The Scarlet Cord
Joshua said to the two men who had spied out the land, “Go into the prostitute’s house and bring her out and all who belong to her, in accordance with your oath to her.” So the young men who had done the spying went in and brought out Rahab, her father and mother and brothers and all who belonged to her. They brought out her entire family and put them in a place outside the camp of Israel.
Then they burned the whole city and everything in it, but they put the silver and gold and the articles of bronze and iron into the treasury of the LORD’s house. But Joshua spared Rahab the prostitute, with her family and all who belonged to her, because she hid the men Joshua had sent as spies to Jericho—and she lives among the Israelites to this day. (Joshua 6:22-25)
Rahab was nobody special.
Not the way we like to look at folks anyway.
She was your run of the mill Jericho prostitute, selling what she had just to make ends meet. In those days, girls like her must have been a dime a dozen. Nobody special.
She had a pretty busy life. A working girl in the days when girls didn’t usually hold down jobs. Still, she kept up with current events as best as she was able. At least well enough to have heard the amazing – and terrifying – tales of the destruction of those who opposed the advancing ragtag people of Israel. Seemed that everywhere they went, nations were laid waste. Nothing that stood in their way ever stood for very long.
Imagine her fright when two of these Hebrew fellows showed up at her door. Surely they weren’t there for what men usually stopped for. What were they doing? What did they want?
Why did they have to come to her house?
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Word travels fast in a walled-in city. They no sooner arrived when the king heard there were spies. And he heard they were at the prostitute’s house. So he sent his men to retrieve them.
The prostitute lied. Rahab told the soldiers they’d been there but had since fled. Even though they were hiding under the stalks on her rooftop as they spoke.
She suddenly appears even less special than we thought. She was not only a prostitute but a liar too.
What kind of girl was this?
::
Rahab and the Hebrew spies struck a deal. She saw what was coming. She knew Jericho would be the next target. She knew they’d all be destroyed.
But she was a survivor. She wouldn’t accept that.
The lying prostitute may not have been well educated. But she had the street smarts it took to keep her alive. She’d seen enough to know that the Hebrews were no ordinary folks. They had a God working on their side. A God that had turned them all to mush in their fear. Rahab knew that this God of theirs was the one true God.
“When we heard of it, our hearts melted and everyone’s courage failed because of you, for the LORD your God is God in heaven above and on the earth below,” she said (Joshua 2:11-12).
She knew she’d seen the One at work.
The only One.
Why else would she risk her life for two guys she didn’t know? Guys that weren’t even there to do business.
::
They agreed to spare her and her family, provided she held her end of the deal. And that she hung a scarlet cord in her window. Without that cord, she was as good as dead.
So when the walls came down, Joshua remembered her. He sent his guys into the city to rescue her first. Before the army destroyed the rest of the city.
She hung the scarlet cord in her window.
And she was spared.
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She was nobody special. A common prostitute and liar.
But she had the scarlet cord.
The scarlet cord that meant the difference between living and dying.
Salvation and destruction.
Life hung in the balance while the cord hung in the window.
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Of course, Rahab wasn’t saved by a scarlet cord.
The cord was the sign, nothing more. It was the way they could know who she was. Like the blood over the doorframes for the Hebrews, it pointed her out.
“Over here! She’s the one. The one who’s been spared. I can see the cord!”
Rahab’s faith was such that she was counted among those in the writer of Hebrews’ “Hall of Faith.” The faith of this nobody special, this lying prostitute, put her in the company of the likes of Abraham. Moses. Joseph.
The cord was a sign of that faith in the one true God.
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A shout out for Voice of the Martyr's campaign to pray for China during the Olympics. Another reminder.
I’m looking for those kinds of signs.
Signs, markers, posts, stones.
A cord.
Ways to remind me of Who God is. What we’re here for. Tangible reminders. They might seem contrived. But I’m looking lately for ways to put up the signs and markers.
So I can remember all day long.
I’m not a common prostitute like Rahab. But I’m just like her. Nobody special. Going on with life doing my own kind of sin when God stepped in and gave me the chance to put my faith in Him.
Gave me the chance to be rescued from certain destruction.
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I have a scarlet cord now. Well, not quite scarlet. That’s kind of bright for me. But from the family of red anyway. JP helped me make it this afternoon so I can wear it on my wrist (carrying a window is just not practical).
I’ll wear it to remember that He’s the one true God.
The one that spared me.
