this is exactly why they fought. They fought to turn bunkers of oppression into jungle gyms of freedom.
And with an image like that, it’s easy to see why we make so much of war and freedom, because it all does indeed point to a much bigger story:
“He shall judge between the nations,
and shall decide disputes for many peoples;
and they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
and their spears into pruning hooks,
and their bunkers into jungle gyms;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war anymore.” Isaiah 2:4
Lagging behind the rest of the family, I picked up my almost-two-year-old and carried him on the way out of the park. He contentedly stared me straight in the eyes and I saw reflections of white puffy clouds in his striking blue irises. He grabbed my chin with his strong little hands and giggled like only your two-year-old son can. He pressed his cheek against mine. I was filled with joy, and it was then that I said
thank you.
But this week I’ve found myself on the beaches of Normandy with my family and I’m realizing a good portion of my patriotic reluctance has simply come from ignorance. For the first time in my 29 years, I’m understanding what exactly D-Day was and why it was important, not to mention the war itself.
And so I surprised myself today, walking through the American cemetery of Omaha Beach with my two boys. I felt like a real American dad, like I was doing my duty in educating them young, a true patriot. It didn’t feel like me, but it felt strangely right, it felt important.
Some of the conflict is still there. I looked at a giant commemorative statue that mentioned something about the Glory of the Lord surrounded by maps of war strategy. And I thought to myself that surely we have made an idol out of freedom. We have made liberty and democracy and security the ultimate thing. Freedom is salvation and the soldiers are our saviors. But what good is it if a man lays down his life for his country, gains all the national freedom in the world, and still forfeits his soul? And surely True Freedom is not constrained to be lived out within the confines of national freedom. National freedom does not equate True Freedom, nor is it a prerequisite.
But there I go again.
I by no means want to belittle the preciousness of our freedom nor the sacrifice of thousands of brave young men. I take that liberty for granted daily and am a shameful coward compared to them. National freedom is not the ultimate, but it is certainly overwhelmingly sweet, meant to be savored and celebrated, and undoubtedly it must be a small part of what God desires in this complex world of his. It is indescribably right and good and beautiful.
And so we left the cemetery and drove to Pointe du Hoc, a central part of D-Day landings high atop oceanside cliffs, now littered with rusty barbed wire, caved-in cement bunkers, and countless craters left behind from the bombing. It is a strange, other-worldly experience. We followed winding paths ducking into one hole after another, exploring one crude concrete barracks after another, trying to imagine it all, trying not to imagine it all.
It didn’t seem quite right to let my boys innocently play here. At least a little morbid, or perhaps worse: disrespectful, like we’re making light of something that is anything but. But I quickly realized the beauty of it, that this is exactly why they fought. They fought to turn bunkers of oppression into jungle gyms of freedom.
And with an image like that, it’s easy to see why we make so much of war and freedom, because it all does indeed point to a much bigger story:
“He shall judge between the nations,
and shall decide disputes for many peoples;
and they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
and their spears into pruning hooks,
and their bunkers into jungle gyms;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war anymore.” Isaiah 2:4
Lagging behind the rest of the family, I picked up my almost-two-year-old and carried him on the way out of the park. He contentedly stared me straight in the eyes and I saw reflections of white puffy clouds in his striking blue irises. He grabbed my chin with his strong little hands and giggled like only your two-year-old son can. He pressed his cheek against mine. I was filled with joy, and it was then that I said
thank you.
Friday, April 12, 2013
The Good Samaritan 2: Excuses
I'll put the previously mentioned problem on hold. For now we'll take a closer look at the story.
It's one thing to pass by a stranded car when you're going 70mph on the highway. Excuses are hastily made and easily justifiable when you're moving that fast, not to mention quickly forgotten. It's another thing to be walking by someone in need, and to deliberately go out of your way to cross to the other side of the street.
It's one thing to lend a cell phone for a quick call to Triple-A. It's another thing to bandage up a man, load him up, take him to the hotel, leave him in good hands, foot the bill, AND come back to make sure all is well and all bills are paid.
And all of a sudden we're put face to face with our long list of very reasonable excuses:
It's not safe to pull over here.
Surely they have a cell phone.
Somebody has already helped them...or help is already on the way.
What if they're crazy?
(No but really, I read about these guys on Facebook. They're just trying to lure in helpless victims!)
I'm no mechanic, I'm no doctor, I don't know how to help.
I just don't have time today: there's a lot of things on my schedule, and I'm already running late.
I'll just say a quick prayer for them.
Serves them right: they should've been more careful. Gotta learn the hard way.
I can't give money to him, it would only be enabling his behavior.
And you can't give help to everyone. I can't let myself be used that way.
Some of those excuses sound pretty good at 70mph. Others last long enough to walk past and reach a safer distance. But when Jesus tells us a story to hold up the mirror, we begin squirming in our seats a bit. It's easier to point the finger at those pompous religious hypocrites trying to pretend we're not the same.
It's one thing to pass by a stranded car when you're going 70mph on the highway. Excuses are hastily made and easily justifiable when you're moving that fast, not to mention quickly forgotten. It's another thing to be walking by someone in need, and to deliberately go out of your way to cross to the other side of the street.
It's one thing to lend a cell phone for a quick call to Triple-A. It's another thing to bandage up a man, load him up, take him to the hotel, leave him in good hands, foot the bill, AND come back to make sure all is well and all bills are paid.
And all of a sudden we're put face to face with our long list of very reasonable excuses:
It's not safe to pull over here.
Surely they have a cell phone.
Somebody has already helped them...or help is already on the way.
What if they're crazy?
(No but really, I read about these guys on Facebook. They're just trying to lure in helpless victims!)
