But I need something more! For if I know the law but still can’t keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don’t have what it takes. I can will it, but I can’t do it. I decide to do good, but I don’t really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don’t result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time. It happens so regularly that it’s predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God’s commands, but it’s pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge. I’ve tried everything and nothing helps. I’m at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn’t that the real question? The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different. (Romans 7:17-25, MSG)
I’ve been reflecting on how this whole Sanchez thing happened to me. (To get the back story on Sanchez, read here, and here, and here, and here.) Take a look at this. This was Sanchez the day she came to our house. Now, she was cute enough when she first came to stay the night. How could you not take her in for a little while?
But it was supposed to be temporary. She wasn’t supposed to be part of the family. It was just to nurse a tiny abandoned kitty back to health and find her a new home. But somehow, she stayed. Now she lounges around and looks pretty and really acts like she owns the place. Oh, sure, she looks innocent enough…
…but she’s not. Now that she’s big enough and agile enough to go anywhere she wants, we can’t leave stuff out like we used to. Well, we still do. But we shouldn’t. She gets into everything. She finds pens, bottle caps, flash drives, loose change, empty bottles, and anything else she can carry in her teeth, and stashes it under the throw rugs or behind the computer desk. She’s a thief and a hoarder.
And she’s not nice. Yes, that’s my arm she’s chewing. I call that The Death Grip. See how she has her front feet wrapped around my forearm? Her claws have punctured my arm to hold it secure. You can’t see her teeth, but that’s just because they are sunken into my flesh. And her back feet? The still photos won’t show it but she’s using them almost like she’s propelling a kick board in the pool, not for the purpose of going anywhere, but primarily to shred whatever is left of my arm after her front claws and teeth are done.
I realized today as she took a swipe at one of JP’s friends that came to spend the night that she’s just one big liability claim waiting to happen.
I’ve been mulling over this piece for the last week, waiting for it to fully take form. All I knew for sure was it involved Sanchez, me, and God. I had it going a different direction. But as I started a list of the things that really annoy me about this cat, something unpleasant occurred to me. You know how the people you find the most annoying are those that are also the most like you? I know that I couldn’t survive in a world made up of people like me. I don’t really know how the rest of you do it.
So I considered what was most irritating about Sanchez, and I realized that as I looked at Sanchez through that lens that I saw just as much of me.
Ouch. She draws blood this time without even touching me.
Let me show you what I mean.
Sanchez wants us on her terms. She wants us to pay attention to her only when she wants it, and then, we’d really better pay attention. If we want to play when she’s not interested, well, heaven help us.
I want God on my terms. I want Him to be ready and waiting for me when I’m ready for Him. And when I’m not? I’d Him to wait patiently on the sidelines.
Sanchez is inconsiderate and selfish. She couldn’t care less if she’s sitting in my spot, or tearing up my desk, or stomping all over my keyboard, or taking our stuff and hiding it under the rug. All she cares about is getting what she wants, when she wants, regardless of how it might affect someone else.
I am inconsiderate and selfish. I often do whatever I feel like doing, despite how it might affect someone else too.
Sanchez is ungrateful. Sanchez has everything she needs. She has food, she has water, she has a warm home, she has plenty of people who pay attention to her and play with her and snuggle her when she wants. But she doesn’t care. She never says thank you, and she never shows the slightest bit of gratitude. She just demands more.
I am ungrateful. God provides me with everything I need. And even sometimes, things I want. He cares for me, and honestly, I have to say I have so much. But I forget to be grateful for that. I neglect to thank Him and those around me. I just go back and ask for, sometimes demand, more.
Sanchez hurts us sometimes without meaning to. She has these claws, and she doesn’t have any idea how sharp they are and how easily they puncture and slice. She’s careless and wounds without intending to do it.
I hurt others sometimes without meaning to. I’m careless with my words and don’t realize how sharp they are and how deeply and easily they puncture and slice.
Sanchez hurts us sometimes on purpose. Whether she’s trying to get our attention, or she’s mad about something or she’s just that way, I’m pretty sure that sometimes she thinks it through and just bites down hard.
I hurt people sometimes on purpose. Maybe my desire isn’t really to cause pain, but I’ll admit when I’m angry or hurt sometimes I’ll still do things that I know will hurt. I think it through (or not at all) and just bite down hard.
Sanchez is impatient. She is unwilling to wait for what she wants. As I changed her litter today, she didn’t think I was pouring it fast enough, so she started throwing it around. She tears into the food bag as we try to fill her dish. She just won’t wait patiently for us to come through.
I am impatient. I am also unwilling to wait for what I want. I don’t allow God to come through and I try to force things on my own, sometimes ripping the bag or spraying the litter around in the process.
Sanchez is merciless. Recently when she slashed my leg, leaving a three-inch gash that was dripping blood (no exaggeration), she looked at me and walked away. No remorse, no mercy. If it had been convenient for her, she’d have slashed the other leg too.
I am merciless. I just don’t always recognize the needs of others, and I sure don’t always respond to them with mercy.
Sanchez acts like she owns the place. She’s pretty sure our house was built and furnished just for her. And while she’s at it, I think she believes that we were born to serve her. She believes she has arrived. She forgets that she is a guest, a visitor, a temporary resident (would that it were true).
I act like I own the place. I act like this world is my home and that everything is here just to please and service me. I forget that I am but a tenant and that our eternal home is really what it’s about. This isn’t enough, it’s not all there is. When I act like it is, I act just like Sanchez.
Sanchez is unrepentant. She does the same things she’s been told not to do over, and over, and over. Sometimes within seconds of being told. And sometimes while she looks us right in the eye.
I am often unrepentant. I know what God asks of me. And yet often I do the opposite. Over, and over, and over. And sometimes, looking Him right in the eye, I’m ashamed to admit.
Get the point? I am so much like this annoying parasite that has taken over my home. While I am very quick to point out all that is wrong with her (and don’t think I’m not mentally doing that to other people as well), it takes me a little longer to recognize these are the same things that daily challenge me.
The big difference, I suppose (besides that she is a beast and I am a person), is that I want to do the right thing. She really doesn’t care. There is nothing in her that makes her want to do it differently, that makes her want to do right.
I do. I have Jesus working in me, giving me the desire and the power to do what He wants.
And that makes my seemingly constant propensity toward sin even more exasperating.
::
I’ve been reflecting on how this whole Sanchez thing happened to me. (To get the back story on Sanchez, read here.) Take a look at this. This was Sanchez the day she came to our house. Now, she was cute enough when she first came to stay the night. How could you not take her in for a little while?
But it was supposed to be temporary. She wasn’t supposed to be part of the family. It was just to nurse a tiny abandoned kitty back to health and find her a new home. But somehow, she stayed. Now she lounges around and looks pretty and really acts like she owns the place. Oh, sure, she looks innocent enough…
…but she’s not. Now that she’s big enough and agile enough to go anywhere she wants, we can’t leave stuff out like we used to. Well, we still do. But we shouldn’t. She gets into everything. She finds pens, bottle caps, flash drives, loose change, empty bottles, and anything else she can carry in her teeth, and stashes it under the throw rugs or behind the computer desk. She’s a thief and a hoarder.
And she’s not nice. Yes, that’s my arm she’s chewing. I call that The Death Grip. See how she has her front feet wrapped around my forearm? Her claws have punctured my arm to hold it secure. You can’t see her teeth, but that’s just because they are sunken into my flesh. And her back feet? The still photos won’t show it but she’s using them almost like she’s propelling a kick board in the pool, not for the purpose of going anywhere, but primarily to shred whatever is left of my arm after her front claws and teeth are done.
I realized today as she took a swipe at one of JP’s friends that came to spend the night that she’s just one big liability claim waiting to happen.
Leaving that place, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is suffering terribly from demon-possession.” Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.” (Matthew 15:21-23 NIV)
A friend of mine just complimented me the other day, quite unexpectedly, for having expressed myself in some particularly “gracious and diplomatic” way. I was a bit struck by that, what with my often abrasive tendency toward unnecessary frankness. I don’t see myself associated with such qualities as graciousness and diplomacy very often. I put that up against a verbal altercation I recently had with a robocaller and it wasn’t tough to see which one was perhaps more like me.
Let me explain. A few weeks ago I answered a call from Josh, a fellow who often calls our home to discuss our finances. He always recites the same concern over our supposedly mounting credit card debt and always sounds so genuinely concerned about our financial situation. He seems like a very nice young man. But of course, his facts are always wrong about how much debt we might have accrued, how many credit cards we have and how many months our payments are in arrears. That’s because Josh isn’t real. He’s just a recorded voice and he’s playing the same made up information into hundreds of homes across the country at the same time as ours, hoping that one of the hapless recipients of his message will be moved by his phony concern and want to talk to someone who can use their dire straits to make a buck for Josh’s employer.
That night, despite Josh’s sincere demeanor, he got on my nerves. So rather than just terminate the call when he started talking like I usually do, I pressed “1″ to talk to someone about being removed from Josh’s list. I was immediately connected to an obviously overworked call center rep who said, in a tired and nasally voice, “You pressed ’1′ to talk to a financial consultant about consolidating your debt.”
“Well, no,” I said. “I pressed ’1′ to see if I could get Josh to stop calling me.” Now, I didn’t expect she’d be pleased to hear this, but I had no idea what I had just unleashed.
“Well then, why did you press ’1′?” she demanded, and a little loudly if you ask me. “You’re supposed to press ’2′ for that!”
I made a feeble attempt to explain. “I’m sorry, but I had other things to do, so I didn’t want to tie up my night listening to all the prompts for my options. I just pressed ’1′ because it came up first.”
She was enraged. “You’re supposed to press ’2′ for ‘do not call.’ You pressed ’1.’ You press ’1′ to talk to a consultant! Why didn’t you press ’2′?”
“Because I didn’t want to listen. Look, I’m sorry. But you guys called me. Why are you yelling at me?” I asked.
Her response would not have impressed my friend as gracious and diplomatic. “BECAUSE YOU’RE WASTING MY TIME!” she howled, and with that she disconnected me.
I was a little stunned, I have to tell you, just as I often am when I manage to provoke a member of the service industry to berate me. Yes, it’s happened before. Remember the house latte?
You already have likely figured out that for me, there are few random events. I process most everything through a “what does this mean” filter, and often find application where, most certainly, there really wasn’t any intended. This event was one of those that made it to my list.
So what does this mean? The “what does this mean” for me is this: As believers we often are at a complete loss as to what to do when someone pushes “1″ instead of “2.” When someone comes in an unexpected way, or doesn’t jump through quite the right hoops, or maybe jumps through the right hoops but in the wrong order, or when someone just doesn’t look or act like we think they should. When the actions or responses or life circumstances of another don’t fit into what we understand or feel comfortable with. That’s when we lose it.
Why didn’t you just push “2″?
Here in Matthew 15, not so very long after Jesus had walked on the water, He was traveling with His disciples when a woman approached begging for mercy and healing for her daughter, who was possessed by a demon. The woman was a Canaanite. And she was persistent. She was so persistent that the disciples finally went to Jesus and told Him to get rid of her. She was getting under their skin. She kept pleading with Jesus, and she just wouldn’t stop. For some reason, Jesus didn’t respond. He didn’t grant her request, and He didn’t tell her to go away. He seemed to just ignore her. The disciples, assuming He just wasn’t interested, finally insisted that He tell her to go away. “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.” The Message says “Now she’s bothering us…she’s driving us crazy.”
They assumed that Jesus didn’t respond to her because she was the wrong kind of person. She was a Canaanite. Clearly “not one of us.” And Jesus seems to validate their unspoken aversion to this woman. He told her, “I was sent to the lost sheep of Israel.” The disciples, I’m guessing, figured that they had it right. Jesus wanted nothing to do with her. She didn’t look right, she didn’t act right, she wasn’t right. She pressed “1.” And Jesus was telling her off.
You go, Jesus. Let her have it. She pressed “1.” Stupid, annoying woman.
But He wasn’t telling her off at all. He was giving her an opportunity to demonstrate her faith. And teach the disciples a thing or two.
She persisted, and Jesus almost looked like he was going the way of the robo-rep. “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs,” He told her. You pushed “1″ and you definitely should have pressed “2.” You’re not doing this right.
And she persisted further. “‘Yes, Lord,’ she said, ‘but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.’” It was as though she said, No, I can press “1″ or I can press “2.”
She knew. She knew that Jesus had come for her as surely as He had come for the Jews. She knew she wasn’t “one of them.” Yet she believed Jesus was Who He said He was. And so she also knew it had nothing to do with who she was or who she wasn’t. It had everything to do with Who Jesus was.
Jesus was pleased with her faith, and we discover if we read between the lines that this is why He allowed this one to play out as it did. Because it allowed her to demonstrate her great faith, and it also allowed Him to teach the disciples something.
Sometimes it’s not the people we expect. Or maybe it’s the people we expect, but not the way we expect. Sometimes people just don’t follow our rules and they don’t do their faith the way that we think they should. Sometimes they press “1″ instead of pressing “2.”
But this hardly matters, does it? They want Jesus. They know He’s what they need, and all they need. They know that pleasing us is the last thing they need to care about.
They need to please Him, and trust Him, and follow Him.
And me? Whether they push “1″ or push “2″ I need to be ready to serve, not chastise them and not hang up on them.
I need to be ready to respond to them in a way that pleases Him.
