Pancakes and Sinners
When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner.” (Luke 7:29)
I have a tattered piece of yellow legal paper with a lot of notes scribbled on it. It’s my “List of Stuff to Write About.” You’d think a geek like me would have a way to keep these notes that is a little more, well, digital. But I still use the old fashioned lined yellow paper. One of those cryptic notes I have written there says “Last Lecture pp. 70-71, ‘Pancake.’” This paper is pretty much with me all the time now, so that I have it around when something comes along I want to remember. It worked out then that I had it along when I was on a long road trip recently and finally had the chance to finish reading Randy Pausch’s The Last Lecture. Definitely worth the read, by the way.
The pancake notation comes from an account Pausch shares in the book of spending time with his niece and nephew and how they would make pancakes together. Rather than round pancakes, he recalls, “we were always making weirdly shaped animal pancakes. There’s a sloppiness to that medium that I like, because every animal pancake you make is an unintentional Rorschach test.” His niece and nephew would often say, “‘This isn’t the shape of the animal I wanted.’ But that allowed us to look at the pancake as it was, ” he would continue, and “imagine what animal it might be.”*
You might remember the time when Jesus was invited to a Pharisee’s home for dinner. As He reclined at the table, a woman with a famously sinful history stopped in, and as she wept behind Him, she used her own tears and her hair to wash His feet and then poured perfume on them. Simon, the Pharisee host, was appalled. He’d never seen anything so outrageous.
He stands and watches in disgust, thinking to himself that if Jesus only knew who she was, He wouldn’t allow it. If He were really a prophet, he thinks, He’d know who she is. He’d be able to see. Jesus would be as mortified as he was.
What Simon doesn’t get, of course, is that Jesus is far more than a mere prophet. And so He not only knows what kind of woman this is, but He also knows what Simon is thinking. And He calls him on it. Simon, He says, is there something you’d like to share with the whole class? Simon, there’s something I want you to know. There’s something I’d like to share with you.
He goes on to tell the story of two men with debts of varied amounts. And He points out that when the debts are forgiven, the one with the greater debt would love his master more for having been forgiven more.
He notes that this woman clearly understood her need for forgiveness far more than did Simon, the self-righteous Pharisee. She would love Jesus more because she would experience forgiveness in such a much more profound way.
It’s a story of love and forgiveness, and a story of self-importance and self-righteousness.
But it’s also a story of a pancake.
Yes, a pancake.
A weirdly shaped pancake. Not a round pancake. Not a pancake that turned out in the animal shape that was intended. A misshapen pancake that didn’t turn out how it was supposed to. A freak pancake that seems to be nothing but disappointing.
Anybody can see that the pancake is all wrong. Anybody can see that the pancake didn’t belong there. Anybody can see.
But remember what Randy Pausch said about the pancake. The fact that it did not look like the animal it was intended to be allowed them to look at it as it was. They could put aside their expectations and just see the pancake in its true form. And determine from there what it really was.
Jesus could do that with this woman. Just like all of us, she was not all she was created to be. She had a massively sinful history. So to anyone looking on, she was nothing but a walking mass of sin. She wasn’t one of the perfectly formed pancakes. All Simon and anyone else looking on could see was her sin. Not her, just her sin. Jesus could see beyond her sin and see who she was. See who He made her to be. And appreciate her broken and humble worship when she spent her very self to wash His feet.
The pancake that is noticeably the wrong shape can be seen for what it really is, can experience what its creator made it for. The perfectly round pancake gets to just be a round pancake.
Simon was wrong. Jesus knew who she was. He knew what kind of woman was touching Him. He knew she was a sinner.
He saw the pancake as it was. And He imagined what it could be.
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*The Last Lecture, Randy Pausch, Copyright 2008, Hyperion, 77 West 66th Street, New York, New York
Defending God’s Honor
The LORD said to Moses, “Phinehas son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron, the priest, has turned my anger away from the Israelites; for he was as zealous as I am for my honor among them, so that in my zeal I did not put an end to them. Therefore tell him I am making my covenant of peace with him. He and his descendants will have a covenant of a lasting priesthood, because he was zealous for the honor of his God and made atonement for the Israelites.” (Numbers 25:10-13)
I think there’s a general understanding among believers and nonbelievers alike that the bar for being like God is set pretty high. Pretty much as high a bar as God Himself. It would have to be, wouldn’t it? It’s an understanding that we have that, even though we will desire and strive to be Christlike, to live in a manner that is consistent with our life in Christ, to demonstrate that we were indeed made in God’s image, that we also know that our humanness and fallenness will often blunt the impact of that reflection. And often, even when one of us manages to really live out Christ in us, it’s not too often that we will characterize them with a straight-on comparison with God. As close as we’ll get is referring to being Christ-like or reflecting God’s image. I don’t know if any of would really feel totally comfortable saying of a brother, “Isn’t Jim just like Jesus Himself?” or of a sister, “I had to do a double-take when I saw Susie. Thought for a second it was God standing there.”
We would reserve a direct comparison with God for God to make. And I don’t really know that He made it very often.
But for a guy like Phinehas, He did. This is not the same Phinehas that put the Ark in peril by taking it into battle. This is Phinehas, the grandson of Aaron. And God speaks something over him that I can’t even imagine hearing.
To bring you up to speed, here’s what’s been going on. Together the Moabites and the Midianites have conspired to weaken the Israelites by having their women seduce the Hebrew men. Before they knew it, they weren’t just indulging themselves with these women, but they were worshiping the Moabite gods and bowing down to Baal. This was more than God could tolerate, and He commanded Moses to have the leaders of the people kill those who were engaging in this outrageous behavior. They were to be killed and exposed in broad daylight. No secrets here. They would be very up front about what happened and who was involved and what the consequences were.
Along comes a man, with one of these Midianite women — the daughter of one of the Midianite kings no less — and he takes her into his tent. He parades her right past those who are grieving and mourning and weeping at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting. Don’t be confused here, he didn’t invite her in for tea. He didn’t hire her to do his laundry. He brought her into his bedchamber.
Seeing them go into the tent, this Phinehas, God’s man, grabs a spear and goes after them. He puts the spear through them both, while they are still…er…involved.
And rather than telling the guy that he just went off the deep end, God says something that I just can’t even totally absorb. He credits Phinehas with turning away his wrath, of making atonement for the sins of the Israelites in this instance. But then He says something that’s really, really huge. Did I mention that it’s really huge?
There are these times in Scripture that just really knock me off my feet when I hear God say this kind of stuff. When He speaks words over His servants like this, when He declares things about them. Just like when He said His servant Caleb was a different story. Just like when He said that Moses was faithful.
What He says here about Phinehas is just huge. I wish I had a different word for that.
Phinehas, He declares, “was as zealous as I am for My honor.” Listen to that. God, who sets the bar with Himself, who actually is the bar, says that Phinehas has just reached it. Phinehas is as zealous as God for God’s own sake. Phinehas is as committed as God Himself to defend God’s honor.
He was “as zealous as I am for My honor.”
Phinehas knew what was at stake. That nothing was more important than God’s honor. He defended it as vigorously, as zealously, as would God Himself. He stopped at nothing. He was not merely reflecting God’s zeal. He was not demonstrating a taste of God’s zeal. He had zeal equal to God’s. He was as zealous for God’s honor as God Himself. Phinehas could not have been more passionate.
I don’t know any more ways to say that. I’m still trying to get my little mind around it.
To be as anything as God is more than I can grasp. But clearly, since Phinehas was as human as the rest of us, it’s something that is not beyond the realm of possibility. Was Phinehas God? Of course not. Was he perfect in every other way? Certainly not. But at this moment in time, Phinehas possessed the zeal of God Himself. And God noticed.