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I Am Second
I lack words to describe this, except to say that you should check it out. Probably good, so I don’t detract from the message. The stories (from Korn’s Brian Welch to baseball’s Josh Hamilton and a lot of ordinary folks in between) give me reason to believe — in my core — what God says is true.
And that’s good for me these days.
Bring a cup of coffee, plan to stay for a while, and just listen to God change lives.
That’s what He does when we are second.
He is first.
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Advanced Darkness
In him was life, and that life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (John 1:4-5)
I’m a big Spongebob Squarepants fan. I hope that doesn’t invalidate anything I’ve said up until now.
One morning JP and I almost forgot to leave for school and work because there was a new episode on, and it was really funny. Really, it was. I don’t have much opportunity these days to just throw back in a chair and watch the show, but I do hear it blaring in the background while I’m doing things around the house or catching up on reading or writing. The other day I heard a line that found itself a place in my head. I don’t even know what the context was on the show, because I was too busy grabbing a gadget to type the line into to save it for later.
Spongebob was talking to his friend, Patrick Star (a rather dim-witted starfish), when he said, “This isn’t your ordinary, everyday darkness. This is advanced darkness.” (Emphasis added.)
Not your ordinary, everyday darkness.
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That’s the kind of darkness we encounter every day, isn’t it?
Extraordinary darkness.
Greed. Hate. Murder. Envy. Rage. Gossip. Mockery. Deceit. Betrayal.
Shame. Pain. Loss. Grief. Ruin. Despair.
Advanced darkness.
::
But…
John says something rather illuminating about darkness. Despite the darkness we face each and every day, there is a light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness doesn’t get to overcome it. Even advanced darkness doesn’t overcome this kind of light.
What kind of light is that? This is super-advanced light. Read the progression in that verse, but backwards. This light that shines in darkness is the light that comes from the life that is in Him. In Him is life. And not just life but then light. Light that is not your ordinary, everyday light, but the light that will not be overcome by advanced darkness. Light that will not be undone by the dark. Light that shines in the darkest of dark places.
Even when it’s not your ordinary, everyday darkness.
::
No matter how dark, no matter how advanced, the light is sufficient. This light is light because it is life.
It shines in the darkness.
And the darkness does not overcome it.
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Debbie Gets It
Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now it is God who has made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come. (2 Corinthians 5:1-5, NIV)
For instance, we know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade—and we’ll never have to relocate our “tents” again. Sometimes we can hardly wait to move—and so we cry out in frustration. Compared to what’s coming, living conditions around here seem like a stopover in an unfurnished shack, and we’re tired of it! We’ve been given a glimpse of the real thing, our true home, our resurrection bodies! The Spirit of God whets our appetite by giving us a taste of what’s ahead. He puts a little of heaven in our hearts so that we’ll never settle for less. (2 Corinthians 5:1-5, MSG)
For some reason, I’ve really been missing my friend Debbie the last couple of days. Not that I don’t miss her other times, but lately it’s been a little closer to the surface.
Might have been unexpectedly seeing this amazing picture of her on a friend’s Facebook page.
Might have been that things have been a little challenging at work lately, and that Debbie always had a way of helping me keep my head and remember why I come to the office. (Here’s a secret: it’s not just about the paycheck.)
I counted on that, and I just don’t have it any more.
Or it might have been that I found myself wondering what it must be like for her now, walking on a beach that might just look a lot like this picture, basking in true sunlight, and already understanding something that I’ve been struggling to get my mind around lately: This life just ain’t what it’s all about.
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Scabies
Jesus, worn out by the trip, sat down at the well. It was noon. A woman, a Samaritan, came to draw water. Jesus said, “Would you give me a drink of water?” (His disciples had gone to the village to buy food for lunch.)
The Samaritan woman, taken aback, asked, “How come you, a Jew, are asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” (Jews in those days wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Samaritans.)
Jesus answered, “If you knew the generosity of God and who I am, you would be asking me for a drink, and I would give you fresh, living water.” (John 4:6-10)
My first few months out of college, I worked for a social service agency that served the migrant farmworker population in Minnesota and North Dakota. I was attached to a mobile health screening unit that traveled throughout central Minnesota providing basic health services and referrals to folks who had extremely limited access to health care otherwise. I made barely enough money to survive much better than the laborers we were serving, but got a chance to rub shoulders with the Latino community and keep my language skills from getting too rusty.