::
A friend of mine just complimented me the other day, quite unexpectedly, for having expressed myself in some particularly “gracious and diplomatic” way. I was a bit struck by that, what with my often abrasive tendency toward unnecessary frankness. I don’t see myself associated with such qualities as graciousness and diplomacy very often. I put that up against a verbal altercation I recently had with a robocaller and it wasn’t tough to see which one was perhaps more like me.
That’s when Thomas, the one called the Twin, said to his companions, “Come along. We might as well die with him.” (John 11:16 MSG)
Thomas gets a bad rap, you know? He’s the one who’s tagged as “Doubting Thomas” because after the brothers told him that Jesus had risen from the dead, he doubted. He needed proof. He needed to be able to see Him, see His wounds, touch Him in the flesh.
Being so superior to the likes of Thomas, we chide him. “Doubting Thomas” indeed. Naturally, if we had been there when the Marys and Peter and John came back from the tomb wild eyed and insistent that Jesus was alive, I’m sure we’d have been first in line announcing our stupendous faith. Of course, we’d have understood every cryptic remark Jesus made before His death that alluded to imminent events. We’d have been able to push through the crowd of clamoring disciples at that time and said, “Fellows, fellows, please settle down. Do you not remember when He said that He would rebuild the temple in three days after it had been torn down? Certainly you understood He referred to Himself. Surely you knew this was to happen just this way! I cannot see how you do not believe instantly and without question.”
I doubt it. I think we’d have been huddled in that upper room wondering what was going to happen and why Jesus had abandoned us just like the rest of them. And we would have dismissed the claims of our friends that He was alive. It had to be their overwhelming grief talking. At least I know I would. I somehow doubt I’d have understood so many of the important things that Jesus had said and done before His death that would have helped prepare me for the very scary days to come and would have helped me to know that He would be back, and back with His resurrection power.
See, I figure that Thomas was really no different than the other guys, and perhaps us, except for one important quality that Thomas had that we overlook in favor of our microscope on his tendency toward disbelief. Because we focus the lens on what we see as his huge flaw, we miss something so important.
Thomas was authentic.
Thomas was honest and up front about his doubt. Not unlike David, Thomas had that willingness to say out loud what was going on in his heart and his head. Thomas would admit to feeling what most of the others were likely feeling but not saying.
With this look at Thomas, my wanderings in John 10-12 come to an end. Before Jesus even went to see Lazarus, we have a brief but meaningful encounter with Thomas that in many ways set the stage for the doubting reputation he acquired at the time of the resurrection. We get a glimpse of Thomas’ authenticity that perhaps makes us feel more uncomfortable with him than willing to admire him (though perhaps still privately thinking, “he’s a lot like me”).
You might remember that in John 10, before Jesus went to Bethany to be with His friends in their crisis, He’d had a bit of an altercation with the Pharisees. They’d accused Him of blasphemy and nearly stoned Him then and there. He slipped away and had been keeping something of a low profile since then. But when He heard of Lazarus’ illness, after the initial delay He told His disciples that He wanted to go to them. He wanted to return to Judea.
The disciples, in a word, freaked. In verse 11:8, they said, “Rabbi, you can’t do that. The Jews are out to kill you, and you’re going back?” He was always doing things that they didn’t understand. And they were always coming undone. So here they went again. And of course, Jesus went into another explanation of His plan that just made no sense to them. But one thing was clear: He would go to Lazarus and his sisters.
At this point, Thomas resigned himself to the will of his Master. He recognized that Jesus was going to do what He wanted, whether the disciples thought it wise or not. Whether it ended in His death or not. And being a total Eeyore, he was pretty confident that they would all die. He said to his friends, “Come along. We might as well die with Him.” Can you hear the voice of Eeyore? Listen…
(click to play)
Think of Eeyore saying, “Come along. We might as well die with Him.” He sounds just like Thomas.
But you know, Eeyore has an authenticity to him too. He is willing to say what is going on in his head even when others don’t really want to hear it.
The difference is Thomas was not glued to one spot with his gloom. Thomas, despite his pessimism and his doubt, actually led the way. While all the others were holding Jesus back and telling Him He should not go, Thomas stepped out and expressed his fear (they would all die), then walked straight through it to stand with Jesus and go where He wanted to go (they would all die with Him). Even if it meant dying, Thomas saw the importance of being with Jesus.
He had his doubt, and he had his fears. But in the midst of it, he stood with Jesus and he led his brothers to do the same.
Thomas’ doubt did not disqualify him for service to his Master. Thomas’ willingness to admit his doubt allowed others to believe. When Jesus showed His wounds to Thomas, don’t think for a second that others weren’t craning their necks, hoping to see something that would help them believe. And when Thomas called his brothers to go with Jesus despite what he thought was certain death, his willingness to press on, despite his obvious fear, no doubt strengthened them to go along as well.
Jesus doesn’t want us to doubt. He wants us to trust. But He never asks us to pretend. He asks us to be honest with Him about our doubts and our fears. And then He asks us to trust Him despite them and move on forward.
We might as well die with Him.That’s when Thomas, the one called the Twin, said to his companions, “Come along. We might as well die with him.” (John 11:16 MSG)
Thomas gets a bad rap, you know? He’s the one who’s tagged as “Doubting Thomas” because after the brothers told him that Jesus had risen from the dead, he doubted. He needed proof. He needed to be able to see Him, see His wounds, touch Him in the flesh.
The crowd that had been with him when he called Lazarus from the tomb, raising him from the dead, was there giving eyewitness accounts. It was because they had spread the word of this latest God-sign that the crowd swelled to a welcoming parade. The Pharisees took one look and threw up their hands: “It’s out of control. The world’s in a stampede after him.” (John 12:17-19, MSG)
Watch this little black and white video. I can’t tell you what old movie it’s really from. (Hey Dad, does it look familiar?) So for my purposes here, we’ll just call it How the Middle East Was Won. Or Blazing Pharisee Saddles. Maybe They Call Me Trinity. Or perhaps just plain old Big Stampede or Cattle Stampede. (Those last two are real titles. Catchy, eh?)
Call it what you want. But when you watch the clip, imagine that the Pharisees have traded their fancy temple robes for chaps and 10-gallon hats. And then watch what happens when the stampede starts.
When the one guy has to jump up in the tree so he’s not completely trampled by the charging cattle, not unlike hapless victims at last year’s Black Friday sales at Wal-Mart, I love to imagine he’s a Pharisee, trying to stay out of the dangerous path of those who are rushing to give their lives to Jesus.
As those who witnessed Lazarus’ resurrection run off to tell others, there’s a huge crowd forming. And they all want a piece of Jesus. They have been amazed by His love and His power, and they want some of that. They want Him. And they are, as we’ve learned, turning to Him in huge numbers.
For the first time ever, the Pharisees are losing control of the people. And with that, now their turf is at risk. Jesus has posed this enormous threat to their power and position, and they are at a complete loss as to what to do to regain control. They are stymied as to how to get the people to submit to their puffed up authority again. They are scrambling, first to get out of the way of this thundering stampede, and second to figure out how to rein it in again.
Jesus shows Himself, and all the world is “in a stampede after Him.” That is a picture that is so fun, so exciting, so invigorating. To imagine enough people moving with enough passion and energy after Jesus that it is a virtual stampede. That’s the kind of reaction Jesus gets when He’s seen in His fullness. When He can reveal who He really is, unhindered by the this-is-not-really-Jesus filters that the world often sees through, and when our own shortcomings and failures don’t hide Who He really is, people drop everything and run for their lives after Him.
Despite the excitement this image builds in me, it also raises some questions in my mind.
For those of us who are charged with telling others about Jesus, are we getting the word out in a way that would spark a stampede? Are we telling the real story, unfiltered and unadulterated? Are we showing Who Jesus really is in our words, our actions, our lives?
Are we afraid of starting a stampede?
I wonder, have I ever felt passionately enough to join in a stampede after Him? Can I even understand why people would charge after Him in that way?
When the stampede starts, if I’m a Pharisee, I’d best be getting out of the way. If I’m inclined to hinder the working of God in the hearts of those He loves, I’d better hope there’s a handy tree nearby that I can jump up into. Because when He works, that stampede’s coming. And it stops for no one. If I’m in the way, I’m on the ground and I’m going to be pretty battered when it’s done.
Better to start moving, instead of impeding, so that when the stampede starts I can just jump in and run.
::
The crowd that had been with him when he called Lazarus from the tomb, raising him from the dead, was there giving eyewitness accounts. It was because they had spread the word of this latest God-sign that the crowd swelled to a welcoming parade. The Pharisees took one look and threw up their hands: “It’s out of control. The world’s in a stampede after him.” (John 12:17-19, MSG)
Watch this little black and white video. I can’t tell you what old movie it’s really from. (Hey Dad, does it look familiar?) So for my purposes here, we’ll just call it How the Middle East Was Won. Or Blazing Pharisee Saddles. Maybe They Call Me Trinity. Or perhaps just plain old Big Stampede or Cattle Stampede. (Those last two are real titles. Catchy, eh?)
Call it what you want. But when you watch the clip, imagine that the Pharisees have traded their fancy temple robes for chaps and 10-gallon hats. And then watch what happens when the stampede starts.
Then, to the others, “Go ahead, take away the stone.” They removed the stone. Jesus raised his eyes to heaven and prayed, “Father, I’m grateful that you have listened to me. I know you always do listen, but on account of this crowd standing here I’ve spoken so that they might believe that you sent me.” Then he shouted, “Lazarus, come out!” And he came out, a cadaver, wrapped from head to toe, and with a kerchief over his face. Jesus told them, “Unwrap him and let him loose.” (John 11:41-45, MSG)
Unwrap him and let him loose.
The Word is full of things that I would love to hear the voice of my Redeemer say, and other things I never want to hear. I think one day I’ll work on a list of each. On that list of things that I would love to hear is this one: Let her loose.
Jesus stood before the tomb, and asked that the stone blocking the entrance (or in this case, the exit) be moved away. Once it was gone (and everyone had gotten over the smell), He commanded Lazarus to begin breathing again. He commanded his heart to begin beating again. He commanded his feet to start walking again. We could go on and on. He commanded all those things with just three words: “Lazarus, come out!”
And Lazarus was obedient, even beyond his death. He came out. He came out of the tomb, though still wrapped in the grave clothes and so certainly more than a little impaired. To those standing nearby, likely the same fellows who had moved the stone, He asked that the grave clothes be taken off. “Unwrap him and let him loose.”
Lazarus had done the part he could do — he’d come back from death at Jesus’ command, and he’d come out of the tomb. But now he needed a hand. He needed someone to unwrap him.
Strange that he could come back to life after four days of death, yet he needed the assistance of the mourners and bystanders to remove his grave clothes. He was wrapped and bound from head to toe. He was alive again, but still hindered. Still bound up. Still tied down.
Jesus used those who were nearby to assist him. He ordered them to unwrap him, and to help free him to experience the new life he was given.
When Jesus calls us from death to life, we are no longer a corpse. We are no longer a cadaver. But to a certain extent, sometimes we still hop around like the mummy in Scooby Doo, still wrapped up and stumbling around, unable to move freely about the cabin because we allow the remnants of death to continue to entangle us and to strangle us.
We might need a little help getting unwrapped.
We might need someone to let us loose.
Jesus gives us those people, you know? When He gives us life, He gives us all we need to experience it. And often that means He gives us people to stand alongside us and walk alongside us to help us when we’re hindered by our already dead past. The grave clothes have to come off. We have to be let loose.
Jesus didn’t call Lazarus out from the grave to just lay on the ground in a pile of white strips. He didn’t call him out so he could stay bound up with the spices and smells of death.
He called Lazarus out and cut him loose to show others that he was alive and that He was alive.
::
Then, to the others, “Go ahead, take away the stone.” They removed the stone. Jesus raised his eyes to heaven and prayed, “Father, I’m grateful that you have listened to me. I know you always do listen, but on account of this crowd standing here I’ve spoken so that they might believe that you sent me.” Then he shouted, “Lazarus, come out!” And he came out, a cadaver, wrapped from head to toe, and with a kerchief over his face. Jesus told them, “Unwrap him and let him loose.” (John 11:41-45, MSG)
Unwrap him and let him loose.
The Word is full of things that I would love to hear the voice of my Redeemer say, and other things I never want to hear. I think one day I’ll work on a list of each.
On that list of things that I would love to hear is this one: Let her loose.
Then the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the Sanhedrin. “What are we accomplishing?” they asked. “Here is this man performing many miraculous signs. If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and then the Romans will come and take away both our place and our nation.” (John 11:47-48)
Did you think I was done with Lazarus yet? I’m not.
We’ve talked at length already about the significant influence Jesus was having amongst the people. Since He raised Lazarus from the dead, people were trusting Jesus in droves.
We’ve also talked about how there seemed to be no real dispute as to whether Jesus was in fact doing all the amazing and miraculous things that were being reported about Him. Even the Pharisees and chief priests seemed convinced He was doing this stuff: “Here is this man performing many miraculous signs.” No indication they thought He was a faker. They believed at least that much.
But where these two came together — the reality of His influence and the reality of His power — it all kind of fell apart for the Pharisees because He was mounting a significant threat to their position with the people and with the Roman authorities.