God noticed. God spoke over Him. God declared His pleasure with Phinehas for all the world, for all history.
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Who Cares What We Think?
Laban and Bethuel answered, “This is from the LORD; we can say nothing to you one way or the other.” (Genesis 24:50)
What a way to approach God’s will and direction.
Laban and Bethuel. A couple of God-fearing parents. They were asked in the 24th chapter of Genesis to let this stranger who had come to their home, a servant of Abraham, take their daughter Rebekah with him back to marry Abraham’s son Isaac. When they were asked, and when they knew it was God’s doing, they responded as you can see in verse 50, “This is from the Lord; we can say nothing to you one way or the other.”
If you look at the background of this story, Abraham wants a wife for his son Isaac. He wants him to have a wife from his own people, the country he left at God’s direction so many years ago. He doesn’t want his son to take a wife from among the Canaanites. And he doesn’t want his son to go back to his homeland. He wants him to stay put. Abraham asks his servant to swear that he will find a wife for Isaac and meet these two conditions.
The servant goes back to the town of Nahor and God leads him to the woman. The right woman. The woman He has chosen for Isaac. The woman and her family show Abraham’s servant some exceptional Nahorian hospitality.
And then he pops the question. He does Isaac’s romancing for him. He tells them, I prayed that God would lead me to this woman, and before I even had finished praying, he says, Rebekah came out to the well to draw water. Before I was even done praying, I tell you! And I knew instantly that she was the one. She is the one. Will you permit her to come back with me and be the wife of my master’s son?
And how do they answer? Who cares what we think? they say. Our opinion is not what matters. This is from the Lord. This is God’s thing. He is saying Yes. We can say nothing one way or the other.
Laban and Bethuel feared God. They took Him at His word. They knew that when it came to whose opinion mattered, it wasn’t theirs. Of course she will go with you. God has said Yes to this.
That’s not to say that Laban and Bethuel had no choice. They had a choice. They could have said No. They could have said Yes. They could have said Let us sleep on it. They could have said anything they wanted.
They didn’t.
They had a healthy respect for the mind of God. They had a firm grasp on the goodness of God. And they had a deep trust in the faithfulness of God.
They knew that if this is what God said to do, this is what they would do. The importance with which they viewed their own thoughts in the matter was hugely diminished by the magnitude of how they viewed God’s thoughts.
Who cares what I think? I want to be gripped and moved by what God thinks.
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Mistaken Measurements
The LORD answered Moses, “Is the LORD’s arm too short? You will now see whether or not what I say will come true for you.” (Numbers 11:23)
After my brief detour, we return to mathematical concepts. I’ve been waiting to get to this short verse. But to get there, we had to understand the source of Moses’ exasperation that leads to this response from God. We had to understand the depth of the people’s lack of trust, misplaced expectations and penchant for loud complaining and wailing. And we had to understand God’s response to them, that He would give them so much of what they asked for that they wouldn’t be able to stand it any more.
The people have long grown weary of manna. They have thumbed their noses at God’s excellent provision. And they demand to be served meat. God tells them to get ready, get set, meat is coming out their thumbed noses. And Moses is beside himself. He is trying so hard. Trying to lead the people, trying to follow God, trying to do both at the same time, and everywhere he turns it turns into a disaster. God, he says, now what? You just promised them more meat than they can stand. Where in the desert am I going to come up with that now?
God, what were You thinking? Why do You promise stuff like that? You know where I am. I’m in the middle of the desert with over 600,000 men alone. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Even if we slaughtered all the flocks and all the herds we could find, it wouldn’t be enough to feed that many people for a month. If we caught all the fish in the sea, which You know we couldn’t do, it wouldn’t be enough. How am I supposed to fix this? What have You gotten me into this time?
God just answers with a question. The famous question-as-answer style He is still so good at.
Is My arm too short?
Stand and watch, Moses, as you have had the privilege to do so many times already. Stand and watch. See if I don’t come through once again.
Is My arm too short?
You know, sometimes my arm is too short. I can’t do all the things I want to be able to do. I can’t not do all the things I don’t want to do. I come up short. I fail. Miserably. Painfully. Desperately. My arm is way too short.
God’s saying His arm is not too short. There’s just something wrong with our measuring stick. We need to get that checked out. My arm is long enough, He says. It’s as long as you need it to be. I can reach you. No matter where you are. No matter what you need. No matter how far you have gone from Me, My arm is not too short.
I can reach you.
I can rescue you. I can save you. I can bring you back.
Can I tell you something today? Sometimes I really don’t believe His arm is not too short. Sometimes I want to believe it is, I want to believe that so badly. But I think I’m just out of reach. That His arm is just not quite that long. I can see the tips of His fingers, but He’s still a few inches shy of really reaching me. And I don’t know if that’s because I believe His arm is too short or because I think He’s leaning back a little. As though He could reach me if He wanted to, but He’s pulling back. As though He doesn’t want to.
Of course that’s not true. His arm is not too short. The Word says it’s not and history tells us it’s not. And I’ll sit here and tell you all day long that His arm is not too short because I know that to be true, no matter how I’m feeling today. No matter how short His arm looks at the moment. It is my measuring tool that is out of whack. And I do need to have it checked out.
His arm is sufficiently long to reach me. And He really won’t lean away.
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Manna Mania
The rabble with them began to crave other food, and again the Israelites started wailing and said, “If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we ate in Egypt at no cost—also the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions and garlic. But now we have lost our appetite; we never see anything but this manna!” (Numbers 11:4-6)
(I need to take a brief detour from the math series I’m working on. I still have a few mathematical functions to tackle, at least one of which is in this chapter, but that will make more sense after talking about the chapter. It’s a good thing I don’t write for somebody else. I can do what I want.)
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Unlike many who were alive in 1963, I can’t remember where I was when JFK was killed. It’s not that I don’t find it important. You’d expect that a political junkie like me would have been glued to the radio and the black and white tv. While I don’t specifically remember, it’s most likely I was asleep. Or crying. Or spitting up. My parents can probably tell you. I was only a few weeks old. Not even old enough for my siblings to start locking me in the closet yet. That would come later.
But I do remember many years later where I was when Keith Green died. I had just graduated from high school and was out with friends for the evening in July of 1982 when we heard the news report that he had been killed in a plane crash with his young children Josiah and Bethany.
Those were the days. Contemporary Christian music was just coming into its own. Larry Norman, The 2nd Chapter of Acts, Randy Stonehill, Keith Green. What pioneers. As it did with many others, Keith Green’s music and ministry would have a much more significant impact on me after his passing. When I slip away to practice my pitiful guitar playing, I often dig out some of his songs, and they still speak to me like they always did. Keith Green had a sharp boldness in preaching the Word, enough so that if often made the listener uncomfortable. But there was at the same time a playfulness in his approach that was disarming.
And so what does Keith Green have to do with Numbers 11 and the world’s longest introduction ever? I had a picture in my mind when I read this chapter, of a wild haired guy banging on a piano and singing, having the time of his life in that very disarming playfulness.
Keith Green.
So You Wanna Go Back to Egypt.
The whole manna-mania despondency of the Israelites made me think of that song. You can watch it on You Tube below (start around the 3-minute mark if you want to skip past the intro and right to the song).
It’s hard to read these verses with a straight face. Think about life in Egypt. The Israelites were slaves for crying out loud. They built pyramids all day, and not because they liked pyramids. They built them because somebody else owned them. Somebody else called all the shots. They were oppressed. They were impoverished. They were in anguish. They constantly cried out to God to rescue them.