I remember one morning the nurse assigned to our unit came in to work visibly upset. She’d been having some problems and went to the clinic to get things checked out. What she learned was that somehow or other, she had contracted scabies, unfortunately most likely in a home visit to one of the crowded makeshift trailers our clients called home.
Scabies.
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As you might expect, recalling this story kind of started to make my skin crawl. There’s a reason for that. That’s exactly what scabies does. According to the Centers for Disease Control, scabies is an infestation of the skin that results when the microscopic scabies mite burrows into the skin to live and lay eggs. What happens next is a lot of itching and discomfort, as well as a lot of work to disinfect bedding and clothing in your home to prevent the spread of a very easily transmitted infestation.
We noticed that when my colleague would tell people she had scabies, folks would take a couple of steps back. They didn’t want to get too close. Still, she felt obligated to let them know, given the ease with which the thing could spread. It was almost like those days when the Hebrews had to isolate themselves outside the city gate and call out “unclean, unclean” when they had one of any number of infectuous diseases.
It seemed to me that the biggest thing that scabies did was make you scary, friendless and alone.
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What struck me most about this story was how my friend’s eyes filled up with tears as she recounted how the doctor came into the examination room, and immediately reached out to shake her hand. Since she’d walked into the facility, the clinic staff had been stepping away from her and noticeably avoiding any contact as soon as they realized why she was there.
Everyone was suddenly afraid of her. Afraid of catching what she had.
Afraid that she might get herself all over them.
They were all afraid except the doctor, who warmly greeted her and wasn’t afraid to touch her.
::
When Jesus sat down at Jacob’s well in the middle of that hot day, after a long and tiring walk, the Samaritan woman who came along to draw water didn’t have scabies. But she was a woman. And a Samaritan. Two strikes. She may as well have had scabies. No Jewish man in his right mind would have talked to her. Look at the text of The Message translation above: “Jews in those days wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Samaritans.”
Jesus took the risk. He took the chance.
He talked to the Samaritan woman.
::
Even she was “taken aback.” She was startled. This was very unexpected. Here was a Jewish man, one who ought to know better, speaking to her, a Samaritan woman with a very, very colored history. There she had her strike three. She was taken aback.
Perplexed, she asked him, “How come you, a Jew, are asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” Aren’t you afraid of what people will think? Aren’t you concerned that I’ll get something on you? It was, perhaps, not unlike what my colleague may have inquired of the doctor: Aren’t you afraid of me? Don’t you worry you’ll catch something? Isn’t your skin starting to crawl?
::
We read on and find that Jesus had a transformational encounter with the woman, offered her living water and told her everything about herself. He won her over with this visit, and she ran away to tell others about this man she met at the well. There was a lot that happened when Jesus sat down to talk to her. But it all started because he was willing to talk to her at all.
He wasn’t afraid of what might happen. He didn’t worry about what she might get on him. He had no concern about the discomfort and itching that may result.
He wanted to win her heart.
And because He crossed all the boundaries, real or imagined, to reach out and touch her, he did.
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Things I Learned from the Layoffs
Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes; when they die, their projects die with them. Instead, get help from the God of Jacob, put your hope in God and know real blessing! God made sky and soil, sea and all the fish in it. He always does what he says — he defends the wronged, he feeds the hungry. God frees prisoners — he gives sight to the blind, he lifts up the fallen. (Psalm 146:3-9a, MSG)
This picture was not actually in front of my office this week, but for some of my coworkers, this is what it may well have felt like.
My employer, for the first time in its long and storied history, cut some positions this week. Laid people off. (Actually, the first thing I learned about the layoffs is that we don’t call them that. We eliminated positions. All a matter of semantics if you ask me, and if you were one who was eliminated, it still had to feel like you were voted off the island. I find layoffs to be a less clumsy term. And since I’m not in management, I’m going to take the liberty of using the word I prefer.)
Some pretty crazy things happen when a whole bunch of people lose their jobs all at one time. It’s hard. No big fancy words for that. (Some may have thought of plenty, but I won’t use them here.)
It’s just hard.
Folks who get laid off are pretty shocked and devastated. They worry about paying their bills, feeding their kids, keeping their homes, affording insurance, keeping their pension. They wonder what they did wrong. They wonder how they couldn’t see it coming. They wonder what they do next.