I'm no mechanic, I'm no doctor, I don't know how to help.
I just don't have time today: there's a lot of things on my schedule, and I'm already running late.
I'll just say a quick prayer for them.
Serves them right: they should've been more careful. Gotta learn the hard way.
I can't give money to him, it would only be enabling his behavior.
And you can't give help to everyone. I can't let myself be used that way.
Some of those excuses sound pretty good at 70mph. Others last long enough to walk past and reach a safer distance. But when Jesus tells us a story to hold up the mirror, we begin squirming in our seats a bit. It's easier to point the finger at those pompous religious hypocrites trying to pretend we're not the same.
Monday, April 08, 2013
The Good Samaritan 1: The Problem
I'm starting a little series on a story I recently read that has continued to unfold before me. If by some chance you really want to follow along, I encourage you to read not only the following passage but the entire chapter of Luke 10.
---
Luke 10:25-37
25And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test, saying, “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” 26 He said to him, “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” 27 And he answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” 28 And he said to him, “You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.”
29 But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 30 Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead. 31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. 32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion. 34 He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. 35 And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.’ 36 Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” 37 He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus said to him, “You go, and do likewise.”
---
First, a problem. It starts with a simple, very important question. "What do we need to do for eternal life?" And to boil down Jesus' responses, in verse 28 he says very plainly "Do" and in verse 37 he says even more emphatically "Go and do."
That's not necessarily the problem. It's Jesus, after all, and it's his response. More than that, it's a strangely satisfying response for the average human being with the inward obsession of doing, performing, achieving. It's an answer we were expecting, even wanting.
So the problem instead comes when we immediately hear the peanut gallery chiming in, like Statler and Waldorf, those grumpy critics from the Muppets. Most notably, guys like Paul, Luther, and Calvin are sitting in the balcony, and they're shouting: "For by GRACE you have been saved! It's NOT a result of WORKS!"
Who wins? Who's right? Do we follow the guy on stage or join the contrarians in the balcony?
It gets more complicated than that. Because just before the convenient bracketing of the story of the Good Samaritan, Jesus is talking about seeing, hearing, and God revealing himself to those he chooses. (10:21-24) There is little talk about our going and doing. And just after the convenient ending of the story, Jesus is reproaching a woman named Martha who is serving (also read: doing) so much that she is anxious and troubled, while he praises Mary who is doing nothing but sitting, listening, and letting herself be taught. He tells Martha that Mary is doing the only necessary thing. (10:38-42)
It's as if Martha could turn around and justifiably yell at Jesus: "But you just finished teaching us that to get eternal life we have to go and do, we have to serve, and with a whole lot generosity!" Make up your mind, Jesus!
Not only does Jesus seem to be contradicting guys like Paul and the Reformers, but more importantly, he seems to be contradicting himself. And so we end up asking again, with just as much earnest confusion,
"What must we really do to inherit eternal life? What is really the one necessary thing?"
---
Luke 10:25-37
25And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test, saying, “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” 26 He said to him, “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” 27 And he answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” 28 And he said to him, “You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.”
29 But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 30 Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead. 31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. 32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion. 34 He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. 35 And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.’ 36 Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” 37 He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus said to him, “You go, and do likewise.”
---
First, a problem. It starts with a simple, very important question. "What do we need to do for eternal life?" And to boil down Jesus' responses, in verse 28 he says very plainly "Do" and in verse 37 he says even more emphatically "Go and do."
That's not necessarily the problem. It's Jesus, after all, and it's his response. More than that, it's a strangely satisfying response for the average human being with the inward obsession of doing, performing, achieving. It's an answer we were expecting, even wanting.
So the problem instead comes when we immediately hear the peanut gallery chiming in, like Statler and Waldorf, those grumpy critics from the Muppets. Most notably, guys like Paul, Luther, and Calvin are sitting in the balcony, and they're shouting: "For by GRACE you have been saved! It's NOT a result of WORKS!"
Who wins? Who's right? Do we follow the guy on stage or join the contrarians in the balcony?
It gets more complicated than that. Because just before the convenient bracketing of the story of the Good Samaritan, Jesus is talking about seeing, hearing, and God revealing himself to those he chooses. (10:21-24) There is little talk about our going and doing. And just after the convenient ending of the story, Jesus is reproaching a woman named Martha who is serving (also read: doing) so much that she is anxious and troubled, while he praises Mary who is doing nothing but sitting, listening, and letting herself be taught. He tells Martha that Mary is doing the only necessary thing. (10:38-42)
It's as if Martha could turn around and justifiably yell at Jesus: "But you just finished teaching us that to get eternal life we have to go and do, we have to serve, and with a whole lot generosity!" Make up your mind, Jesus!
Not only does Jesus seem to be contradicting guys like Paul and the Reformers, but more importantly, he seems to be contradicting himself. And so we end up asking again, with just as much earnest confusion,
"What must we really do to inherit eternal life? What is really the one necessary thing?"
Thursday, April 04, 2013
Only the Essentials
We were one after the other in line at the grocery store cash register.
One was wearing a fancy hat, classy corduroys, waiting to buy nothing but a few clementines, a block of comté, and a bottle of Bordeaux.
The other was wearing Levis and a t-shirt, waiting to buy nothing but a pound of ground beef, hamburger rolls, and a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream.
I'll let you guess which was me.
One was wearing a fancy hat, classy corduroys, waiting to buy nothing but a few clementines, a block of comté, and a bottle of Bordeaux.
The other was wearing Levis and a t-shirt, waiting to buy nothing but a pound of ground beef, hamburger rolls, and a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream.
I'll let you guess which was me.
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