But now, having been rescued, and provided for, they just keep crying. You’ll remember that when they had nothing to eat, God provided for them. He had manna come and form on the ground each day, and it provided all they needed for nourishment. But now God’s been providing manna for them for so long that they’ve forgotten why they have it in the first place. They can’t remember their delight in receiving it for the first time, when it completely met their needs.
Now, on their trip down Selective Memory Lane, they skip over the “God provided manna for us in our need” part and go straight back to Egypt. And while they are there, they totally forget the oppression part. All they can remember is the menu.
Oh, remember the meat? We had meat to eat! Remember the fish? The fish was fabulous! It didn’t cost us a thing. All you could eat meat and fish buffets. And oh, remember the cucumbers? And the leeks? Oh, and melons and onions and garlic! I can smell it all now. Just fabulous.
But now? Now we have manna. Just manna. And we have no appetite. All we ever get is manna. Manna in the morning. Manna at noon. Manna at night. Manna, manna, manna. Verse 8 says that the people ground it in a mill or crushed it in a mortar, and boiled it or made it into cakes. Keith Green says that they made manna waffles, manna burgers, manna bagels, filet of manna, mannacoti…and don’t forget the famous bamanna bread.
You see, the tragic thing is that the novelty had worn off. It was no longer amazing that God provided for them in this way. It no longer impressed them. The worst of it is that they went beyond being bored with His provision. They actually came to despise it.
Moses, we hate the manna. We’re sick of it.
We want meat.
We want leeks and onions.
They may as well have said we hate when God takes care of us.
That’s really what they were saying, wasn’t? God saw our need, God took care of it. But it’s not fun anymore. It’s not cool. It’s not amazing. We don’t like it any more. We hate how God takes care of us.
And we have a better idea.
We want meat.
We want to go back to Egypt.
God has His way. He has His plan. And it doesn’t matter if the shine wore off. If the novelty is gone. If it doesn’t seem quite exciting enough for me any more. It’s still His plan. It’s still His way.
In the end, it’s still His provision for me.
Will I, do I, do the same thing?
Will I tell Him to keep His bland old manna so I can just go back to my more exciting life of oppression and need?
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Spiritual Multiplication
You then, my son, be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus. And the things you have heard me say in the presence of many witnesses entrust to reliable men who will also be qualified to teach others. (1 Timothy 2:1-2)
There’s something of an Evangelical urban legend that Billy Graham was led to Christ in part of a chain of conversions that goes something like this: A fellow named Edward Kimball was a Sunday School teacher who led Dwight L. Moody to Christ. Another fellow by the name of J. Wilbur Chapman was later converted at a Dwight L. Moody evangelistic meeting. At a later Chapman meeting, Billy Sunday was led to Christ. A guy named Mordecai Ham met Jesus at a Billy Sunday meeting. And ultimately, Mordecai Ham had a meeting at which Billy Graham came to the Lord.
Now, according to the Billy Graham Center, this account is not wholly accurate, though the factual version of the story does have each of these gentlemen involved at some point in the conversions and/or recommitments for which the legend gives them credit.
At the end of the day, millions around the world have been impacted because these men, at various times and places and in different ways, took the time to share the the good news that Jesus Christ stood at the ready to redeem us and save us. They took the time preach the Word and teach the Word.
They took the time not only to share the Gospel, but also to teach others who would in turn … teach others who would in turn … teach others …
Spiritual multiplication.
Discipleship.
You had to know this one was coming. Despite my frequent rebellion at the time, the years I spent involved in Campus Crusade for Christ as a student was not for naught. If I learned nothing else (though truth be told, dear Muggy, I learned much, much more), I learned the significance of spiritual multiplication. Of entrusting the things that God was teaching us through others to others who would in turn teach others.
Just like that obnoxious old shampoo conditioner where the spokesmodel “told two people who told two people who told two people” and so on.
Just like McDonald’s famous training model which taught new employees not just to make a hamburger, but to teach someone else to make a hamburger.
Just like Paul instructed Timothy.
The things you’ve heard me say, Timothy, teach to others who can also teach others. Teach it to reliable people, people who can be counted on to teach others. Teach it to people who understand the significance of multiplying.
One day, one really amazing and incredible day, we will have the opportunity to embrace the folks who made it possible for us to come to know the Father. We’ll meet face to face the people who taught the people who taught the people who taught us. We’ll meet those who now stand in the great cloud of witnesses of Hebrews 12, watching us run the race, cheering us on, rooting for their investment to pay off.
And if we’re doing this the way we’re called to, then we’re also going to get to embrace the folks who come after us. The ones that were impacted because we poured our lives into someone else, who poured their lives into someone else. We have no idea the potential ripples that will bounce off our lives. We don’t yet know who all will be running that we will be cheering on. J. Edward Kimball had no idea when he taught Sunday School what might ultimately happen. Did his life ultimately affect you? Did it ultimately impact me? One day he’ll know.
One day we’ll all know.
That’s a day I look forward to. I know a great crowd got me where I am.
But I don’t want to be an end point. I want to be a midpoint. I want there to be another crowd that goes out from where I’m standing.
I want to be in the stands and cheer on the others that are running because I was faithful. And because I taught others who were faithful to teach others.
I want to be amazed and overwhelmed by those crowds.
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Long Division
I have come to bring fire on the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! But I have a baptism to undergo, and how distressed I am until it is completed! Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division. From now on there will be five in one family divided against each other, three against two and two against three. They will be divided, father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law. (Luke 12:49-53)
When JP was in fourth grade, a friend convinced me to volunteer with her in his classroom. She had a son in the same class, and thought it would work out well if we traded off weeks, going every other Wednesday over lunch. Well, it should have worked out. Except that sometimes I just forgot to go. And except that sometimes I don’t know that I am that much smarter than a fifth grader.
For those few days that year I actually showed up, fifth grade math was kind of cool. The kids worked independently at various levels, and their teacher just needed a few extra hands on deck to help out when they had questions. I was impressed with how hard they worked and how willing they were to learn. But it wasn’t tough to spot those few kids that really just wanted you to give them the answer. For every question.
A lot of the time they were working on division. Long division. Where you have to show your work. I never liked having to show my work. I didn’t always take the best route to getting to the right answer, and showing my work just gave that away. Sometimes I’d find their approach kind of baffling. If they had a problem like “452/12″ I’d just ask them how many times 12 would go into 45 to get started. They’d check their multiplication tables and scratch their heads and say, “20?” Hmm. Try again. “Ok, well, how about 19 then?” They’d check it and see that they were pretty far off and then look at the tables again. Eventually they’d get to it, by trial and error.
I tried to think then of what it was like to not know how to do long division. To be still trying to learn it, and have it not yet have “clicked.” Too far back. I couldn’t remember.
I don’t know what it was like before Jesus walked the earth, either. My whole reality is constructed around His already having come. Because I can read all of Scripture, before Him and after Him, I can know what His whole purpose was in coming. I can understand from the first mention of Him that He came not to be an earthly king and rescue the people from their temporary oppression, but that He came to give Himself as a sacrifice, to reign in a completely different way. That He would flip the world upside down before it was all done. I have the benefit of being able to see the whole picture.
The folks who walked with Jesus — the disciples, the masses — didn’t see the whole picture. It hadn’t clicked yet. They wanted their king. They wanted their rescuer. They wanted peace on earth.
Right now.
Here in Luke 12, I suppose that the people could have accused Jesus of some cognitive dissonance. What He was saying didn’t match what He was supposed to be about.
What do You mean You didn’t come to bring peace on earth? What do You mean You’re going to bring division? Weren’t You there when the angels sang to the shepherds about Your arrival? They said “peace on earth.” That’s what the shepherds told everybody. Didn’t You get the memo? Peace on earth, Jesus. That’s what You came for.