Folks who don’t get laid off are pretty shocked and devastated. They feel horrible for their friends and coworkers. They worry about what’s going to happen to them. They feel relieved that they survived the carnage. But then they feel selfish about that, guilty even, for having their job to go back to. But then, they don’t know how long they can trust that now.
Nothing like pulling the rug out from under folks to make the whole world feel like a pretty shaky place.
So over the past couple of weeks, waiting for the shoe to drop and then sitting and looking at it all busted apart on the floor, I’ve had a couple of overriding thoughts. The “things I learned from the layoffs.” Everybody has learned important stuff from the layoffs. I don’t know that this is necessarily any smarter than what everybody else has learned. But this is definitely one of those times for me where the Word — God’s love letter to us — and life really collide hard. They smack together with a huge crash and really make you sit up and take notice.
Before I say much more, I need to say this: I’m not going to comment on the company’s decision. Right decision, wrong decision. Good execution, bad execution. Doesn’t matter at this point for my purpose here. It’s done. And anything you read here is not intended to reflect bitterness or anger on my part, nor is it intended as a commentary on anyone’s reaction in particular. This is no more than a couple of pertinent observations about how we face life in the wake of very unexpected, very devastating circumstances, and really, that applies to all kinds of things that have nothing to do with jobs and cuts.
So here we go.
Things I Learned From the Layoffs:
Lesson No. 1: Don’t Give Your Life to the Company
Now, when I say that, I don’t mean specifically to my company. I mean to any company. Businesses are businesses. They exist to earn profits. Unfortunately, very few businesses are in the business of taking care of employees. They take care of employees to the extent that it enables them to have the employees they need to be profitable. I don’t say that to slam companies and corporations. I say it simply because it’s true. Companies who focus solely on the needs and wishes of their employees cease to exist after a while, in which case they no longer have employees to be concerned with.
And I think it’s fair to say that the converse is true most of the time. Not all, but most of the time. If an opportunity presented itself that offered something better — whether in pay, benefits, job description, satisfaction — the vast majority of people would leave their current employer.
What I’m trying to say, and perhaps poorly, is this: No company deserves your life. They deserve your best effort for a solid day’s work. That’s the relationship that we have. I agree to do my job to the best of my ability day in and day out. The company agrees to pay me the salary and benefits they offered and I accepted. Once in a while we’re known to kick in a little extra effort. And once in a while, employers are known to give out a little extra. But as Jesus instructed His disciples, “the workman is worthy of his meat.” (Matthew 10:10 KJV) More simply, the worker is worth his wages.
But to give my life to something that isn’t worthy of it sells us all short. My life belongs to my family. And most importantly, because I recognize my utter need for Him and His lordship over me, my life belongs to Jesus. While I’m grateful for my current job and past jobs I’ve had with a variety of organizations, some of which I’ve even really loved, I can’t see any one of them stacking up next to my family and my God. My life belongs to them and they are infinitely worthy of all of it.
A business, by its very nature self absorbed and committed first and foremost to itself, is not worthy of my life.
Lesson No. 2: Don’t Get Your Life From the Company
Way too often we look to our boss or our job or our company to provide us with things that they simply cannot. As I’ve said already, our relationship is limited. The company doesn’t owe me life any more than I owe mine to it. I owe the company my work effort. The company owes me my compensation. That’s it. No company can provide me with security, and when I look there for it, I will be woefully disappointed, as many of us have been in these past several days. My job, my boss, my company simply cannot bestow security or certainty or stability. It’s not their job and it’s not within the realm of their capability.
Jobs cannot bestow life. They just can’t.
Here’s the thing. And this is the only thing I’m going to say today that really matters. There is only one sure thing. There is only one source of life. There is only one person in all the world that can give us everything we really need. Life, love, security. No, I have not been reading any new self-help books and so I’m not going to tell you that you’re the only one who can do that for yourself. I will not say “we are the ones we’ve been waiting for.” Trusting in ourselves for life and security makes about as much sense as trusting in an insurance company for those things. We just don’t have it.
There’s one source of life, only one, like it or not, and it’s my Father God. Listen to the words of Psalm 146 above: “Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes.” Companies are run by . . . mere humans. But only God can provide the sure foundation when the rug gets pulled and when the walls start shaking. He’s the only one that not only knows what He’s doing but actually has the resources to come through. People and organizations, mere humans, sometimes make honest mistakes and sometimes honestly take advantage. Either way, they are destined to let us down. Mere humans don’t have what it takes.