By this time, of course, Jesus’ public ministry was in full swing. He’d been very visible and He’d been very up front about His purpose in coming to fulfill the law. He’d been very aggressive in blowing up the Pharisee’s happy world order and in challenging their teaching at nearly every turn. And since it was the very nature of a Pharisee to expect everything of others and nothing of oneself, it was not surprising that with very few exceptions the Pharisees were not among those who were rushing to put their faith in Jesus.
No, rather, the Pharisees found themselves in the very unexpected position of resisting the call of One Who came to heal and free and restore. He Who came to fulfill the very law they had given their lives to uphold and preserve and enforce. The Messiah they had long awaited and themselves had taught would come to redeem the people they were charged to lead.
Yet when He came, despite what they could see before their very eyes, they rejected Him. They sought to destroy Him. They aggressively worked to prevent others from following Him.
They became blinded by their own power and failed to recognize His.
They sought to protect their turf in the face of undeniable truth.
They became afraid of losing their position if they allowed Jesus to continue to draw all men to Himself.
Their turf became infinitely more important than the truth.
They knew Jesus spoke the truth. They knew His power was real. I believe this to be evident throughout the gospels. They didn’t deny His miraculous power, though they attempted to discredit it by claiming it was from Satan. When they sought to accuse Him, they had to line up false witnesses who were wiling to lie about Him.
They knew what was true.
But they had to protect their turf.
Their turf had become so much more important to them that they did not permit themselves the luxury of believing in the One sent to redeem them.
They missed their Redeemer because they sought only to protect their position.
When my position (or my anything) becomes more important than my Redeemer, we have a problem.
::
Then the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the Sanhedrin. “What are we accomplishing?” they asked. “Here is this man performing many miraculous signs. If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and then the Romans will come and take away both our place and our nation.” (John 11:47-48)
Did you think I was done with Lazarus yet? I’m not.
We’ve talked at length already about the significant influence Jesus was having amongst the people. Since He raised Lazarus from the dead, people were trusting Jesus in droves.
We’ve also talked about how there seemed to be no real dispute as to whether Jesus was in fact doing all the amazing and miraculous things that were being reported about Him. Even the Pharisees and chief priests seemed convinced He was doing this stuff: “Here is this man performing many miraculous signs.” No indication they thought He was a faker. They believed at least that much.
But where these two came together — the reality of His influence and the reality of His power — it all kind of fell apart for the Pharisees because He was mounting a significant threat to their position with the people and with the Roman authorities.
Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. “Take away the stone,” he said. “But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.” Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” (John 11:38-40)
Martha has lost her brother Lazarus. She is overcome with her grief. She knows Jesus has the power to heal. Based on what we already know of her faith in Jesus, I think it’s fair to say that she believed He could also raise Lazarus.
Even so …
Faced with the prospect of Jesus bringing Lazarus back, she is stopped by the prospect of the smell inside the tomb.
Jesus stands at the tomb, ready to take action, ready to do the really big thing. He asks for the stone to be moved. To this, Martha replies, “But Lord, by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there for four days.”
Offered the opportunity to embrace her brother, once lost to death and now on the verge of being raised to life, the smell makes her think twice. She’s not so sure it’s a great idea to open that tomb up and let the horrendous stench out.
To be sure, there’s a nasty smell that’s built up in that rocked-off cave. Embalming options were pretty limited, and it was not possible to preserve a body for any length of time. Combine that with putting that decaying corpse in a confined area with no air exchange, and we know Martha isn’t kidding. She’s right on the mark. Opening that tomb is going to be bad. The smell will be overpowering. I’d venture to guess that when that stone was moved away, those up close passed out from the stink as surely as the front row at Sea World’s Shamu show is drenched by whale splash. It stunk. Bad.
Jesus in unconcerned with the smell. Martha, He says to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” Jesus, as ever able to cut throught the stinky garbage to the heart of the matter, does so again. Martha, it’s not about the smell. It’s about the glory of God.
Martha, it’s about what I’m going to do, not about the stinky part ahead of it.
Martha, please. This is why I’m here. Let Me work.
Each time God wants to do a work in my heart, it seems I go through the same thing as Martha. I know what He wants to do. I know what I want Him to do. And I know what He is able to do.
But I also know that when He moves that huge stone out of the way, it’s going to be like punching a hole in a steamboiler. There’s going to be an overpowering rush of escaping vapors. And they are going to stink. It’s going to be terrible. The stench might cause me and anyone nearby to pass out. And then I wonder if I really want to let Him do His work in me. The smell might just be too bad.
It’s ok, He says. Believe in Me. Trust me.
You will see the glory of God if you believe in Me and let Me do this.
It’s not about the stink. It’s about what He’s going to do.
::
Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. “Take away the stone,” he said. “But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.” Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” (John 11:38-40)
Martha has lost her brother Lazarus. She is overcome with her grief. She knows Jesus has the power to heal. Based on what we already know of her faith in Jesus, I think it’s fair to say that she believed He could also raise Lazarus.
Even so . . .
Faced with the prospect of Jesus bringing Lazarus back, she is stopped by the prospect of the smell inside the tomb.
Jesus stands at the tomb, ready to take action, ready to do the really big thing. He asks for the stone to be moved. To this, Martha replies, “But Lord, by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there for four days.”
Offered the opportunity to embrace her brother, once lost to death and now on the verge of being raised to life, the smell makes her think twice. She’s not so sure it’s a great idea to open that tomb up and let the horrendous stench out.
To be sure, there’s a nasty smell that’s built up in that rocked-off cave. Embalming options were pretty limited, and it was not possible to preserve a body for any length of time. Combine that with putting that decaying corpse in a confined area with no air exchange, and we know Martha isn’t kidding. She’s right on the mark. Opening that tomb is going to be bad. The smell will be overpowering. I’d venture to guess that when that stone was moved away, those up close passed out from the stink as surely as the front row at Sea World’s Shamu show is drenched by whale splash. It stunk. Bad.
Jesus in unconcerned with the smell. Martha, He says to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” Jesus, as ever able to cut throught the stinky garbage to the heart of the matter, does so again. Martha, it’s not about the smell. It’s about the glory of God.
Martha, it’s about what I’m going to do, not about the stinky part ahead of it.
Martha, please. This is why I’m here. Let Me work.
Each time God wants to do a work in my heart, it seems I go through the same thing as Martha. I know what He wants to do. I know what I want Him to do. And I know what He is able to do.
But I also know that when He moves that huge stone out of the way, it’s going to be like punching a hole in a steamboiler. There’s going to be an overpowering rush of escaping vapors. And they are going to stink. It’s going to be terrible. The stench might cause me and anyone nearby to pass out. And then I wonder if I really want to let Him do His work in me. The smell might just be too bad.
It’s ok, He says. Believe in Me. Trust me.
You will see the glory of God if you believe in Me and let Me do this.
It’s not about the stink. It’s about what He’s going to do.
So the chief priests made plans to kill Lazarus as well, for on account of him many of the Jews were going over to Jesus and putting their faith in him. (John 12:10-11, NIV)
I’m not so old that I watched Leave It to Beaver in first runs. But neither am I so young that I can deny watching the reruns while I was growing up. It was never one of my favorites, but there was no Sponge Bob in that day and you took what you had. I’ve always been curious about how people express themselves, with how they use language and vocabulary and how idiomatic (or idiotic) expressions and phrases might pepper their speech. Leave It to Beaver was a terrific case study for me then, even as a kid sprawled out on the recliner with a bag of chips and a soda trying to numb my mind against the more important things like homework and cleaning the bathroom. The characters on Leave It to Beaver didn’t seem to talk like normal people, not even like normal television people.
Do you remember the odd way that Eddie Haskell always spoke when he was trying to schmooze Mrs. Cleaver? And how Wally and the Beav always said “Gee” and “Golly” before practically anything else they said? The expression that always stuck in my head though, was the one that Beaver always used to explain why something had happened (over which he had practically no control of course) and what made me think of him when I read these verses in John 12.
“On account of…”
“Well, gee Dad, I got my Sunday clothes all filthy on account of Lumpy pushing me in the mud after I called him a bad name on account of him being such a jerk and all.”
“On account of…”
It’s a great phrase, really, though it used to grate on my nerves when Theodore said it. It points to the cause of the effect. It explains why, and sometimes how, something happened. So think of Beaver Cleaver telling the story of how the chief priests decided they had to destroy the evidence and kill not just Jesus, but also Lazarus.
“Well, golly Pharisees, we just have to kill him. We’re losing control of the people on account of Lazarus rising from the dead and all. Gee, all kinds of people are putting their faith in Jesus on account of him.”
Well gee. What would Beaver say about me? What would the chief priests say about me?
What is happening in the kingdom on account of me?
This is an important question.
Obviously, Lazarus had something of a passive role in all this. After all, he was quite dead when Jesus worked the miracle, and ultimately, it was Jesus who did work it. Lazarus just had to come out when he was called. But beyond that, he allowed himself to be used by God by being where people could see him and believe that Jesus had really done what was being reported all over the region. People didn’t necessarily put their faith in Jesus because they heard what they believed to be some tall tales about Lazarus. But they did because the story was significantly credible at the time, and a large part of the credibility was the fact that Lazarus was up and walking around, and was seen in public, and was living proof of what God had done.
I would suggest it’s no accident that this story is similar to our own. When Jesus calls us from death to life, our role is far more passive than His as well. He calls us, we respond. He was the One Who paid the price. He was the One Who went to the cross, and went to the grave, and returned to live on into eternity. He was the One Who defeated sin and death and Satan himself. He was the One Who prepared our hearts to receive Him. But beyond our accepting the call, our responding to His invitation to come from death to life in much the way that Lazarus did in a physical way, we then allow ourselves to be used to show the world around us that Jesus is alive. That He is powerful. That He is mighty to save. That He has paid the price and has secured the victory. In the same way that Lazarus was living proof of what God had done when Jesus beckoned him to leave the tomb, we are living proof of what God is able to do in the hearts of men. We are living proof that God pours out His mercy through the blood of Jesus for us. We are living proof of God’s life and work in us.
On account of Lazarus, many were “going over to Jesus.” They were believing in Him. They were finding life in Him. And the Kingdom was growing explosively.
On account of me, are many “going over to Jesus?” What is happening in the Kingdom because of how God is able to use me?
Am I following God in such a way that many are compelled to follow Him as well?
Those would be some incredible words to hear said about oneself.
“Gee Wally, on account of [insert your name here], many are going over to Jesus and putting their faith in Him.”
Word got out among the Jews that he was back in town. The people came to take a look, not only at Jesus but also at Lazarus, who had been raised from the dead. So the high priests plotted to kill Lazarus because so many of the Jews were going over and believing in Jesus on account of him. (John 12:9-11, MSG)
One more perspective on different perspectives. After Jesus raised Lazarus, word spread. It spread as fast as it could in a time and a place not instantly connected by television and internet and phones and faxes and email and text. I’m chuckling now as I consider that if Jesus had been hooked up with Facebook or Twitter, His status would read something like “Jesus Christ is … generating shock waves throughout the people by calling His dear friend Lazarus out from the tomb.”
In any event, by Biblical-era standards, word got out pretty fast, and pretty far and wide. And now we can see the mixed reactions amongst those who were not eyewitnesses. This is how they responded who did not see firsthand what had happened, but had heard reports from others. Again, the contrast is stark between the two primary responses. As stark as the difference between the sun setting in the west and the sun setting in the east.
Some time has passed since Jesus brought Lazarus back from the dead. Jesus had withdrawn to a smaller village to stay out of the public eye in light of the growing threat from the Pharisees against His life. A few days before Passover, He returned to Bethany to be with his friends Mary, Martha and Lazarus. While He was dining in their home, word also got out that he was “back in town.” Again, word traveled fast in a time and place devoid of any modern rapid communication avenues. A crowd grew, wanting to see Him and also wanting to see Lazarus.
Those who had seen what Jesus had done and put their faith in Him shared the news with others and they responded by wanting to see Him as well. They wanted to see this Jesus, and they wanted to see Lazarus, the evidence of the amazing power this Jesus had.
But while many wanted to see Jesus, there were also many who wanted to see Him dead. Remember, there were also those snitches, those who saw and ran off to tell on Jesus to the Pharisees. The snitches were indeed successful in firing up the Pharisees to work even harder to neutralize the Jesus-factor. They were now so committed that they planned to elminate Lazarus as well.
Again, just like with the cynics the other day, you won’t see in the text that the Pharisees necessarily doubted that Jesus had done what He was reported to have done. They don’t seem to have disputed that He was not truly capable of such amazing miracles. Instead, they just wanted Him out of the picture. They didn’t want to discredit Him. They wanted Him dead. And Lazarus? He was bad for business at the synagogue too. Because of Lazarus, many were putting their faith in Jesus. They had to destroy the evidence. They had to kill Lazarus too.
In the investigative work that I do every day, I’ve found that it’s very unusual that a party makes any effort to prevent you from seeing evidence that is favorable to their position, or obviously falsified, or just plain irrelevant. If the opposing party has evidence that appears unfavorable, but they can fill it full of holes, they don’t bury it. They expose it. The testimony of Lazarus was devastating to the Pharisees. It was devastating because it was true, and I believe that they knew this. And so they had to plot to eliminate Lazarus as well, because he was damaging their efforts to neutralize Jesus and stop others from following Him.
Amongst those who heard about Jesus’ amazing miracle on Lazarus’ behalf, some “were going over and believing in Jesus on account of him.” On the other hand, in sharp contrast to their response of faith, the Pharisees only expanded their plot to kill Jesus by adding Lazarus in as well.