Jesus really takes a tone in this passage that must have been rather alarming. He talks about His own distress over what’s to come. He warns about the punishment meted out to unfaithful servants. He slams the crowd for their hypocrisy. And then He says that He’s come to bring fire on the earth, and wishes it were already ablaze, going on to talk about how families will even be divided against one another. The parallel passage in Matthew takes an equally distressing tone, where He refers to coming with a sword rather than fire. He goes on to tell them that the world will hate them because of Him and that he is sending them as sheep among wolves.
This was clearly not a feel-good message day. Long division, short division, double division. Division was going to happen. They were going to have to show their work.
Here’s the thing. If we live our lives the way He called us to, we know that others will be drawn into the Kingdom. We know that from reading the rest of the Word. But if we listen to all that He’s telling us, then we have to also know that if we live our lives the way He called us to, that not everyone will like that. Not everyone will like us. It may not be a big love-fest, peace on earth, welcome to the party kind of day. Certainly, within the body of believers we are warned against division. But that’s a different deal. Jesus tells us that His very being will cause division — between those who accept Him and believe in Him and those who reject Him. There’s a massive divide, a huge chasm that opens up there. And sometimes it will cause separation from those most close to us.
That’s a hard word. That’s a painful message. That’s a difficult thing to accept.
But He wasn’t kidding. He wasn’t making stuff up. Maybe in your family and your world everybody knows Jesus and you haven’t seen that division firsthand. But ask someone who has. Ask someone who has accepted life from Jesus from the middle of a world that hates Him and find out what that is like. Talk to someone who has been disowned by his family. Talk to my friends serving God in North Africa about why they had to change their names and why they have to meet with believers in secret to avoid arrest.
The good news of the Gospel of Jesus Christ brings life. Jesus does bring peace to my heart. And to yours, if you know Him. But when the Gospel is at work, it also divides. It cuts between light and darkness. It separates believer from unbeliever.
Division reminds me of how much work we still have to do.
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Surreptitious Subtraction
Didn’t [your land] belong to you before it was sold? And after it was sold, wasn’t the money at your disposal? What made you think of doing such a thing? You have not lied to men but to God.” (Acts 5:4)
I was kidded the other day for using a word like “duplicitous” (intentionally deceitful — doesn’t that sound just like the Pharisees?). And so today I follow it up with a word like “surreptitious”? What am I thinking?
Some words have such a great sound to them that they just beg to be used now and again. Surreptitious. It’s all about being sneaky, about using stealth. The dictionary definition I liked best for my use of it here talks about “obtaining a favor . . . by unfair representation through suppression or fraudulent concealment of the facts.”* I think that what I want to look at today is exactly that.
We just saw this incredible lifestyle developing among the early believers in Acts, where the people were so devoted to God and their fellowship with one another that they let loose their death grip on material possessions and self-preservation and began sharing all they had as anyone had need. At the end of chapter four, Dr. Luke talked about this further, telling us that the believers were of one in heart and mind, didn’t claim anything as their own, but shared all they had. Sometimes those who owned real estate would sell their land or houses and bring the proceeds of the sale to the apostles to distribute to those in need. As a result, there was no one among them who was needy. They let go of their stuff to help care for their brethren.
We meet a couple in the opening verses of chapter five that thought this was kind of a cool idea. So this couple, called Ananias and Sapphira, sold some property that they owned and brought some money to the apostles to use among the people. They really got it. They saw how God had blessed them and wanted to give back. They didn’t want to have more while others had less. They had really been moved by Barnabas’ compassion and generosity when he sold his own land and brought the money to the apostles.
Sad thing is, none of that was true, except that they sold some land and brought some money to the apostles. They weren’t moved by Barnabas’ compassion and generosity though. And they really didn’t “get it” at all. Their motive is not fully clear. Perhaps they wanted some attention, some notoriety or to earn a little goodwill with the believers. Maybe they wanted their names on a plaque in the new nursery. Whatever the motive, when they sold the land, they held some of the money back. When they brought the proceeds of the sale, they didn’t bring it all. They subtracted a portion and kept it themselves.
And then they lied about. They said they brought it all.
The subtraction was the math part. The lying about it was the surreptitious part. They suppressed a crucial fact. They misrepresented their generosity.
When Ananias came with the cash, Peter knew what he had done and confronted him on the spot. What were you thinking, Ananias? You lied to the Holy Spirit! You lied not to us, but to God! What were you thinking?
Here’s the kicker. He didn’t have to give all the money. There was no rule about this. There was no sign posted to say that “All donations of land sale proceeds must be in their entirety or not at all.” In fact, he didn’t have to sell any of his land. This was an amazing thing the people were doing. They were selling what they had and sharing so freely. But nobody said they had to do it. This was their response to what God was doing in their midst, but it was a heartfelt, spontaneous response, not a dutiful obligation they forced themselves to fulfill.
Peter pointed this out to Ananias. The land was his to do with what he chose, and the sale proceeds were his as well. It was his call what to do with it. Nobody would have blinked if they brought half. Or a quarter. Or a tenth. Folks gave as they were able and as their hearts moved them, just like with the building of the Tabernacle.
But this couple? The enemy was at work in their hearts such that they took the opportunity to elevate their image, but at the cost of their integrity.
And, incidentally, their lives.
When Ananias’ deceit was exposed, he instantly fell over dead. Young men took him out and buried him.
Along came Sapphira. Peter sat down beside her. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.) He gave her a chance to come clean. She had a chance to tell the truth. She didn’t. Is this the price you got for the land? Why yes, Peter, of course. We brought you every last cent.
Oh, Sapphira. How could you do it? How could you test God like this? How could you try to lie to Him? He knows. We know. And here are the men who just buried your husband. Sapphira fell down dead as well.
There’s no pretending with God. There’s no lying to Him.
Being deceitful with the Divine is actually quite deadly.
Doing the right stuff
but for the wrong reason
and then not being straight about it takes away all that may have been good.
* ”surreptitious.” Webster’s Revised Unabridged Dictionary, MICRA, Inc. 12 Sep. 2008. <Dictionary.com http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/surreptitious>.
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Daily Addition
They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe, and many wonders and miraculous signs were done by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved. (Acts 2:42-47)
If the flux capacitor really worked, and Dr. Brown’s DeLorean time traveling machine could in fact transport a person in time (Memo to any who don’t know who Dr. Brown or what a flux capacitor is: Rent Back to the Future. Do it today.), and if I had the chance to take the DeLorean for a spin, I would pick Acts. That would be my time.
Can you imagine having stood with the others and with Jesus on the hillside as he ascended into heaven? To be present the day when the Holy Spirit blew through the house and filled them all with His mighty power. And then to be sitting in the crowd when Peter, a brand new man of strength and courage, stood and gave his “These men are not drunk, but pay attention, God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Christ” sermon. These would have been spectacular days to be around for.
After this big day, when 3,000 people actually came into the Kingdom, Luke goes on to describe what life was like for the believers. Put yourself there in the middle of them. Can you separate from our modern lives and feel what this might have been like?
The people devoted themselves to four things. Just four. Only four things fully captured their attention: the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, breaking of bread, and prayer.
Those four things never got old. They continued to be in awe, continued to see God work among them and through them in miraculous, awe-inspiring ways.
Their fellowship, part of that four-fold focus, was life-giving, such that they remained together and had everything in common. They sold what they had in order to help others. That follows yesterday’s story of the widow’s offering. These folks sold their stuff in order to help the brothers that they loved and were committed to in Christ. They didn’t withhold, they didn’t say it was too much, they didn’t insist that it was theirs and only theirs and everybody else should just take care of themselves thanks.