But the Psalmist says we can put our hope in God. “He always does what he says.”
And what does He say He does?
He defends the wronged.
He feeds the hungry.
He frees prisoners.
He gives sight to the blind.
He lifts up the fallen.
That’s a lot. But He can do it. He does do it. He will do it. He’s a sure thing.
Good lessons from the layoffs for me. God is worthy of my life. God is the only one who can give me life.
He’s worthy of my trust in every possible sense.
The last verse of Psalm 146 says it all for me. If I will just let it be so.
“God’s in charge — always. Zion’s God is God for good!”
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Stampede!
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.
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Let Him Loose
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.
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What’s Happening in the Kingdom on Account of Me?
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.”
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Vantage Point (Part III)
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.
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Vantage Point (Part II)
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.
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The Difference Between Life and Death
“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.
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It’s Your Year
Exodus 12 opens with a declaration that on its face doesn’t seem highly dramatic.
It is two verses long.
One sentence.
Twenty-five words.
That’s it, and really, not much is said about it at all.
The Lord said to Moses and Aaron in Egypt, “This month is to be for you the first month, the first month of your year.” (Exodus 12:1-2, NIV)
Doesn’t sound too earth-shattering.
But at the right time I read them, these two little verses knocked me right off my chair. As a university student, I was in the middle of a fierce battle, much like we often face. The enemy was attacking, accusing me with old, settled, forgiven and overcome sin. It should no longer have been an issue. Yet it was still coming up and taking my tired little brain for quite a spin.
I was sad. I was frustrated. I was exhausted. The last thing I wanted was another challenge or a rebuke.
As I sat down at my cluttered desk in my dorm room, I laid my head on my open Bible. With tears forming in my eyes, I pleaded with God to be gentle with me.
I had been studying Exodus for months. And so far, God had been challenging my socks off with each new passage, each new day.
Sin was constantly being exposed in my life.
I was continually being convicted.
And my thinking was endlessly being challenged to a level I wasn’t sure I could cope with. I found myself to be so like the Israelites.
I fought God. I accused Him of dragging me to the desert to die. I made life hard for those who were like Moses in my life. And God patiently, but pointedly, showed me this day after day after day.
So in my exhaustion that morning, I begged God to just encourage me.
“Don’t convict me. Don’t challenge me. Don’t teach me,” I whimpered. “Just encourage me.”
All I wanted was to feel good for five minutes. Couldn’t I just have that?
I lifted my weary head and braced myself for the day’s thrashing. I looked at the page and immediately let out a howl. I threw back my head, thrust my arms into the air and laughed out loud!
You see, as God was telling the Israelites that it was the first month of their year, He was also telling me that it was my new year! It was my new beginning! God had delivered me from sin, had forgiven me, and therefore it was my year.
I realized at that moment that I couldn’t go back, even if I wanted to.
You see, Satan was wrong. We cannot go back in time. I cannot go back to a time before I was forgiven. And at a time when I needed desperately to be reminded of the permanence of my new life in Him, God so gently reminded me of the new year, my year, which was mine because of Jesus’ finished work on the cross. In His precious timing, He gave me the encouragement I begged for and the assurance I ached for that I was already forgiven and freed from the sin that Satan had tried to bring back to harass me.
God will tell us what we need to hear, when we need to hear it. Twenty years later I still cling to the promise He gave me that unmatched morning of my new year.
The one that starts each new day.
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Easier than Diagramming a Sentence
But if from there you seek the LORD your God, you will find him if you look for him with all your heart and with all your soul. (Deuteronomy 4:29)
I haven’t done my fact checking on this, but I’m told that kids don’t learn to diagram sentences any more. If that’s true, what a sad thing that is. That was half the fun of English class. I still diagram all kinds of things, including sentences once in a while. It’s sometimes the only way I get get my mind around something.
Break it apart. Make it into small pieces. Figure the small pieces out one at a time and then see how they fit together. I like diagrams and spreadsheets and charts and maps. They all help me understand.
The urge to diagram Deuteronomy 4:29 overcame me today. I’m pretty sure I cheated in a few spots where I just couldn’t remember quite what to do with a part of speech. I’m pretty sure no one here has much interest in checking my work. (Though if you’re interested, knock yourself out. I challenge any of you to give it a shot and let me know what you come up with.)
The diagram in this case helps me to break this into four smaller parts that are really four big things. The first thing is the what I think is the main thing: you will find Him.