Both heard the same story. One heard how He gave life and they ran for it. The other saw a threat and they ran from it.
In so doing, they attempted to put up a roadblock to those who were running for life.
::
Word got out among the Jews that he was back in town. The people came to take a look, not only at Jesus but also at Lazarus, who had been raised from the dead. So the high priests plotted to kill Lazarus because so many of the Jews were going over and believing in Jesus on account of him. (John 12:9-11, MSG)
One more perspective on different perspectives. After Jesus raised Lazarus, word spread. It spread as fast as it could in a time and a place not instantly connected by television and internet and phones and faxes and email and text. I’m chuckling now as I consider that if Jesus had been hooked up with Facebook or Twitter, His status would read something like “Jesus Christ is … generating shock waves throughout the people by calling His dear friend Lazarus out from the tomb.”
In any event, by Biblical-era standards, word got out pretty fast, and pretty far and wide. And now we can see the mixed reactions amongst those who were not eyewitnesses. This is how they responded who did not see firsthand what had happened, but had heard reports from others. Again, the contrast is stark between the two primary responses. As stark as the difference between the sun setting in the west and the sun setting in the east.
Some time has passed since Jesus brought Lazarus back from the dead. Jesus had withdrawn to a smaller village to stay out of the public eye in light of the growing threat from the Pharisees against His life. A few days before Passover, He returned to Bethany to be with his friends Mary, Martha and Lazarus. While He was dining in their home, word also got out that he was “back in town.” Again, word traveled fast in a time and place devoid of any modern rapid communication avenues. A crowd grew, wanting to see Him and also wanting to see Lazarus.
Those who had seen what Jesus had done and put their faith in Him shared the news with others and they responded by wanting to see Him as well. They wanted to see this Jesus, and they wanted to see Lazarus, the evidence of the amazing power this Jesus had.
But while many wanted to see Jesus, there were also many who wanted to see Him dead. Remember, there were also those snitches, those who saw and ran off to tell on Jesus to the Pharisees. The snitches were indeed successful in firing up the Pharisees to work even harder to neutralize the Jesus-factor. They were now so committed that they planned to elminate Lazarus as well.
Again, just like with the cynics the other day, you won’t see in the text that the Pharisees necessarily doubted that Jesus had done what He was reported to have done. They don’t seem to have disputed that He was not truly capable of such amazing miracles. Instead, they just wanted Him out of the picture. They didn’t want to discredit Him. They wanted Him dead. And Lazarus? He was bad for business at the synagogue too. Because of Lazarus, many were putting their faith in Jesus. They had to destroy the evidence. They had to kill Lazarus too.
In the investigative work that I do every day, I’ve found that it’s very unusual that a party makes any effort to prevent you from seeing evidence that is favorable to their position, or obviously falsified, or just plain irrelevant. If the opposing party has evidence that appears unfavorable, but they can fill it full of holes, they don’t bury it. They expose it. The testimony of Lazarus was devastating to the Pharisees. It was devastating because it was true, and I believe that they knew this. And so they had to plot to eliminate Lazarus as well, because he was damaging their efforts to neutralize Jesus and stop others from following Him.
Amongst those who heard about Jesus’ amazing miracle on Lazarus’ behalf, some “were going over and believing in Jesus on account of him.” On the other hand, in sharp contrast to their response of faith, the Pharisees only expanded their plot to kill Jesus by adding Lazarus in as well.
Both heard the same story. One heard how He gave life and they ran for it. The other saw a threat and they ran from it.
In so doing, they attempted to put up a roadblock to those who were running for life.
That was a turnaround for many of the Jews who were with Mary. They saw what Jesus did, and believed in him. But some went back to the Pharisees and told on Jesus. (John 11:45-46 MSG)
Many of the Jews who were grieving with the sisters of Lazarus were profoundly affected by Jesus’ deep love for His friends. When they saw Him call Lazarus from the tomb, they believed in Him. They put their faith in Jesus. First they saw His love for Lazarus, then they saw His power displayed on Lazarus’ behalf, and finally they were convinced. As The Message puts it, “That was a turnaround for many…”
As we talked about yesterday, I’m convinced it was the combination display, not just the miracle but Jesus’ love along with it, that put them over the top. That’s what caused the “turnaround.”
But we’ve been looking at mixed reactions, right? How different people observing the very same event react in radically different ways depending on their vantage point. Despite the fact that many put their faith in Jesus when they saw what He did, there were others who did not. And in fact, they didn’t just opt not to believe in Him. They weren’t just not faithful. They were finks.
Stooges. Snitches.
Nobody likes a tattle tale. Unless you’re a Pharisee.
These guys ran straight to the Pharisees to get them all charged up about what Jesus was doing. As though they needed a little more stimulation for their No-Jesus sentiments. “Some went back to the Pharisees and told on Jesus.”
Think this one through. A guy you knew to be dead, whom you had just been with his family and loved ones to mourn, has just been raised to life. And you can’t find a way to be totally excited about that? You can’t find a way to be amazed? You can’t find a way to believe it?
All you can find your way to do is trot down to the synagogue and report this latest miraculous atrocity to the Pharisees?
In the face of something like this it seems to me that a person would actually have to work hard to disbelieve it. They were there when Lazarus went into the tomb, weren’t they? He’s been in there for four days. Even if he was only “mostly dead” when he was put in the tomb, it’s an easy argument that he was quite dead after four days.
But were they ever arguing that He hadn’t really done it? I don’t see it. They don’t ever express doubt that this was the real deal, that Jesus truly brought Lazarus back. I would submit that the finks and tattle tales believed that He really did it. But that’s where vantage point comes in. They saw the same event. There’s an agreement on the facts. But when it comes to the response, there is a great divide. Some see and believe. Some see and reject. And still others can’t just leave it at rejection but they seek to destroy on top of it. That’s a topic for another day.
One thing is clear. Some of these folks had hearts that were ready to receive the good news, and others did not. I sure don’t get God’s timing on things, but I know that He has to do the work of preparing us to receive Him. Some of these folks were not prepared. Maybe that came later. Maybe it came not at all. But at this moment in time, the difference between those with soft hearts ready to welcome their Redeemer and those who were still hardened and saw Him as a threat to their order of things is stark.
It all makes me wonder how I might do the same. How I might completely miss the point of a huge God event while it brings someone else to their knees.
::
That was a turnaround for many of the Jews who were with Mary. They saw what Jesus did, and believed in him. But some went back to the Pharisees and told on Jesus. (John 11:45-46 MSG)
Many of the Jews who were grieving with the sisters of Lazarus were profoundly affected by Jesus’ deep love for His friends. When they saw Him call Lazarus from the tomb, they believed in Him. They put their faith in Jesus. First they saw His love for Lazarus, then they saw His power displayed on Lazarus’ behalf, and finally they were convinced. As The Message puts it, “That was a turnaround for many . . .”
As we talked about yesterday, I’m convinced it was the combination display, not just the miracle but Jesus’ love along with it, that put them over the top. That’s what caused the “turnaround.”
But we’ve been looking at mixed reactions, right? How different people observing the very same event react in radically different ways depending on their vantage point. Despite the fact that many put their faith in Jesus when they saw what He did, there were others who did not. And in fact, they didn’t just opt not to believe in Him. They weren’t just not faithful. They were finks.
Stooges. Snitches.
Nobody likes a tattle tale. Unless you’re a Pharisee.
These guys ran straight to the Pharisees to get them all charged up about what Jesus was doing. As though they needed a little more stimulation for their No-Jesus sentiments. “Some went back to the Pharisees and told on Jesus.”
Think this one through. A guy you knew to be dead, whom you had just been with his family and loved ones to mourn, has just been raised to life. And you can’t find a way to be totally excited about that? You can’t find a way to be amazed? You can’t find a way to believe it?
All you can find your way to do is trot down to the synagogue and report this latest miraculous atrocity to the Pharisees?
In the face of something like this it seems to me that a person would actually have to work hard to disbelieve it. They were there when Lazarus went into the tomb, weren’t they? He’s been in there for four days. Even if he was only “mostly dead” when he was put in the tomb, it’s an easy argument that he was quite dead after four days.
But were they ever arguing that He hadn’t really done it? I don’t see it. They don’t ever express doubt that this was the real deal, that Jesus truly brought Lazarus back. I would submit that the finks and tattle tales believed that He really did it. But that’s where vantage point comes in. They saw the same event. There’s an agreement on the facts. But when it comes to the response, there is a great divide. Some see and believe. Some see and reject. And still others can’t just leave it at rejection but they seek to destroy on top of it. That’s a topic for another day.
One thing is clear. Some of these folks had hearts that were ready to receive the good news, and others did not. I sure don’t get God’s timing on things, but I know that He has to do the work of preparing us to receive Him. Some of these folks were not prepared. Maybe that came later. Maybe it came not at all. But at this moment in time, the difference between those with soft hearts ready to welcome their Redeemer and those who were still hardened and saw Him as a threat to their order of things is stark.
It all makes me wonder how I might do the same. How I might completely miss the point of a huge God event while it brings someone else to their knees.
The Jews said, “Look how deeply he loved him.” Others among them said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” (John 11:36-37)
Claims folks like me love to tell you that there isn’t much we haven’t heard. We’re great to have at social gatherings because we have some of the best stories. We start to really believe we’ve heard it all. (We haven’t.) One of the things that just doesn’t surprise us much is how vastly divergent perspectives different people may have on the very same incident. On any number of days in the process of investigating an accident we might have conversations like the following:
…
Me: Well, Mrs. Smith, why don’t you go ahead and describe the accident for me.
Mrs. Smith: Ok. First, you have to know I’m an excellent driver. I’ve been driving for over 60 years and I’ve never had a ticket.
Me: That’s terrific, Mrs. Smith. Now, let’s talk about how the accident happened.
Mrs. Smith: Right. Well, I was driving down the road, Burlington Boulevard, I think, but I can’t be sure because they keep changing the street names. I was in the right lane and traveling 24 miles per hour because the signs say the speed limit is 25 miles per hour and I don’t ever speed. It was about 4:45 in the afternoon, which I know because I was on my way home from water aerobics and it always gets done at 4:30. I was going eastbound, right into the sun. It was really bright. I remember that because I was having a hard time seeing because, well, you know how the sun can sometimes blind you when it’s setting and it reflects so terribly. So I was driving home, and thinking about that delicious roast that was in the oven and I was just hoping it wasn’t overdone because Mr. Smith just doesn’t like that at all. I came up to an intersection and I had a green light. I know it was green because the cars in the other lane were going through too, the ones that were driving on my left side. Well, you know, I had the green light, so I just went on through. That’s what you’re supposed to do at a green light, go through you know. So I did. And wouldn’t you know it, I just don’t know where the other car came from, but, BAM! He just hit me. Just like that. And my car spun around and I think I hit something else. A light post maybe. Or maybe it was another car. I just don’t know. It just shocked me, you know. I was pretty shook up. And he hit me in the front, on the right side. I’m pretty sure he was talking on his cellular phone like all those young kids do. And eating a hamburger. And his music was really loud. They just shouldn’t let people do that in their cars, you know?
…
Me: Thanks for speaking to me today, Mr. Johnson. Could you describe for me what happened in the accident?
Mr. Johnson: Sure. Last Tuesday, around 4:30, maybe 5:00, I was on my way home from work. I was on 57th where it crosses Burlington. Are you from around here? It’s kind of a crazy intersection, really busy at that time of day. I was going eastbound, 57th runs east to west. I work in the city, and I always drive 57th home to my place east of the metro. The sun was starting to drop a little, and I remember trying to adjust my rear view mirror because it kept kind of hitting me right in the eye when I’d glance back. Well, anyway, I’m coming up to the intersection, and the light turned green when I was about, oh, I’d say six or eight car lengths back. I kind of slowed up a bit anyway, just to make sure the intersection was clear, but I figured I was good to go since there was another car ahead of me that was already going through. So I kept going, and when I was a little more than half way across, this lady, she just smacked right into me on the back right side of my car. She was going north on Burlington, I’m pretty sure in the left lane, and she must have been flooring it because when she hit me my car spun all the way around and I hit her again on the back part. There were cars on the right side of her that were stopped and backed up for half a block because of the red light. I don’t know what she was doing. So I got out, and another guy stopped to help us, and I borrowed his cell phone to call 911 because I ran out of minutes on mine last month so I haven’t been using it.
…
Me: Mr. Bork, I understand you may have witnessed this accident that happened last week on 57th and Burlington. Could you spare a few minutes to tell me what you saw?
Mr. Bork: Oh, sure. I’d love to. Always glad to help out. Now, let’s see. I was standing on the corner waiting for the light so I could cross Burlington. I was on the, hmm, the northwest corner. No, wait, it was the northeast. Yeah, northeast. Right next to that Starbucks there. I go there for coffee every day. Now they say they’re closing. Don’t know what I’m going to do. Probably will have to start going to McDonalds down the street. Anyway, I’m standing there waiting, kind of feeling like I want to get going fast, because it looked like it was going to rain anytime. It was cloudy and starting to get real dark, you know? It just didn’t feel right. So while I’m standing there waiting for the light to turn green so I can go west across Burlington, this lady pulls up going north. She pulls into the left turn lane there – there’s two lanes you can go straight in, and one you can turn in. She whipped right into the turn lane, and there wasn’t nobody coming the other way, so she went ahead and turned. Well, just as she did that, this other guy, I don’t know what he was thinking, he just came south on Burlington at a high rate of speed, and when he saw her, he slammed on his brakes and he went into a skid, and he starting spinning around, you know, just like you see in the movies. It was really something! He just couldn’t get himself together and he kind of clipped her in the back corner part, by the light. And then she went flying off out of control and up the curb. Never seen nothin’ like it. I was really scared.