They were together all the time. Every day. In the temple courts and in their homes. They hung out. They praised God together, they studied the Word together, they prayed together, they shared together.
And here comes the math. The Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.
It doesn’t say explicitly that they were out evangelizing. They devoted themselves to four things. One was not evangelism. Yet we know that it was happening.
Here’s how we know: People were being saved. Daily. Somebody had to be telling them.
Here’s how else we know: The believers enjoyed the favor of all the people. They weren’t just holed up in their homes being only with the other believers. They were out making a difference in their world.
And here’s how else we know: They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching. Part of that teaching would have been the last teaching Jesus gave them, to go into all the world and make disciples.
The people of Acts focused on what mattered, they involved themselves in one anothers’ lives in meaningful and sacrificial ways, and they took the gospel to those who needed to hear and lived it in front of them.
And then God did the math. He added to their number daily.
Do I really suppose that this is only possible if I had a flux capacitor?
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Greater Than, Less Than
As He looked up, Jesus saw the rich putting their gifts into the temple treasury. He also saw a poor widow put in two very small copper coins. “I tell you the truth,” He said, “this poor widow has put in more than all the others. All these people gave their gifts out of their wealth; but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.” (Luke 21:1-4)
Remember those greater than and less than signs you learned in grade school math? Those little bird-beak symbols that point in either direction to compare two numbers? Like this: > < . Now they get used a lot for making goofy faces in emails and text messages. As a grade school kid I always had a hard time remembering which was greater and which was less. Left and right, debit and credit, greater than and less than. They all gave me trouble.
I’m a little embarrassed to admit, with apologies to my teacher Mrs. Johnson, that I still have trouble with those symbols as an adult. I think that the open part of the bracket is supposed to face the bigger number, and the small point is next to the smaller number. But I really can’t be sure.
And it doesn’t help at all when I read a story like this one in Luke where the greater than and less than symbols seem to get totally flipped around.
But then, that was kind of the point, don’t you think? Jesus flipped the symbols to get us to think about what true sacrifice, true generosity looks like.
Here’s what happened. Jesus has had a few confrontations with the Pharisees in the preceeding chapters, not the least of which was His angry encounter with the abusive merchants at the temple who exploited those who came with pure intent to make their sacrifices. Later, the chief priests and teachers of the law (notice Luke doesn’t call them observers of the law, just teachers) came, got right up in His face, and very directly questioned His authority: “Who gave You this authority?” Jesus responded with a question they couldn’t answer, and then flatly refused to engage them any further on their question. The direct approach not working, they sent spies in to try to trip Him up with a duplicitous question about paying taxes. Next, the Sadduccees came and tried to ensnare Him with a convoluted question about marriage in the resurrection. His tack-sharp answer put them to rest for a while, and no one dared to ask Him anything else.
After all this, Jesus found it a good time to warn the disciples, in the earshot of all the people who had just witnessed these encounters, to “beware the teachers of the law.” He points out that they like to make a big show, and look good and important, and meanwhile devour widows’ houses. They made a big, fancy, spiritual impression, but behind the scenes, just below the surface, they were absolute predators. A “brood of vipers” He would ultimately call them according to Matthew.
It is directly within this context that a beautiful case study unfolds. Another one of Jesus’ fantastic teaching moments presents itself.
He looked up, and saw that there were folks bringing their gifts and offerings to the temple treasury. The rich came and deposited their gifts. He doesn’t say out loud how much they gave. But it’s safe to assume that it was more than “two small copper coins.” Because “two small copper coins” is what was given by the next in line. Along came a poor widow. No doubt this was one of the poor widows preyed upon by the impressive looking teachers of the law. She put in “two small copper coins.” That was it.
The teachers would have been mortified by her gift. They would have scoffed. If you listen while you read the text, you can hear their tongues clicking against the roof of their mouths. This was a fraction of one cent. Practically nothing. They may not have realized they even made such small coins.
Why did she bother to bring anything at all? What can we possibly do in the temple with two small copper coins? It won’t buy any new drapes. It won’t pay for a single new pew cushion. It won’t pay for any new Sunday School books or communion cups or sheet music. What was the point? Why did she bother at all?
Jesus didn’t scoff. He didn’t belittle her. He didn’t dismiss her tiny gift.
Jesus didn’t tell her to move along out of the way so those with real offerings could get through.
Jesus was delighted. He rejoiced. His heart swelled within Him over what this little, bent over woman did with her two small copper coins.
“This poor widow has put in more than all the others.”
What was He saying? Did He have my problem? Did He forget which way the greater than and less than signs went? Did He need some help from Mrs. Johnson? Surely she could clear this up for Him.
No, He knew which way the pointy side went. He knew.
He knew that all the others gave out of their wealth. They gave from what they did not need. They gave what was extra, what was left over, what was not essential.
But the poor widow, this precious little woman of God, gave out of her poverty. She gave all she had to live on. She gave what she really couldn’t spare. She gave from what she did not have.
And as she dropped those two small copper coins into the treasury, those two little copper next-to-nothings, her heart swelled within her as well. She knew God would value her gift, she knew God would know what it meant.
She gave it. And then she walked away. There was nothing left in her purse, nothing left in her cupboard (if she had a cupboard). She walked away empty handed and trusted God to provide for her. She knew He would.
She gave from her poverty. She gave from what she did not have.
Jesus looked up and saw what she did. And He found that her gift, smaller than the rich donors even imagined could be done, was greater than all that they had given.
Greater than, less than.
When God starts counting, sometimes you have to flip ‘em around.
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Impossible Ratios
I will grant peace in the land, and you will lie down and no one will make you afraid. I will remove savage beasts from the land, and the sword will not pass through your country. You will pursue your enemies, and they will fall by the sword before you. Five of you will chase a hundred, and a hundred of you will chase ten thousand, and your enemies will fall by the sword before you. (Leviticus 26:6-8)
One final look at Leviticus 26. This time we get to look at the upside of the consequences. We get to look at the consequences of obedience. The good results that come from following God, listening to Him, believing what He says to be true enough to make our own.
If we will live obediently, God promises to bring peace to the land. Peace and safety. Such that they could lay down and not be afraid to close both eyes. No need so sleep with one eye open. He will remove the savage beasts, and the sword will not pass through. They would not face the danger of attack by enemy or beast.
In fact, they would pursue their enemies. They would not sit back passively and wait for something bad to happen, wait for their enemies to pounce. Instead, they would pursue them. Aggressively. And successfully.
Look how the odds are stacked in their favor. Look at the pursuer to pursued ratio: Five will chase a hundred, and a hundred will chase ten thousand.
And their enemies will fall before them.
When would a hundred guys run away from five? It wouldn’t happen on a playground. It wouldn’t happen in a dark alley. It wouldn’t happen in battle.
Unless that five had something with them that was obviously more powerful than anything the hundred had. Unless it was so apparent that something about these five made their defeat outrageously certain. Then they would run. They would run hard. They would run until they reached safety, and they would never look back.
In this case, the five pursuing a hundred, the same as the hundred pursuing the ten thousand, had all the power of Almighty God, who rescued them from Egypt, who carried them through the desert, who promised to walk with them and be their God and defeat their enemies. They brought this power, and this presence, to the pursuit. And it made the enemy run away.
With God’s presence with me, I need not fear. I need not despair.
No wild beasts can frighten me.
No enemy can defeat me.
No rustling leaf can make me run for my life.
Five to a hundred. A hundred to ten thousand.
I like these odds.
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Holy Arithmetic, Batman!