…
The conversations I just had with Mrs. Smith, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Bork all relate to the exact same accident. I do have these kinds of conversations some days, where I have to shake my head and wonder. How can people not see the same accident the same way? They were all there. Yet they don’t all agree on what directions people were going, what the weather conditions were, what color the light was or even which direction the sun sets. Occasionally I find myself asking the person the date and location of the accident again, just to make sure that we’re really talking about the same event. Only once has the person ever thought a little and said, “Oh, wait. Yeah, that was that one on Thursday. You’re talking about the accident on Wednesday, right?” Most of the time I find that people were describing the very same accident. But they recounted the events as they saw them and as they earnestly believed they happened, but all from their own vantage point. And sometimes from where they stood, the facts vary wildly from what the next guy will tell you. It’s all a matter of perspective.
The folks who were there when Jesus brought Lazarus out from the tomb each had their own vantage point as well. If we were to have interviewed them following these events, they would each have their own version of the facts, and their own reaction. Reading John’s account of the event, we see some of those mixed reactions up close and personal. Look with me over the next couple of days at the various points of view amongst those who witnessed or heard about Lazarus’ miraculous resurrection.
…
When Jesus arrived at Bethany, Martha met Him outside the gate. Meanwhile, Mary stayed in their home, surrounded by many of the Jews who had come to mourn with her and Martha. These mourners stayed close to Mary, and when she left the house to go meet Jesus, they followed her. So they were there to see Jesus when He was so emotionally impacted before He restored Lazarus to life. Amongst these folks who had assembled to mourn with Lazarus’ family we see the first instance of these mixed reactions, the different vantage points.
Some of them watched Jesus as He wept, and they said, “Look how deeply He loved him.” The romantics in the crowd saw Jesus’ tears, saw Him break down emotionally, and they saw Jesus’ profound love for His friend. They sensed His pain and His grief. A man who loved his friend so much would weep at this moment. To them, it could only mean that Jesus loved Lazarus so very deeply. So they watched and they marveled that He could love him so much.
But there were pragmatists among them as well. They saw the same Jesus weeping in the same way over the same death of the same Lazarus. But for them there was nothing romantic about it. There was nothing touching about it. These were the guys who had no time for the process. No time to just experience. No time to just feel what they were feeling. Got a problem? Well, let’s work out a solution. To these guys, the whole scenario just made no sense. These were the guys who saw Jesus weeping at Lazarus’ tomb and said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” Good grief, they said, this guy can work miracles. He can restore sight. Surely He could have healed Lazarus. What was He thinking? Why didn’t He do something? He had a chance to heal him and He didn’t. The solution was right in front of Him. He did nothing. He had His chance, and now He’s standing there crying. What good will that do now?
Two kinds of people. Two kinds of reactions. Both saw something in Jesus. One saw His capacity to love, to grieve, to feel. The other saw His ability to restore, to heal, to repair. And seeing what they saw, they responded differently. One marveled at Jesus. The other was annoyed at Him. One saw love as deep as the ocean. The other saw one big missed opportunity. One saw the real deal. One saw a fraud.
I don’t think either one of them saw the resurrection coming.
But here’s what I do think. I think that the one who recognized Jesus’ deep love for His friend was closer to the Kingdom than the one who believed that Jesus blew the moment. Here’s why. Jesus performed a lot of miraculous signs during His walk on earth. And while the miracles drew people to Him, sometimes in hoards, it was often those that came to Him for the miracles that were the first to go when the going got rough. They didn’t commit to Him because it’s tough to commit if it’s just to the signs.
There were those who were touched personally by Jesus’ power — not just bystanders who were amazed. These were the ones who were healed of debilitating illness, who were lame and made to walk, who were blind and made to see, who had loved ones restored to health or life. They experienced Jesus’ power, yes. But they first experienced His love. They first recognized that He saw them, that He loved them, that He wanted to touch them. They experienced His power through His love.
I won’t discount the significance of Jesus’ power and of the miracles. And I won’t devise a pecking order for the attributes of God. But I am convinced that those who experienced Jesus’ love were closer to the Kingdom than those who only recognized His power.
That’s the difference between these two people standing outside the tomb, mourning the death of Lazarus and observing Jesus as He wept. One could recognize the depth of Jesus’ love. The other saw only His power, and His failure to use it.
So when I see Jesus act, or not act, what do I see?
How do I let my priorities, my experience, my opinions and my preferences affect my perspective on what God is doing?
Is the light red or green? Were you going north or south? Does the sun set in the east or the west?
What’s my vantage point?
::
The Jews said, “Look how deeply he loved him.” Others among them said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” (John 11:36-37)
Claims folks like me love to tell you that there isn’t much we haven’t heard. We’re great to have at social gatherings because we have some of the best stories. We start to really believe we’ve heard it all.
We haven’t. There’s always tomorrow.
But one of the things that just doesn’t surprise us much is how vastly divergent perspectives different people may have on the very same incident. On any number of days in the process of investigating an accident we might have conversations like the following:
::
Me: Well, Mrs. Smith, why don’t you go ahead and describe the accident for me.
Mrs. Smith: Ok. First, you have to know I’m an excellent driver. I’ve been driving for over 60 years and I’ve never had a ticket.
Me: That’s terrific, Mrs. Smith. Now, let’s talk about how the accident happened.
Mrs. Smith: Right. Well, I was driving down the road, Burlington Boulevard, I think, but I can’t be sure because they keep changing the street names. I was in the right lane and traveling 24 miles per hour because the signs say the speed limit is 25 miles per hour and I don’t ever speed. It was about 4:45 in the afternoon, which I know because I was on my way home from water aerobics and it always gets done at 4:30. I was going eastbound, right into the sun. It was really bright. I remember that because I was having a hard time seeing because, well, you know how the sun can sometimes blind you when it’s setting and it reflects so terribly. So I was driving home, and thinking about that delicious roast that was in the oven and I was just hoping it wasn’t overdone because Mr. Smith just doesn’t like that at all. I came up to an intersection and I had a green light. I know it was green because the cars in the other lane were going through too, the ones that were driving on my left side. Well, you know, I had the green light, so I just went on through. That’s what you’re supposed to do at a green light, go through you know. So I did. And wouldn’t you know it, I just don’t know where the other car came from, but, BAM! He just hit me. Just like that. And my car spun around and I think I hit something else. A light post maybe. Or maybe it was another car. I just don’t know. It just shocked me, you know. I was pretty shook up. And he hit me in the front, on the right side. I’m pretty sure he was talking on his cellular phone like all those young kids do. And eating a hamburger. And his music was really loud. They just shouldn’t let people do that in their cars, you know?
:: :: ::
Me: Thanks for speaking to me today, Mr. Johnson. Could you describe for me what happened in the accident?
Mr. Johnson: Sure. Last Tuesday, around 4:30, maybe 5:00, I was on my way home from work. I was on 57th where it crosses Burlington. Are you from around here? It’s kind of a crazy intersection, really busy at that time of day. I was going eastbound, 57th runs east to west. I work in the city, and I always drive 57th home to my place east of the metro. The sun was starting to drop a little, and I remember trying to adjust my rear view mirror because it kept kind of hitting me right in the eye when I’d glance back. Well, anyway, I’m coming up to the intersection, and the light turned green when I was about, oh, I’d say six or eight car lengths back. I kind of slowed up a bit anyway, just to make sure the intersection was clear, but I figured I was good to go since there was another car ahead of me that was already going through. So I kept going, and when I was a little more than half way across, this lady, she just smacked right into me on the back right side of my car. She was going north on Burlington, I’m pretty sure in the left lane, and she must have been flooring it because when she hit me my car spun all the way around and I hit her again on the back part. There were cars on the right side of her that were stopped and backed up for half a block because of the red light. I don’t know what she was doing. So I got out, and another guy stopped to help us, and I borrowed his cell phone to call 911 because I ran out of minutes on mine last month so I haven’t been using it.
:: :: ::
Me: Mr. Bork, I understand you may have witnessed this accident that happened last week on 57th and Burlington. Could you spare a few minutes to tell me what you saw?
Mr. Bork: Oh, sure. I’d love to. Always glad to help out. Now, let’s see. I was standing on the corner waiting for the light so I could cross Burlington. I was on the, hmm, the northwest corner. No, wait, it was the northeast. Yeah, northeast. Right next to that Starbucks there. I go there for coffee every day. Now they say they’re closing. Don’t know what I’m going to do. Probably will have to start going to McDonalds down the street. Anyway, I’m standing there waiting, kind of feeling like I want to get going fast, because it looked like it was going to rain anytime. It was cloudy and starting to get real dark, you know? It just didn’t feel right. So while I’m standing there waiting for the light to turn green so I can go west across Burlington, this lady pulls up going north. She pulls into the left turn lane there – there’s two lanes you can go straight in, and one you can turn in. She whipped right into the turn lane, and there wasn’t nobody coming the other way, so she went ahead and turned. Well, just as she did that, this other guy, I don’t know what he was thinking, he just came south on Burlington at a high rate of speed, and when he saw her, he slammed on his brakes and he went into a skid, and he starting spinning around, you know, just like you see in the movies. It was really something! He just couldn’t get himself together and he kind of clipped her in the back corner part, by the light. And then she went flying off out of control and up the curb. Never seen nothin’ like it. I was really scared.
:: :: ::
The conversations I just had with Mrs. Smith, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Bork all relate to the exact same accident. I do have these kinds of conversations some days, where I have to shake my head and wonder. How can people not see the same accident the same way? They were all there. Yet they don’t all agree on what directions people were going, what the weather conditions were, what color the light was or even which direction the sun sets. Occasionally I find myself asking the person the date and location of the accident again, just to make sure that we’re really talking about the same event. Only once has the person ever thought a little and said, “Oh, wait. Yeah, that was that one on Thursday. You’re talking about the accident on Wednesday, right?” Most of the time I find that people were describing the very same accident. But they recounted the events as they saw them and as they earnestly believed they happened, but all from their own vantage point. And sometimes from where they stood, the facts vary wildly from what the next guy will tell you. It’s all a matter of perspective.
The folks who were there when Jesus brought Lazarus out from the tomb each had their own vantage point as well. If we were to have interviewed them following these events, they would each have their own version of the facts, and their own reaction. Reading John’s account of the event, we see some of those mixed reactions up close and personal. Look with me over the next couple of days at the various points of view amongst those who witnessed or heard about Lazarus’ miraculous resurrection.
::
When Jesus arrived at Bethany, Martha met Him outside the gate. Meanwhile, Mary stayed in their home, surrounded by many of the Jews who had come to mourn with her and Martha. These mourners stayed close to Mary, and when she left the house to go meet Jesus, they followed her. So they were there to see Jesus when He was so emotionally impacted before He restored Lazarus to life. Amongst these folks who had assembled to mourn with Lazarus’ family we see the first instance of these mixed reactions, the different vantage points.
Some of them watched Jesus as He wept, and they said, “Look how deeply He loved him.” The romantics in the crowd saw Jesus’ tears, saw Him break down emotionally, and they saw Jesus’ profound love for His friend. They sensed His pain and His grief. A man who loved his friend so much would weep at this moment. To them, it could only mean that Jesus loved Lazarus so very deeply. So they watched and they marveled that He could love him so much.
But there were pragmatists among them as well. They saw the same Jesus weeping in the same way over the same death of the same Lazarus. But for them there was nothing romantic about it. There was nothing touching about it. These were the guys who had no time for the process. No time to just experience. No time to just feel what they were feeling. Got a problem? Well, let’s work out a solution. To these guys, the whole scenario just made no sense. These were the guys who saw Jesus weeping at Lazarus’ tomb and said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” Good grief, they said, this guy can work miracles. He can restore sight. Surely He could have healed Lazarus. What was He thinking? Why didn’t He do something? He had a chance to heal him and He didn’t. The solution was right in front of Him. He did nothing. He had His chance, and now He’s standing there crying. What good will that do now?
::
Two kinds of people. Two kinds of reactions. Both saw something in Jesus. One saw His capacity to love, to grieve, to feel. The other saw His ability to restore, to heal, to repair. And seeing what they saw, they responded differently. One marveled at Jesus. The other was annoyed at Him. One saw love as deep as the ocean. The other saw one big missed opportunity. One saw the real deal. One saw a fraud.
I don’t think either one of them saw the resurrection coming.
But here’s what I do think. I think that the one who recognized Jesus’ deep love for His friend was closer to the Kingdom than the one who believed that Jesus blew the moment. Here’s why. Jesus performed a lot of miraculous signs during His walk on earth. And while the miracles drew people to Him, sometimes in hoards, it was often those that came to Him for the miracles that were the first to go when the going got rough. They didn’t commit to Him because it’s tough to commit if it’s just to the signs.
There were those who were touched personally by Jesus’ power — not just bystanders who were amazed. These were the ones who were healed of debilitating illness, who were lame and made to walk, who were blind and made to see, who had loved ones restored to health or life. They experienced Jesus’ power, yes. But they first experienced His love. They first recognized that He saw them, that He loved them, that He wanted to touch them. They experienced His power through His love.