One day while my friend Debbie was in the hospital, her family posted an update online to let folks know she’d had some lab reports that were better than expected and the doctors were pleased with “her numbers.” At the time I recalled that God did some pretty amazing things with numbers too. I posted the following on her family’s website:
Numbers are good. God likes numbers, you know?
Might remember some crazy little things He did with small numbers. Like five loaves and two fish. Turned around and made them into some outrageous numbers. Fed thousands of people off those little numbers.
Then there was that widow that gave just two mites after some wealthy folks had tossed a lot of coins into the offering. It was all she had. She gave it all. Jesus said those two mites, just a fraction of one cent, amounted to more than was in the whole treasury after those rich folks were done giving. Just two mites.
And then there was that amazing three day thing He did. He told them that after “He Who knew no sin became sin for us,” after He spent it all on the cross for us, that He’d rise in three days. And then wouldn’t you know it, He did it. In just three days. Small number. Pretty huge deal. Bought us victory with that little number.
I think God likes your numbers too. I’m praying He keeps giving them to you. and multiplying them. Even if it’s just two mites at a time.
As I wrapped up Leviticus 26 this week, another one of those remarkable sets of numbers came into play. And it occurred to me that it would be good to take a look at a few of those. I have a list forming of cool numbers and math things God did. I’m traveling a good part of this week, so thought this might be a good time to do that. Let’s plan for a few Holy Arithmetic pieces this week.
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The Flight to Nowhere
I will set my face against you so that you will be defeated by your enemies; those who hate you will rule over you, and you will flee even when no one is pursuing you. (Leviticus 26:17)
I tried to do this piece yesterday. But I got completely caught up in the over and over opportunities God is willing to give us to come home to Him. Buried in those second and third and fourth chances is a telling description of one of the ill effects of walking away from God, of refusing to follow His commands, of telling Him we don’t need Him. What happens when we refuse to believe what He says.
Twice in this chapter God tells the people that the sudden terror will be so terrible, the devastation so complete, that they will flee even when no one is pursuing them. He says it here in verse 17, but also in verses 37 and 38. In the latter verses, He tells them that they will have become so fearful that even the rustling of a leaf will cause them to flee, and in their flight, they will trip and fall over each other. Even though no one is pursuing them.
Here’s what I see. Some of us spend a lot of time fleeing enemies that aren’t there. That’s not to say I don’t believe the enemy is real. I believe there is a very real enemy. One that would wish for nothing more than our complete destruction. We truly fight a grueling battle against powers and principalities in the spiritual realm.
But there are also times we run from an enemy that isn’t there. That we panic over the sound of a rustling leaf. That we stumble and fall all over ourselves trying to get away from something that just isn’t even there.
The enemy, the real enemy, wants us to believe there is something there that is not. This is what happens when we have a hard time believing what God says is true. God says that Jesus made a way through His sacrifice on the cross for us to come into relationship with Him. Hebrews 10 will tell us that He did that once and for all. That He will not have to do it again. That He will not remember our sins and lawless acts. That once having accepted His forgiveness by faith, having experienced His grace, it’s a done deal. Never again.
We do have an enemy. But our enemy is not our forgiven sin, our blotted out transgressions. And yet we run and trip and stumble around, panicking over a windblown leaf, terrified over an enemy that we do not have.
That’s the real enemy’s game. To try to convince us that, having accepted His sacrifice and forgiveness, that it wasn’t enough. That there is more we need to do. That on top of what Jesus did, there’s still a price we need to pay. That it cannot be free. That it cannot be complete. That it cannot last forever.
The Israelites are reminded that God, in releasing them from their slavery to the Egyptians, “broke the bars” of their yoke, allowing them to go on and walk with their heads held high. They were a precious people, rescued by Jehovah to be His own. They didn’t always believe it. They thought the yoke was ok sometimes. Just like we now don’t always believe that He’s broken the bars of our yokes. That He’s rescued us from what enslaves us.
Remember that “superior deception” that Dudley DoRight would have us believe? That’s exactly what’s going on here. We torture ourselves with thoughts that we are somehow not accepted, that we have been disqualified, that we will never measure up.
See, part of our disobedience, part of our walking away from the Father, part of our refusal to follow His commands as He warned the Israelites against in Leviticus is to refuse to believe that what He said was true. When I reject the truth of His Word in favor of my own superior deception, of my own ridiculous theories about how His salvation should really work itself out, then I am putting myself right in the path of that same destruction that awaited the Israelites.
The writer of Hebrews tells us in chapter 3 that those Israelites who wandered the desert those many years did not enter the rest because of their disbelief. Because of their preference for the yoke. He urges the brothers to see that none of them has a hardened disbelieving heart. And he tells that to all of us, not just those who have easier stories, who might be able to believe with less difficulty.
Because if we opt not to believe all of God’s truth, opt not take it as our own and opt not to live like it’s really, really true (even though it absolutely is), then we go the way of the Israelites. We face the same peril.
We get to keep wearing the same yoke.
We run from enemies that are not there.
We stumble and fall over ourselves fleeing an enemy that is not in pursuit.
You know, I want a rustling leaf to be just a rustling leaf. Not to set off a desperate flight to nowhere.
Can You Hear Me Now?
If after all this you will not listen to me, I will punish you for your sins seven times over. I will break down your stubborn pride and make the sky above you like iron and the ground beneath you like bronze. Your strength will be spent in vain, because your soil will not yield its crops, nor will the trees of the land yield their fruit. (Leviticus 26:18-20)
Remember a little while ago we talked about how God will let the curse do its work to drive us back to Him? It’s a recurring Old Testament theme and it comes up here again in Leviticus 26 where I’ve been reading. This passage takes it a little further, draws it out some to really help the people understand the blessing that comes of obedience, and the curse that comes from turning our backs to God.
When I read this passage, I have to go beyond the simple explanation, that God inflicts vengeful punishment for sin. There’s so much more here. God gives opportunity after opportunity after opportunity to return to Him. The curse is painful, no doubt about it, but His ultimate desire is that we come running back to Him, recognize our need to stay close to him.
In the first part of the chapter, He talks about the blessing. What happens when we are obedient, when we hold to His commands. This is some good stuff. Take a look: the fields will yield abundant harvest, they will enjoy peace, enemies will fall before them, God will dwell with them and will not abhor them. He will walk among them and they will be His people. That’s really the best part of all.
But see what happens when they disobey. If they fail to keep His decrees, if they thumb their noses at Him and tell Him to take a leap, then He will bring on them “sudden terror.” They’ll suffer wasting diseases and have the life drained from them. He will set His face against them (the opposite of Him walking with them above, this is the saddest part of all) and their enemies will defeat them.
Then this progression starts in the description that you just can’t miss. There are five sections in the text that describe what will happen if they turn their backs to God, if they walk away. Each time, it’s clear God intended to restore them. That He intended the curse to work to drive them back to Him. It’s not supposed to feel good to be away from God. Here, He makes that painfully clear. He wants to keep giving them a chance to turn back, to repent, to return. He keeps asking, Can you hear Me now?
Verse 18: “If after all this you will not listen to me, I will punish you for your sins seven times over.” Can you hear Me now? If they still don’t listen, He’ll break through their stubborn pride. The sky will be as iron and the ground like bronze.
Verse 21: “If you remain hostile toward me and refuse to listen to me, I will multiply your afflictions seven times over, as your sins deserve.” Can you hear Me now? He will send in wild animals to rob their children and destroy their cattle.
Verses 23-24: “If in spite of these things you do not accept my correction but continue to be hostile toward me, 24 I myself will be hostile toward you and will afflict you for your sins seven times over.” Can you hear Me now? He’ll bring the sword upon them, send a plague, give them over to their enemies and starve them out.