I won’t discount the significance of Jesus’ power and of the miracles. And I won’t devise a pecking order for the attributes of God. But I am convinced that those who experienced Jesus’ love were closer to the Kingdom than those who only recognized His power.
That’s the difference between these two people standing outside the tomb, mourning the death of Lazarus and observing Jesus as He wept. One could recognize the depth of Jesus’ love. The other saw only His power, and His failure to use it.
So when I see Jesus act, or not act, what do I see?
How do I let my priorities, my experience, my opinions and my preferences affect my perspective on what God is doing?
Is the light red or green? Were you going north or south? Does the sun set in the east or the west?
“You don’t have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25-26 MSG)
The folks who were present at the time of Lazarus’ death and who were there to mourn him had mixed reactions to what they saw, something we’ll take a longer look at soon. But the one thing they all seemed to agree on is that Jesus could have been the difference between life and death.
Jesus knew He was the difference. He told His disciples before they headed off to be with Mary and Martha that Lazarus had fallen asleep and that He was “going there to wake him up.” (John 11:4)
Mary and Martha knew He was the difference. When they first saw Him, both of them said “if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” (John 11:21, 32)
Even the skeptics in the crowd knew He was the difference. When they saw Jesus’ grief, they said “Could not He who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” (John 11:37)
Jesus was the difference. They all knew it. Had He shown up on time, He could have kept Lazarus from dying. Lazarus would have still been alive. And we know already that Jesus demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that He was the difference between life and death by calling Lazarus out of the tomb. By cutting him loose from death’s grip.
But He had a conversation with Martha that revealed that beyond the physical difference He makes, He is also the difference between life and death in a spiritual and eternal sense. Martha understood there would be a resurrection one day. That the dead would all rise in the last day. So when Jesus told her that Lazarus would rise, this was what she was thinking. She knew he would rise at that time.
But Jesus challenged her understanding of the resurrection twofold. First, He told her she didn’t have to wait that long to experience the resurrection. It wasn’t just a last-days kind of resurrection. “I am, right now, Resurrection and Life.” It’s me. I’m it. I’m the difference. I’m all you need.
Martha, He told her, I can give you everything you need, everything you long for, right now. You don’t have to wait. I can do that because I am that. I am Resurrection. I am Life. I am all there is.
And to show it, He challenged her understanding, and her faith, again. “Do you believe this?”
He went on to the tomb, and He called Lazarus out. He demonstrated Resurrection. He demonstrated Life. He was both, and He did both.
There are things we have to wait for. A lot of things. Not everything I long for is going to happen today. Or tomorrow. Some of it isn’t going to happen on this side of that last-days resurrection.
But going from life to death? Experiencing the resurrection He offers every day? The redemption of my cold and distant heart? The life that only He can give?
I don’t have to wait. He has that there for me right now. He is, right now, Resurrection and Life.
::
“You don’t have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25-26 MSG)
The folks who were present at the time of Lazarus’ death and who were there to mourn him had mixed reactions to what they saw, something we’ll take a longer look at soon. But the one thing they all seemed to agree on is that Jesus could have been the difference between life and death.
Jesus knew He was the difference. He told His disciples before they headed off to be with Mary and Martha that Lazarus had fallen asleep and that He was “going there to wake him up.” (John 11:4)
Mary and Martha knew He was the difference. When they first saw Him, both of them said “if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” (John 11:21, 32)
Even the skeptics in the crowd knew He was the difference. When they saw Jesus’ grief, they said “Could not He who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” (John 11:37)
Jesus was the difference. They all knew it. Had He shown up on time, He could have kept Lazarus from dying. Lazarus would have still been alive. And we know already that Jesus demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that He was the difference between life and death by calling Lazarus out of the tomb. By cutting him loose from death’s grip.
But He had a conversation with Martha that revealed that beyond the physical difference He makes, He is also the difference between life and death in a spiritual and eternal sense. Martha understood there would be a resurrection one day. That the dead would all rise in the last day. So when Jesus told her that Lazarus would rise, this was what she was thinking. She knew he would rise at that time.
But Jesus challenged her understanding of the resurrection twofold. First, He told her she didn’t have to wait that long to experience the resurrection. It wasn’t just a last-days kind of resurrection. “I am, right now, Resurrection and Life.” It’s me. I’m it. I’m the difference. I’m all you need.
Martha, He told her, I can give you everything you need, everything you long for, right now. You don’t have to wait. I can do that because I am that. I am Resurrection. I am Life. I am all there is.
And to show it, He challenged her understanding, and her faith, again. “Do you believe this?”
He went on to the tomb, and He called Lazarus out. He demonstrated Resurrection. He demonstrated Life. He was both, and He did both.
There are things we have to wait for. A lot of things. Not everything I long for is going to happen today. Or tomorrow. Some of it isn’t going to happen on this side of that last-days resurrection.
But going from life to death? Experiencing the resurrection He offers every day? The redemption of my cold and distant heart? The life that only He can give?
I don’t have to wait. He has that there for me right now. He is, right now, Resurrection and Life.
Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, but oddly, when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed on where he was for two more days. After the two days, he said to his disciples, “Let’s go back to Judea.” (John 11:5-7 MSG)
::
If you’ve ever read Steven Covey, or if you’ve sat under the instruction of one who has, you’re no doubt familiar with the urgent/important matrix. More than just a time management principle, it’s strong basis for prioritizing most anything in life. The principle breaks our activity into four quadrants that looks something like my crude sketch below:
Managing your life or your work this way depends on being able to distinguish between important and not, and urgent and not. The “Important and Urgent” quadrant represents things that are important (must be done) but are also urgent (must be done now). Often the activities in this quadrant relate to crises, whether of our own making or not.
“Not Important and Urgent” tasks tend to be more like interruptions or distractions. Things that really don’t need to be done but capture our attention because if they’re going to be done at all they need to be done now.
The “Not Important and Not Urgent” quadrant houses activities that are all around meaningless things that don’t contribute to meeting our goals, but somehow lure us away into dorking around with them so we don’t get anything done that actually matters.
::
The observation has been made that high performing people and groups are those who are able to devote the greatest share of their time and resources to the “Important and Not Urgent” quadrant. The prize behind Door Number Two. The “Important and Not Urgent” things are those that don’t typically have so much time-sensitive urgency but are the true high-value activities that are so crucial to accomplishing what we desire and becoming who we long to be. High-value activities like planning, training and preparation. High-value activities like exercising and eating right. High-value activities like prayer and study and being with Jesus.
The sad thing is that the activities that pack the biggest punch for impact are the quickest to be thrown out the window in favor of the things that scream out loud and demand our immediate attention. So we spend more of our time on thing things that matter less.
::
Long introduction to get to my point. Sorry. Here it is: Jesus got it.
Jesus understood the impact of “Important and Not Urgent.”
Now, I’m not teaching a class on time management here today, though I truly wish I’d have thought of Lazarus the last time I did. Because long before there was a Steven Covey, Jesus was already practicing one of the most foundational principles of time management ever known to man.
::
As we read the story of Lazarus, we see that word was sent to Jesus that the one that He loved, His dear friend Lazarus, was sick. The one He loved was sick. The message must have come with a dire tone, for Jesus immediately assured those who were with Him that “This sickness will not end in death.”
But despite His assurances, there was clearly an urgency to the message. Lazarus did not have a cold. He didn’t have a migraine. He didn’t have the chicken pox. Lazarus was going to die. Those who sent for Jesus believed that Lazarus was near death, and they wanted Jesus nearby.
Lazarus was Jesus’ good friend. This was important.
Lazarus was dying. This was urgent.
And so Jesus waited a couple of days before He did anything.
::
What?
This was a crisis if ever there was one. Why wasn’t Jesus dropping everything to go and be with His friends who needed him so desperately? Didn’t He know about the quadrants? Didn’t He understand “Urgent and Important”? This is the thing that must be done and must be done now!
I like the addition that The Message makes of a single word to the text which, while it’s not in other versions, certainly states the obvious. It’s the word that we’re all thinking about Jesus’ decision to stay put and not to rush to the aid of His friends, but maybe we’re not sure we should be saying out loud about something Jesus did.
“…but oddly, he stayed where he was for two more days.”
Oddly indeed.
::
Jesus did explain Himself. He explained His seeming lack of urgency. Remember, back in verse 4, Jesus had told them that “This sickness will not end in death.”
But I’ll tell you what. We’ve read ahead. We know that Lazarus most certainly did die. He was entombed before Jesus even arrived, in fact. He was not “mostly dead” and needing a big pill from Miracle Max. He was dead dead. Dead.
So was Jesus mistaken? Was it wishful thinking? Why did He say it wouldn’t end in death when it so clearly had done just that?
::
Go back and read the text again. Jesus didn’t say that Lazarus wasn’t going to die. He didn’t say that at all. He said that the sickness would not “end in death.” He knew that there was more to Lazarus’ story. He knew that sickness and death were not the end, but rather the beginning.
He had something much more important in mind than the urgency of his friend’s most certain death.
He knew that this was an opportunity for God to be glorified. He went on in verse 4 to tell us that “it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.” Later, in verse 14 and 15, He told His disciples that Lazarus had in fact died, but that for their sake “I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe.” It was an opportunity for God’s power to be displayed for the purpose of creating belief and building faith. And just before He ultimately called Lazarus out of the tomb, He told them, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”
It was all about God’s glory revealed.
::
Jesus comprehended the importance of the moment at least as well as He grasped the urgency. But He bypassed the urgent call to rescue Lazarus from the grip of death in favor of the importance of revealing God’s glory. The Importance was so far greater than the Urgency.
::
Now, let me tell you something. This all ended well. Since we’ve read ahead, we also know that Lazarus exited the tomb fully alive. The sisters had their brother back, Jesus had His friend back, they all stopped their mourning, God got His glory, and all was well in Bethany.
But it doesn’t always work that way, does it? Usually people don’t come back. Sometimes illnesses don’t heal. Sometimes finances aren’t restored. Sometimes relationships aren’t mended. Sometimes scars are still visible. Sometimes floodwaters don’t recede. Sometimes the new job just isn’t there. Sometimes the old one still stinks.
Sometimes the suffering goes on and on and on. Sometimes the pain doesn’t end.
::
We see the urgency. We cry out for immediate relief. We have it in our “Urgent and Important” quadrant, with big bold letters, flashing lights and a blaring siren. How can God not see the urgency?
Sometimes He doesn’t see the Urgency because the Importance gets in the way.
There is something so monumentally important that He longs to do.
At times like that, we have to set aside our Urgency so that we can see the Importance too.
::
Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, but oddly, when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed on where he was for two more days. After the two days, he said to his disciples, “Let’s go back to Judea.” (John 11:5-7 MSG)
::
If you’ve ever read Steven Covey, or if you’ve sat under the instruction of one who has, you’re no doubt familiar with the urgent/important matrix. More than just a time management principle, it’s strong basis for prioritizing most anything in life. The principle breaks our activity into four quadrants that looks something like my crude sketch.
Managing your life or your work this way depends on being able to distinguish between important and not, and urgent and not. The “Important and Urgent” quadrant represents things that are important (must be done) but are also urgent (must be done now). Often the activities in this quadrant relate to crises, whether of our own making or not.
“Not Important and Urgent” tasks tend to be more like interruptions or distractions. Things that really don’t need to be done but capture our attention because if they’re going to be done at all they need to be done now.
The “Not Important and Not Urgent” quadrant houses activities that are all around meaningless things that don’t contribute to meeting our goals, but somehow lure us away into dorking around with them so we don’t get anything done that actually matters.
::
The observation has been made that high performing people and groups are those who are able to devote the greatest share of their time and resources to the “Important and Not Urgent” quadrant. The prize behind Door Number Two. The “Important and Not Urgent” things are those that don’t typically have so much time-sensitive urgency but are the true high-value activities that are so crucial to accomplishing what we desire and becoming who we long to be. High-value activities like planning, training and preparation. High-value activities like exercising and eating right. High-value activities like prayer and study and being with Jesus.
The sad thing is that the activities that pack the biggest punch for impact are the quickest to be thrown out the window in favor of the things that scream out loud and demand our immediate attention. So we spend more of our time on thing things that matter less.
::
Long introduction to get to my point. Sorry. Here it is: Jesus got it.
Jesus understood the impact of “Important and Not Urgent.”
Now, I’m not teaching a class on time management here today, though I truly wish I’d have thought of Lazarus the last time I did. Because long before there was a Steven Covey, Jesus was already practicing one of the most foundational principles of time management ever known to man.
::
As we read the story of Lazarus, we see that word was sent to Jesus that the one that He loved, His dear friend Lazarus, was sick. The one He loved was sick. The message must have come with a dire tone, for Jesus immediately assured those who were with Him that “This sickness will not end in death.”
But despite His assurances, there was clearly an urgency to the message. Lazarus did not have a cold. He didn’t have a migraine. He didn’t have the chicken pox. Lazarus was going to die. Those who sent for Jesus believed that Lazarus was near death, and they wanted Jesus nearby.
Lazarus was Jesus’ good friend. This was important.
Lazarus was dying. This was urgent.
And so Jesus waited a couple of days before He did anything.
::
What?