Verses 27-28: “If in spite of this you still do not listen to me but continue to be hostile toward me, 28 then in my anger I will be hostile toward you, and I myself will punish you for your sins seven times over.” Can you hear Me now? The listed consequences are nasty. I’d rather not go into most of them. In the end, the land is laid waste and the people are scattered.
Finally, verse 36: “As for those of you who are left, I will make their hearts so fearful in the lands of their enemies that the sound of a windblown leaf will put them to flight. They will run as though fleeing from the sword, and they will fall, even though no one is pursuing them.” CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?
Each time in this progression, God gives another chance. That clean slate we just talked about. He allows them the opportunity to come back and be restored. Starting in verse 40, the God of second chances shows His mercy and His grace and His deep desire to redeem. He has a covenant with His people that He so longs to keep. If they come back, and confess their sin and hostility, and humble their hearts, He will not reject them, He will not break His covenant. He will be their God.
That was the whole point. Not just to punish. Not just to extract justice. But to drive the people back to Him. To allow them to be painfully aware that they were in the wrong place and that they needed to return home.
I don’t believe that all adversity is punishment for sin, or even always a natural consequence we suffer because of our own sin or someone else’s. But I do believe that just as God did with His people in Leviticus, He will allow us to experience devastating pain, horrible desolation, in order to lead us to restoration. Because the truth is that none of those things that He said would happen could be worse than the prospect of being eternally separated from Him. So He will give us opportunity after opportunity to come home.
He’ll say over and over and over, Can you hear Me now?
Until we hear Him. And until we come back home.
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Jubilado
In this Year of Jubilee everyone is to return to his own property. (Leviticus 25:13)
Jubilee is a great word. Doesn’t it just sound good? Even if you don’t really know what it is?
I remember once in Argentina asking our friends what their dad did for a living. They answered that their father was “jubilado.” Jubilado. Like Jubileed, if we could say that.
Nelson was retired. He was set free from the obligations of his work. He was jubilado.
If the Sabbath year was all about rest, the Jubilee was all about redemption. God makes a pretty strong point, and often, that the Sabbath is to be kept holy. Keep a day, keep it holy, keep it to focus on Me and rest. And as we saw yesterday, every seventh year even the land was to be given a Sabbath rest. And every seventh Sabbath year was to be the Year of Jubilee.
Every 50 years they celebrated the Jubilee. There are a number of things going on with this idea of the Jubilee. You should look into it sometime. I’m not going into a lot of detail about it. I’m leaving a lot out. I want to look just at the redemptive aspects. I want to look at how God desires restoration. How He doesn’t want our losses to be devastating and permanent. How He wants us to have a hope.
In the introduction to the Jubilee in Leviticus 25 God spells it out. Yesterday we talked about how the sale of land wasn’t permanent, it was based on the number of crops that could be harvested before the next Jubilee. It wasn’t a permanent sale because in most cases, the land would revert to the original owner at that time.
Now take a look at what this chapter says about one of their fellow countrymen becoming poor. It comes up four times in the chapter. First, if he becomes poor and has to sell his land to make ends meet, the land should be redeemed by a relative, or if the man later acquires resources again, he can redeem it himself. But if it hasn’t been redeemed, it will be returned to him at the Jubilee.
Second, if he becomes poor and can’t support himself, the others are to help him as they would an alien or temporary resident. Don’t take advantage. Don’t charge interest. Don’t sell him food at a profit. Give the guy a fighting chance so he can continue to live among you.
Third, if he becomes poor and sells himself to one of the others, he is not be made a slave, but rather treated as a hired worker or temporary resident. Let him work for you until the year of Jubilee. Then release him and his family and let them go back to their land.
And finally, if he becomes poor and sells himself to an alien or temporary resident who has acquired wealth, there are some ways he can be redeemed. If he is not, then he is to be released at the Jubilee.
God recognizes that things aren’t always going to work out. Whether by misfortune or bad choices, we may lose all we have. Of course this passage looks at our material losses. But it can be much bigger than that. We have far more than what is limited to our material lives. And it’s possible to lose it all.
God says we can be restored. God has a plan for our redemption. God gives us the Jubilee to release us from our poverty and restore us to our original land. Give us a fresh start. A clean slate. That’s what the Jubilee is all about.
We get another chance. We get another crack at making it work. At doing it right. God never intended our losses to be permanent. He longs for our restoration. He designed the Jubilee to give us that opportunity.
It seems to me that the cross was the biggest Jubilee there ever was. Every debt we ever had, every loss we ever suffered, every sin we ever committed, all of it was covered at the cross. Jesus paid the price to redeem us. To buy us back. To let us have our land back. To restore us to all the fullness God intended for us.
God never intended for this loss, the loss of our relationship with our Father, to be permanent. He planned for the biggest Jubilee of all time, the time when Jesus would shed His blood to purchase our redemption. To bring us back. There’s no greater second chance, no bigger clean slate than that.
When we need another chance — whether we need to accept that work on the cross and be redeemed and have our relationship with the Father restored or whether we’ve blown it innumerable times and need that ongoing forgiveness and restoration — He’s there waiting.
The Jubilee gives us hope. We can be jubilado.
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Landlord and Tenant
“The land must not be sold permanently, because the land is mine and you are but aliens and my tenants. Throughout the country that you hold as a possession, you must provide for the redemption of the land. (Leviticus 25:23-24)
The little treasures that are buried within the sometimes mind-numbing and sometimes stomach-turning (for me) pages of Leviticus really make my day. I read along, wondering when I might get to read something that has a little more zip, and wondering what God really thinks about what I think of this part of His Word, and all of a sudden He just picks something up off the page and whips it at my forehead. Right between my glassed over eyes. Here you go, He says. I’ve got something for you. See if this doesn’t keep you going a while.
In Leviticus 25, God is talking about the Sabbath and Jubilee years, which are really some cool concepts when you break them down. The concept of the Sabbath rest is so important to God. He even calls for the land to get a rest. We all do our best when we’re given a rest. Including the land. And to make it happen, He blesses the land the sixth year with enough of a harvest to last three. And after seven Sabbath years, they are to observe the Jubilee. In the Year of Jubilee, each would return to his original land.
The Year of Jubilee became a very important factor in pricing land for sale. God tells the people not to take advantage of one another when buying and selling land, and to price the land based on the Jubilee year. That is, if you were buying land, you were to consider the price based on how many years since the Jubilee. And if you were selling, you priced it based on how many years were left to harvest before the Jubilee.
Because the land would revert to its previous owner at the time of the Jubilee, the selling price was based on how many years the buyer would have left to work it, or how many years the seller had already gained from it.
And why? Here’s the part that planted itself in my head for the day. The land must not be sold permanently, because the land is Mine (God’s) and you are but aliens and tenants. Aliens and tenants. That’s what we are. The land is God’s. I’m a tenant. When He asks for it back, I have to surrender it. As a benevolent landlord, He allows us full use of all He owns. But He still owns it. We are just the tenants.
I know that all I have is His. I know that I have nothing that He has not given me. And I know that I am expected to use what I have to earn dividends for His kingdom (or face the fate of unproductive vending machines).
But the tenant imagery brings it into even clearer focus.
I am but a tenant.
What makes me think that I can so tightly hold onto what I have for fear of losing it? To keep me from sharing it? To keep me from using it? What makes me think that getting my needs met is more important than someone else’s? Or my wants for that matter? What makes me think that it’s at all ok to be self-protective and closed off?
I am but an alien.
What makes me think I can live like I’m going to be here forever? That I’m in a place that’s even my own? That this is ultimately my home? What makes me think I can live like things that don’t matter really do? What makes me think that the things of this world are what are really important?
I am but a tenant. What I have is not my own.
I am but an alien. Where I live is not my home.
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Oh, It’s You
When evening came, his disciples went down to the lake, where they got into a boat and set off across the lake for Capernaum. By now it was dark, and Jesus had not yet joined them. A strong wind was blowing and the waters grew rough. When they had rowed three or three and a half miles, they saw Jesus approaching the boat, walking on the water; and they were terrified.But he said to them, “It is I; don’t be afraid.” Then they were willing to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the shore where they were heading. (John 6:16-21)
Sometimes I think that I don’t fully realize what it must have been like for the disciples to walk with Jesus every day. I’ve heard and read the stories for so many years that, sadly, they kind of bounce off me a little. They seem rather commonplace. And then I stop to wonder what it must have been like to actually experience this stuff first hand, without having read the stories in advance. No pre-work. No background material. Just day-to-day experiencing life with the Savior and the new adventures each day would bring. Completely out of the blue.
John 6 captures a series of those adventures through the eyes of “the disciple Jesus loved.” We just saw the other day how Jesus stretched the disciples’ faith by feeding a vast multitude with a tiny amount of food. After that, to avoid being taken and made king by force, Jesus sent the disciples off by boat and He slipped away to the mountain to pray. Later, Jesus met up with His men by walking on the sea to their boat. Matthew and Mark tell this story as well, both including a little more detail than John. Matthew focuses on Peter’s faith, short-lived though it was, in stepping out of the boat and walking briefly on the surface of the water to meet Jesus, before plunging below the sea and having to be rescued. Mark focuses on how terrified the disciples were to see what appeared to be a ghost walking toward them.
John, as the disciple Jesus loved, took another different look at the event. He focused on what one already focused on the deep love relationship between him and His Savior would find important. He focused in his brief account on how the disciples were willing to receive Him. Once they knew Who He was.
Like Matthew and Mark, John notes that when they saw Jesus approaching, the disciples were struck with terror. Who wouldn’t be? Here again, we have to remember that these guys hadn’t read this story 62 times. This had never happened to them before. It hadn’t happened to anybody they knew. It hadn’t happened to anybody they didn’t know. This was a brand new horribly freakish thing going on. In the middle of a storm on the sea, there was a guy walking toward them. Well, maybe not a guy. Maybe a ghost. It was time to be terrified.
As He approached, the interaction was very brief. “It is I; do not be afraid.” And then they were willing to take Him into the boat.
Even though they’d never heard of such a thing before, never experienced anything like it, they were fine once they heard His voice, once they heard Him say it was Him. Oh, it’s You. Jesus, it’s You. Their terror left them. They came to their senses. And they were willing to take Him into the boat.
Once they knew it was Jesus.
Then they were willing to take Him into the boat.
Stuff God’s doing sometimes scares the daylights out of me. I don’t see clearly what He’s doing. I don’t hear His voice. I see wind, and waves, and clouds, and sea spray. And then I see something coming through that mess that scares me senseless. And I don’t realize He’s at work. I don’t realize it’s Him.
Once we know it’s God, we become willing to take Him into the boat. We become willing to let Him work in our lives. We become willing accept what He’s doing. The willingness comes of knowing Who He is, and of knowing it’s Him indeed.
Knowing it’s Him makes all the difference in the world.
Knowing it’s Him makes me willing to let Him into my boat.
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What If She Wasn’t Just Some Lady That Got Tired After Packing Her Stuff Into the Festival Grounds and Needed a Nap?
“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.” (Luke 10:36-37)
I was away for the weekend to LifeLight, a Christian music festival in Sioux Falls. It was a good three days of sun and wind and rock and roll with my kids and good friends. And as you might expect, worth at least a story or two.
From under our canopy tent at the top of the field we had a great vantage point to observe the entire main stage area of the festival grounds, packed full of tens of thousands of people. There was a wide stretch of open ground between us and the furthest back clumps of blankets and lawn chairs. This swathe functioned as a thoroughfare for folks coming in, going out, looking for the port-a-potties or heading down for something to eat as well as a makeshift field for a dozen or so games of Frisbee and football.
Around mid-afternoon yesterday, with the temperature high, humidity up and the wind blowing hard, I noticed that all of a sudden there was a lady lying on the ground, flat on her back. Her lawn chair was by her side, still folded up. She had a plastic sack, presumably full of her snacks and supplies for the day, also by her side, unopened. And there she lay, stick straight on the ground, not moving. Folks continued walking through, some having to step around her as they went. Some looked down, some averted their gaze. I guess the paramedic cart went by once and at least slowed to look, but still went on by. And the football and Frisbee games continued over and around her, undeterred by a woman lying on the ground. It was truly as though she wasn’t there at all.
As you might expect, the scene wound its way through my “weird filter” and got me thinking. It’s certainly not a perfect match to the parable of the Good Samaritan. If nowhere else, the story breaks down where nobody stopped to help, or even check on her. But I still had visions of the priests and the Levites walking to the side of her, crossing to the other side of the field to avoid her.
As I’m guessing you may already know, Jesus had a conversation with a religious scholar in which the scholar asked what he had to do to gain eternal life. Jesus’ answer was a question, as He was so good at doing. He asked the scholar to tell Him what was written in the Law. How do you interpret it? The scholar answered, according to The Message translation, ” that you love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and muscle and intelligence — and that you love your neighbor as well as you do yourself.”
As he lay dying, along came a priest. We expect the text to tell us that the priest to helps him out. That sounds like a priestly thing to do. But he doesn’t. He walks to the other side of the road to avoid him.
Yet he stops, cares for the man and takes him to a hotel and pays his bill.
I can’t be sure, because I didn’t keep my eye on her the whole time, but nobody stopped to check on the woman in my story while she lay on the ground. At least not when I was looking. Nobody stopped to help.
That’s what I told myself.
Really, I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to inconvenience myself. I didn’t want to look foolish.
What if she yelled at me for waking her up?
What if she was just doing some sort of psychology experiment to see what would happen if she just plopped down in the grass and the dirt and acted like she were dead?
What if it was a Punked type stunt, designed to catch people looking stupid?
Wrong questions. There were better, more important questions to ask.
What if she’d passed out from heat stroke or dehydration?
What if she’d had a heart attack?
What if she’d just broken down and couldn’t move anymore?
What if she wasn’t just some lady who was tired after packing her stuff in to the festival grounds on a hot, windy day and just decided to lay down and take a nap?
What if she wasn’t that lady? What if that lady was someone who seriously needed help?
There were plenty of priests and Levites here. Plenty who walked along and didn’t take a moment to get involved. Plenty who threw footballs over her supine body on the ground, sometimes cutting around her just in time to avoid giving her a swift kick in the head. Plenty who watched her from a safe distance under a canopy tent.
But from what I saw, there were no Samaritans. None who went out of their way to assist. None who gave of their own resources, running counter to what would be expected of them, to help someone who might have been in need. None even willing to find out of there was a need.
Including me.
So, Rabbi, who’s my neighbor?
Are you ok? Do you need anything? Can I help you?
Jesus tells the religious scholar in this story that it’s not just the people we know and like that are our neighbors. I have to be ready and willing to step out of what’s comfortable and take a risk to help another.
As it turned out, all was well. I eventually did see the woman sitting upright in her chair, apparently rested and comfortable and enjoying the festivities. I didn’t see a tragic story on the news that night about a woman with a life threatening condition that was ignored at LifeLight.
But what if?
What if she wasn’t just some lady that got tired after packing her stuff in to the festival and decided lay down for a nap in the middle of the field?
Just what if she wasn’t?
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