This was a crisis if ever there was one. Why wasn’t Jesus dropping everything to go and be with His friends who needed him so desperately? Didn’t He know about the quadrants? Didn’t He understand “Urgent and Important”? This is the thing that must be done and must be done now!
I like the addition that The Message makes of a single word to the text which, while it’s not in other versions, certainly states the obvious. It’s the word that we’re all thinking about Jesus’ decision to stay put and not to rush to the aid of His friends, but maybe we’re not sure we should be saying out loud about something Jesus did.
“…but oddly, he stayed where he was for two more days.”
Oddly indeed.
::
Jesus did explain Himself. He explained His seeming lack of urgency. Remember, back in verse 4, Jesus had told them that “This sickness will not end in death.”
But I’ll tell you what. We’ve read ahead. We know that Lazarus most certainly did die. He was entombed before Jesus even arrived, in fact. He was not “mostly dead” and needing a big pill from Miracle Max. He was dead dead. Dead.
So was Jesus mistaken? Was it wishful thinking? Why did He say it wouldn’t end in death when it so clearly had done just that?
::
Go back and read the text again. Jesus didn’t say that Lazarus wasn’t going to die. He didn’t say that at all. He said that the sickness would not “end in death.” He knew that there was more to Lazarus’ story. He knew that sickness and death were not the end, but rather the beginning.
He had something much more important in mind than the urgency of his friend’s most certain death.
He knew that this was an opportunity for God to be glorified. He went on in verse 4 to tell us that “it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.” Later, in verse 14 and 15, He told His disciples that Lazarus had in fact died, but that for their sake “I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe.” It was an opportunity for God’s power to be displayed for the purpose of creating belief and building faith. And just before He ultimately called Lazarus out of the tomb, He told them, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”
It was all about God’s glory revealed.
::
Jesus comprehended the importance of the moment at least as well as He grasped the urgency. But He bypassed the urgent call to rescue Lazarus from the grip of death in favor of the importance of revealing God’s glory. The Importance was so far greater than the Urgency.
::
Now, let me tell you something. This all ended well. Since we’ve read ahead, we also know that Lazarus exited the tomb fully alive. The sisters had their brother back, Jesus had His friend back, they all stopped their mourning, God got His glory, and all was well in Bethany.
But it doesn’t always work that way, does it? Usually people don’t come back. Sometimes illnesses don’t heal. Sometimes finances aren’t restored. Sometimes relationships aren’t mended. Sometimes scars are still visible. Sometimes floodwaters don’t recede. Sometimes the new job just isn’t there. Sometimes the old one still stinks.
Sometimes the suffering goes on and on and on. Sometimes the pain doesn’t end.
::
We see the urgency. We cry out for immediate relief. We have it in our “Urgent and Important” quadrant, with big bold letters, flashing lights and a blaring siren. How can God not see the urgency?
Sometimes He doesn’t see the Urgency because the Importance gets in the way.
There is something so monumentally important that He longs to do.
At times like that, we have to set aside our Urgency so that we can see the Importance too.
So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.” (John 11:3)
There is this one thing that underlies the whole account of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. It’s there at the beginning, when He learns of Lazarus’ illness. It’s there when He calls him out of the tomb. It’s there when He doesn’t rush to Lazarus’ side but delays His visit. And it’s there when He first meets up with the man’s sisters after his death.
This one thing is how much Jesus loved Lazarus. And his sisters, Mary and Martha.
Jesus really loved them. As friends.
I know, Jesus loves everyone. And I’m not going to dive into some sort of untenable debate about whether or not God has favorites. But we know from watching Him with His disciples that Jesus was closer to some of them than others. And it’s difficult to read the account of Lazarus and not believe that Jesus has a special closeness to His friends Lazarus, Mary and Martha.
They were more than followers. They were more than disciples. They were more than the people who flocked to see Him wherever He went.
They were His good friends.
When the sisters, Mary and Martha, sent word to Jesus, the message was almost cryptic. “The one you love is sick.” Why didn’t they call him by name? They didn’t have to. The message wasn’t cryptic to Jesus. Jesus would know who they meant. Jesus would know who was sick. Jesus would know they were talking about His good friend Lazarus. He wouldn’t be confused about which “one” He loved was ill.
Throughout chapter 11, John makes it remarkably clear that Jesus shared a very special relationship with Lazarus and his sisters. In verse 5, in case the rest of the text did make it too cryptic, John spells it out very directly: “Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.” When He sees the grief of the sisters over the loss of their brother, Jesus is moved. He is moved to tears. His response to Mary and Martha, His mourning over the loss, causes some of those who had come to mourn with Mary and Martha to exclaim, “See how He loved him!”
One of the things you’ve likely realized is that I frequently have to stop and marvel when the capacity of the Father and the Son to experience what we do is demonstrated. I am struck when God’s personal nature is revealed. To see His love not just for His people but here for His friends, such that it moves Him to grieve with them, is something that simply compels me to fall more in love with Him.
Jesus had friends. Friends that He loved deeply.
He was God, and He had friends.
So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.” (John 11:3)
There is this one thing that underlies the whole account of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. It’s there at the beginning, when He learns of Lazarus’ illness. It’s there when He calls him out of the tomb. It’s there when He doesn’t rush to Lazarus’ side but delays His visit. And it’s there when He first meets up with the man’s sisters after his death.
This one thing is how much Jesus loved Lazarus. And his sisters, Mary and Martha.
Jesus really loved them. As friends.
I know, Jesus loves everyone. And I’m not going to dive into some sort of untenable debate about whether or not God has favorites. But we know from watching Him with His disciples that Jesus was closer to some of them than others. And it’s difficult to read the account of Lazarus and not believe that Jesus has a special closeness to His friends Lazarus, Mary and Martha.
They were more than followers. They were more than disciples. They were more than the people who flocked to see Him wherever He went.
They were His good friends.
When the sisters, Mary and Martha, sent word to Jesus, the message was almost cryptic. “The one you love is sick.” Why didn’t they call him by name? They didn’t have to. The message wasn’t cryptic to Jesus. Jesus would know who they meant. Jesus would know who was sick. Jesus would know they were talking about His good friend Lazarus. He wouldn’t be confused about which “one” He loved was ill.
Throughout chapter 11, John makes it remarkably clear that Jesus shared a very special relationship with Lazarus and his sisters. In verse 5, in case the rest of the text did make it too cryptic, John spells it out very directly: “Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.” When He sees the grief of the sisters over the loss of their brother, Jesus is moved. He is moved to tears. His response to Mary and Martha, His mourning over the loss, causes some of those who had come to mourn with Mary and Martha to exclaim, “See how He loved him!”
One of the things you’ve likely realized is that I frequently have to stop and marvel when the capacity of the Father and the Son to experience what we do is demonstrated. I am struck when God’s personal nature is revealed. To see His love not just for His people but here for His friends, such that it moves Him to grieve with them, is something that simply compels me to fall more in love with Him.
If you’ve been around here at all with me the last few months, you have undoubtably figured out by now that sometimes I get stuck in a chapter or a passage and I just can’t seem to let it go. I get to wandering around and around and I don’t always even want to find my way out. So it’s not surprising then that I’ve been reading and rereading John 11 and 12 for the last week now. There’s something about this story of Jesus bringing his dear friend Lazarus out of the tomb and letting him go that just won’t seem to let me go. On its face, I suppose, it’s a fairly simple story. Pretty straightforward.
What do I have to go and make such a big deal out of it for?
It’s one of many miraculous signs Jesus performed as He walked with us on earth. But this one, this one was different. This was one of the more rare times when Jesus’ power and person was brought to bear in a miraculous way on one of those to whom He was so close. Lazarus was an intimate friend. There’s a lengthy lead-up to the miracle itself in which we see something of Jesus’ heart tenderly revealed, and following the miracle we see the impact of that ripple out in amazing — and sometimes unsettling — ways.
Will you permit me to explore this Learning from Lazarus for a couple of days?
If you’ve been around here at all with me the last few months, you have undoubtably figured out by now that sometimes I get stuck in a chapter or a passage and I just can’t seem to let it go. I get to wandering around and around and I don’t always even want to find my way out. So it’s not surprising then that I’ve been reading and rereading John 11 and 12 for the last week now. There’s something about this story of Jesus bringing his dear friend Lazarus out of the tomb and letting him go that just won’t seem to let me go. On its face, I suppose, it’s a fairly simple story. Pretty straightforward.
What do I have to go and make such a big deal out of it for?
It’s one of many miraculous signs Jesus performed as He walked with us on earth. But this one, this one was different. This was one of the more rare times when Jesus’ power and person was brought to bear in a miraculous way on one of those to whom He was so close. Lazarus was an intimate friend. There’s a lengthy lead-up to the miracle itself in which we see something of Jesus’ heart tenderly revealed, and following the miracle we see the impact of that ripple out in amazing — and sometimes unsettling — ways.
Will you permit me to explore this Learning from Lazarus for a couple of days?
Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. Consequently, he who rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves. For rulers hold no terror for those who do right, but for those who do wrong. Do you want to be free from fear of the one in authority? Then do what is right and he will commend you. For he is God’s servant to do you good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword for nothing. He is God’s servant, an agent of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer. Therefore, it is necessary to submit to the authorities, not only because of possible punishment but also because of conscience. This is also why you pay taxes, for the authorities are God’s servants, who give their full time to governing. Give everyone what you owe him: If you owe taxes, pay taxes; if revenue, then revenue; if respect, then respect; if honor, then honor. (Romans 13:1-7 NIV)
If you take enough courses from the same college professor, you start to hear the same stories, laugh at the same jokes, predict when he’ll use the same expressions, and fine tune the prof’s idiosyncracies. I had a favorite political science prof who, in addition to being a respectable instructor, was a little on the goofy side. He was a tall, lanky fellow and a little awkward on his feet. He usually had a rooster tail hairdo and occasionally wore his sweaters backwards. But he always had a good story to tell. And I though I left his classes with grades that left something to be desired, I learned a lot of great phrases and expressions that I liked to use other places. One that has stuck throughout the years was his reference to a pair of presidential candidates that seemed to be equally unsatisfying to most of the electorate. He referred to voting in that election as choosing between “the evil of two lessers.”
I think that’s how many people view this election as well. Many people are excited about their favored candidate, but a lot of folks have just not been able to get fired up about either one. Both have given them cause for concern for one reason or another, or for lots of reasons for that matter.
If you know me, you know I’m something of a political junkie. Sites like politico.com and realclearpolitics.com take top billing in my Internet bookmarks. During the presidential primary and general election debates, I could usually be found in front of the television with my laptop and two or three websites open that were liveblogging the event. I learned a couple of decades ago not to get into political arguments though, and with the exception of a few small circles I try to keep my comments vague and my precise perspective on candidates and issues to myself. This has never been a political blog and don’t expect it ever will be. But as I sit here tonight watching CNN dissect election returns, I become more acutely aware of how tomorrow will be yet another in a long list of recent days that brings with it waves of lasting change for our country. You might see that as exciting and long needed change, the dawn of something new and hopeful for us. Or you might see nothing but unraveling and crumbling in the days and years to come. I’m not going to tell you how I see it. It’s not the point.
Whichever way it goes for you, I think it’s important to remember where God has His hand. Paul writes to the Romans, and so then also to us, that there is “no authority except that which God has established.” I won’t argue about whether or not the man we elect tonight is hand picked by God, or that God had a favorite candidate, or if God belongs to one party or the other. I don’t think that kind of discussion is fruitful and I think it tends to be reflect our arrogance when we think we are in position to make that kind of decision for God. But I digress. The point is that they don’t get authority except what God gives to them. No one is in that place of authority that was not allowed to be there by God. God’s hand is here with us. God’s sovereignty is not to be undone by the U.S. presidential election in 2008.
Now, here’s something I find interesting about Paul’s word to the Romans. He asks them, “Do you want to be free from the fear of the one in authority?” He’s about to give some wise counsel to the Roman Christians about how to conduct themselves in such a way that they need not fear governmental authority. Now, he’s talking here in the context of doing what is right to remain in good standing with the authorities. But if you tip your head just a little to take a slightly different angle on it, I think there’s counsel for us here as well. Are you fearful about the man who appears poised to become our next president? Are you afraid of what changes he’ll make? Are you afraid of things you’ve heard? Are you afraid of what’s going to happen now? Paul says you don’t need to be. “For rulers hold no terror or those who do right.” The guy who becomes president on January 20 has his job to do. And he’s accountable to God for how he governs. But I have my job to do too. If I do my part, if I continue to do right, I have no need to fear. God is in control. He has allowed the authorities to be in place that are, not just in the U.S. but around the globe.
The new president’s part will be to govern responsibly. My part? “Give everyone what you owe him.” According to Paul, that ranges from everything from the very tangible things like taxes and revenue to the more abstract and slippery things like respect and honor. Like the guy or not, like his policies or not, we give him what he is due.
Whether or not God takes care of us has nothing to do with who happens to be in the White House or in the Congress. Let’s face it. No matter who gets it done tonight, we’re in for some ground shaking changes over the next several years. God is no less in control before the election than after. He’s no less in control before the mortgage crisis than after. He’s no less in control whether we live and breathe trickle down economics or believe we need to spread the wealth around. He’s no less in control. Period.
Authorities exist and are permitted to govern because God has allowed them to do so. Despite CNN’s best efforts to try to convince us that there’s still some suspense in this thing, God will not be surprised when the final votes are tallied and the networks call the last state. He knew back in the day when He walked and talked with Noah what would be happening in a country a world away, that wasn’t even populated yet, thousands of years later.
Call it as you will, whether we got the greater or the lesser. Like David, we put our hope in God. We don’t put our hope in earthly authorities, but neither do we need to fear them.
My political ranting can now be put to rest for another four years or so. We hope.
Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. Consequently, he who rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves. For rulers hold no terror for those who do right, but for those who do wrong. Do you want to be free from fear of the one in authority? Then do what is right and he will commend you. For he is God’s servant to do you good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword for nothing. He is God’s servant, an agent of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer. Therefore, it is necessary to submit to the authorities, not only because of possible punishment but also because of conscience. This is also why you pay taxes, for the authorities are God’s servants, who give their full time to governing. Give everyone what you owe him: If you owe taxes, pay taxes; if revenue, then revenue; if respect, then respect; if honor, then honor. (Romans 13:1-7 NIV)
If you take enough courses from the same college professor, you start to hear the same stories, laugh at the same jokes, predict when he’ll use the same expressions, and fine tune the prof’s idiosyncracies. I had a favorite political science prof who, in addition to being a respectable instructor, was a little on the goofy side. He was a tall, lanky fellow and a little awkward on his feet. He usually had a rooster tail hairdo and occasionally wore his sweaters backwards. But he always had a good story to tell. And I though I left his classes with grades that left something to be desired, I learned a lot of great phrases and expressions that I liked to use other places. One that has stuck throughout the years was his reference to a pair of presidential candidates that seemed to be equally unsatisfying to most of the electorate. He referred to voting in that election as choosing between “the evil of two lessers.”
I think that’s how many people view this election as well. Many people are excited about their favored candidate, but a lot of folks have just not been able to get fired up about either one. Both have given them cause for concern for one reason or another, or for lots of reasons for that matter.
If you know me, you know I’m something of a political junkie. Sites like politico.com and realclearpolitics.com take top billing in my Internet bookmarks. During the presidential primary and general election debates, I could usually be found in front of the television with my laptop and two or three websites open that were liveblogging the event. I learned a couple of decades ago not to get into political arguments though, and with the exception of a few small circles I try to keep my comments vague and my precise perspective on candidates and issues to myself. This has never been a political blog and don’t expect it ever will be. But as I sit here tonight watching CNN dissect election returns, I become more acutely aware of how tomorrow will be yet another in a long list of recent days that brings with it waves of lasting change for our country. You might see that as exciting and long needed change, the dawn of something new and hopeful for us. Or you might see nothing but unraveling and crumbling in the days and years to come. I’m not going to tell you how I see it. It’s not the point.
Whichever way it goes for you, I think it’s important to remember where God has His hand. Paul writes to the Romans, and so then also to us, that there is “no authority except that which God has established.” I won’t argue about whether or not the man we elect tonight is hand picked by God, or that God had a favorite candidate, or if God belongs to one party or the other. I don’t think that kind of discussion is fruitful and I think it tends to be reflect our arrogance when we think we are in position to make that kind of decision for God. But I digress. The point is that they don’t get authority except what God gives to them. No one is in that place of authority that was not allowed to be there by God. God’s hand is here with us. God’s sovereignty is not to be undone by the U.S. presidential election in 2008.
Now, here’s something I find interesting about Paul’s word to the Romans. He asks them, “Do you want to be free from the fear of the one in authority?” He’s about to give some wise counsel to the Roman Christians about how to conduct themselves in such a way that they need not fear governmental authority. Now, he’s talking here in the context of doing what is right to remain in good standing with the authorities. But if you tip your head just a little to take a slightly different angle on it, I think there’s counsel for us here as well. Are you fearful about the man who appears poised to become our next president? Are you afraid of what changes he’ll make? Are you afraid of things you’ve heard? Are you afraid of what’s going to happen now? Paul says you don’t need to be. “For rulers hold no terror or those who do right.” The guy who becomes president on January 20 has his job to do. And he’s accountable to God for how he governs. But I have my job to do too. If I do my part, if I continue to do right, I have no need to fear. God is in control. He has allowed the authorities to be in place that are, not just in the U.S. but around the globe.
The new president’s part will be to govern responsibly. My part? “Give everyone what you owe him.” According to Paul, that ranges from everything from the very tangible things like taxes and revenue to the more abstract and slippery things like respect and honor. Like the guy or not, like his policies or not, we give him what he is due.
Whether or not God takes care of us has nothing to do with who happens to be in the White House or in the Congress. Let’s face it. No matter who gets it done tonight, we’re in for some ground shaking changes over the next several years. God is no less in control before the election than after. He’s no less in control before the mortgage crisis than after. He’s no less in control whether we live and breathe trickle down economics or believe we need to spread the wealth around. He’s no less in control. Period.
Authorities exist and are permitted to govern because God has allowed them to do so. Despite CNN’s best efforts to try to convince us that there’s still some suspense in this thing, God will not be surprised when the final votes are tallied and the networks call the last state. He knew back in the day when He walked and talked with Noah what would be happening in a country a world away, that wasn’t even populated yet, thousands of years later.
Call it as you will, whether we got the greater or the lesser. Like David, we put our hope in God. We don’t put our hope in earthly authorities, but neither do we need to fear them.
My political ranting can now be put to rest for another four years or so. We hope.
1 As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God.
2 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?
3 My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
4 These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go with the multitude, leading the procession to the house of God, with shouts of joy and thanksgiving among the festive throng.
5 Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and 6 my God. My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you from the land of the Jordan, the heights of Hermon —- from Mount Mizar.
7 Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.
8 By day the LORD directs his love, at night his song is with me — a prayer to the God of my life.
9 I say to God my Rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?”
10 My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me, saying to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
11 Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.
(Psalm 42, NIV)
I think that if King David hung out with us today, we’d want to make sure he was on medication. Near Psalm 42, I have scribbled down some notes to the effect that “David is manic.” There’s a sense when you read this Psalm of David, and so many others, that he experienced wide emotional variances, such that “mood swings” hardly seems sufficient to describe them. He so often would go through wild changes, seemingly from one moment to the next. And I believe that Psalm 42 embodies that more than any other.
He begins by describing his yearning for God. Like a deer panting, thirsting after God, anxious for the time he can go meet with Him. He goes on to lament his lament. Tears are his food, he is tormented by those who mock his faith in God, and he mourns the loss of the days when he used to lead the throngs in jubilant worship.
But then he suddenly changes gears. He challenges himself. “Why are you downcast, O my soul?” The Message puts it like this, “Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues?” He takes this sudden turn and reminds himself that he need not despair. No, he can put his hope in God. He can praise God. He continues in The Message to say, “Fix my eyes on God — soon I’ll be praising again. He puts a smile on my face. He’s my God.” And he remembers all those things about God that give him strength to go on.
Five verses ago, his tears were his food, “day and night.” But now? Now he says that “by day the Lord directs His love, at night His song is with me.”
No sooner does he replace his nightly tears with God’s very song than he about-faces again, demanding of God, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning?” In the very same sentence that he calls God his Rock, or in the Message, “my rock-solid God,” he accuses God of having forgotten him. His bones suffer “mortal agony.”
And then he immediately jumps back to “What are you thinking, Soul? Why are you downcast? Why so disturbed?”
Put your hope in God.
So maybe David did have a little emotional instability. I read David, and sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to hang out with him. Would his constant emotional turmoil followed by rejoicing and then more turmoil completely wear me out? I like even-keel. I like stable. I like constant. I like predictable. David would drive me absolutely nuts.
But then again, maybe David wasn’t that unstable at all. Relatively speaking anyway. Maybe he was just like the rest of us, but just really bad at wearing a mask. Maybe he was just terrible at hiding what was going on inside him. Maybe he just didn’t have a clue about burying his pain and pretending all was well.
David was willing to turn himself inside out. He was willing to put words on what he was feeling. He was willing to get everything out in the open. He wasn’t afraid to admit his bones were burning up, that food tasted like sand, that his soul was parched, that he was overwhelmed by horror, that he felt pursued to death and in the most anguished need of his God. He never pretended that it wasn’t true. He was more interested in just putting his hope in God.
He was quick to remember God’s unfailing love, His new-every-morning mercy, His unending faithfulness, His limitless justice.
For David, the eloquent and authentic psalmist, was still as much the shepherd boy as he would also be the king. The giant slayer was also the young and naive keeper of the flocks. The mighty warrior could sit quietly and play the harp.
He knew the despair of being separated from God, and the safety of being intimately connected to Him. He fully experienced both, and never masked over either one.
David might make me uncomfortable. I know he would. But if I look at myself honestly I have to admit I have the same kinds of wild emotional twists and turns that he did.
I despair. I rejoice. I lose it sometimes. And other times I find it. I just like to make it look like I cut it right through the middle.
And still, God stands there with me, on either side of that line, just like He did with David.
::
As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?
My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go with the multitude, leading the procession to the house of God, with shouts of joy and thanksgiving among the festive throng.
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you from the land of the Jordan, the heights of Hermon —- from Mount Mizar.
Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.
By day the LORD directs his love, at night his song is with me — a prayer to the God of my life.
I say to God my Rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?”
My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me, saying to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. (Psalm 42, NIV)
I think that if King David hung out with us today, we’d want to make sure he was on medication. Near Psalm 42, I have scribbled down some notes to the effect that “David is manic.” There’s a sense when you read this Psalm of David, and so many others, that he experienced wide emotional variances, such that “mood swings” hardly seems sufficient to describe them. He so often would go through wild changes, seemingly from one moment to the next. And I believe that Psalm 42 embodies that more than any other.
He begins by describing his yearning for God. Like a deer panting, thirsting after God, anxious for the time he can go meet with Him. He goes on to lament his lament. Tears are his food, he is tormented by those who mock his faith in God, and he mourns the loss of the days when he used to lead the throngs in jubilant worship.
But then he suddenly changes gears. He challenges himself. “Why are you downcast, O my soul?” The Message puts it like this, “Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues?” He takes this sudden turn and reminds himself that he need not despair. No, he can put his hope in God. He can praise God. He continues in The Message to say, “Fix my eyes on God — soon I’ll be praising again. He puts a smile on my face. He’s my God.” And he remembers all those things about God that give him strength to go on.
Five verses ago, his tears were his food, “day and night.” But now? Now he says that “by day the Lord directs His love, at night His song is with me.”
No sooner does he replace his nightly tears with God’s very song than he about-faces again, demanding of God, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning?” In the very same sentence that he calls God his Rock, or in the Message, “my rock-solid God,” he accuses God of having forgotten him. His bones suffer “mortal agony.”
And then he immediately jumps back to “What are you thinking, Soul? Why are you downcast? Why so disturbed?”
Put your hope in God.
So maybe David did have a little emotional instability. I read David, and sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to hang out with him. Would his constant emotional turmoil followed by rejoicing and then more turmoil completely wear me out? I like even-keel. I like stable. I like constant. I like predictable. David would drive me absolutely nuts.
But then again, maybe David wasn’t that unstable at all. Relatively speaking anyway. Maybe he was just like the rest of us, but just really bad at wearing a mask. Maybe he was just terrible at hiding what was going on inside him. Maybe he just didn’t have a clue about burying his pain and pretending all was well.
David was willing to turn himself inside out. He was willing to put words on what he was feeling. He was willing to get everything out in the open. He wasn’t afraid to admit his bones were burning up, that food tasted like sand, that his soul was parched, that he was overwhelmed by horror, that he felt pursued to death and in the most anguished need of his God. He never pretended that it wasn’t true. He was more interested in just putting his hope in God.
He was quick to remember God’s unfailing love, His new-every-morning mercy, His unending faithfulness, His limitless justice.
For David, the eloquent and authentic psalmist, was still as much the shepherd boy as he would also be the king. The giant slayer was also the young and naive keeper of the flocks. The mighty warrior could sit quietly and play the harp.
He knew the despair of being separated from God, and the safety of being intimately connected to Him. He fully experienced both, and never masked over either one.
David might make me uncomfortable. I know he would. But if I look at myself honestly I have to admit I have the same kinds of wild emotional twists and turns that he did.
I despair. I rejoice. I lose it sometimes. And other times I find it. I just like to make it look like I cut it right through the middle.
And still, God stands there with me, on either side of that line, just like He did with David.
MAKING HEADROOMchronicles a year (or so) of weekly trips to a monastery,
where words are spoken slowly,
as though the point is to hear them —
not to see how many can fit into an
already bustling space. It’s the kind
of place where the next thing is glad
to wait as long as it takes for an old man
to shuffle across the room.
I learn to meet him in the quiet
so I can also meet him in the clamor.
…but she’s not. Now that she’s big enough and agile enough to go anywhere she wants, we can’t leave stuff out like we used to. Well, we still do. But we shouldn’t. She gets into everything. She finds pens, bottle caps, flash drives, loose change, empty bottles, and anything else she can carry in her teeth, and stashes it under the throw rugs or behind the computer desk. She’s a thief and a hoarder. 
And she’s not nice. Yes, that’s my arm she’s chewing. I call that The Death Grip. See how she has her front feet wrapped around my forearm? Her claws have punctured my arm to hold it secure. You can’t see her teeth, but that’s just because they are sunken into my flesh. And her back feet? The still photos won’t show it but she’s using them almost like she’s propelling a kick board in the pool, not for the purpose of going anywhere, but primarily to shred whatever is left of my arm after her front claws and teeth are done. 
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