You will find him. He’s findable. (I thought I made that word up yesterday, but I checked dictionary.com and it’s actually a real word.) He’s findable.
He can be found. He will be found. We can find Him.
He’s not kept away like the vice president in a secure, undisclosed location. He wants to be found. He makes Himself findable. You will find Him.
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Of course, while He’s infinitely findable, He desires to be sought out.
We look for Him. We seek Him.
The treasure map shows where the treasure is, making the treasure findable. The road map shows us how to get from where we are to where we’re going. The signs along the way help us know we’re still on the right road.
But the treasure does not force itself on us. Our destination doesn’t take away the journey. God makes Himself available, approachable, findable. But He doesn’t take us by force. We seek Him. We look for Him. We desire Him. We yearn for Him.
When we do, we find Him.
::
But our search is not done in indifference. We search with all our heart and with all our soul.
If we really don’t care whether we find Him or not, even if we’re wandering around “kind of” looking, we aren’t going to find Him. I’ve said before that God doesn’t want much. He wants it all. Heart, soul, all of it. God desires to be desired. He wants us to want Him.
When we look for Him with everything we’ve got, we can’t help but find Him. Think about this.
He’s findable. We’re seeking Him. And we’re doing it with all that is in us. How could we not find Him with all of that going on?
::
I struggle to decide whether I like the first thing or the last thing the best. The first thing is that He is findable. That we will find Him. But the last thing I see when I look at the diagram is actually right at the beginning. “But if from there you seek…”
From there.
Where is there?
Remember that Moses was talking about those who remained after God would destroy those who sought after puny gods of wood and stone. He said that God would destroy them, and swiftly that. Those that remained would be scattered. Here’s where he says “if from there.” They are scattered to the corners, worshiping things that are not God, chasing after things that don’t give life. And from there, they will seek God. From there, they will seek Him with all their heart and with all their soul. And they will find Him.
They will find Him.
::
From the place of their rebellion, from the point of their rejection, they will turn. From there they will begin to passionately seek after God as their only source. They will give all they have to pursue the only thing that really matters. And they will find Him.
Wherever I am. Whatever I’ve done. At the point where I choose to seek God and mean it, I will find Him. From there.
::
It’s not that complicated. Not nearly as complicated as diagramming the sentence.
From where I am, I seek Him. I look for Him. With all my heart and with all my soul.
And then what?
Then I find Him.
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With a Brother Like This
Now Cain said to his brother Abel, “Let’s go out to the field.” And while they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him. Then the LORD said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” “I don’t know,” he replied. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Genesis 4:8-9)
You saw Cain yesterday. He was hurt. He was angry. And rather than turn to do the right thing, he savored the moment. He nursed his anger. And then he allowed his anger to consume him. With barely a breath in the text after God’s warning to Cain about sin’s desire for him, Cain immediately invited his brother Abel on a fall afternoon drive to check the crops. Once out in the field, Cain moved quickly to murder his brother and presumably then buried him where he fell.
Sin crouched. Cain blinked. Sin pounced.
And suddenly, or perhaps not so suddenly, sin’s desire was fulfilled. It had him.
Far more than seeing the playful crouching and pouncing of a young cat, I see the sharp claws and the dripping teeth of the bats in Ted Dekker’s black forest. Sin dug its claws deep into Cain’s flesh and did not let go.
How much later, we do not know. But soon God came to Cain, looking for his brother.
“Where is your brother Able?” Cain, I’m looking for Abel but I haven’t found him anywhere. Have you seen him? Can you tell me where he is?
God didn’t ask Cain where Abel was because He did not know. God knew what had happened. His heart had already broken with what Cain had done. God knew precisely where Abel was, and as He noted later in the text, Abel’s blood was already crying out to Him from the ground. As always, God knew. He had no need to be informed. He did not ask because He was unaware. God asked Cain where his brother was because He knew that Cain knew where his brother was. Did we say before how committed God is to restoration? How He desires to give second chances? He asked because He wanted to give Cain a shot at restoration. He wanted to give him a chance to repent. He wanted to give him a chance to come clean.
Cain didn’t.
“I do not know.” Haven’t seen him all day. No idea what he’s up to.
He killed. Sin had its way with him.
He lied. Sin tightened its stranglehold on him.
Then he deflected. Sin fulfilled its desire.
“Am I my brother’s keeper?” First he sinned, then he lied to cover it, and finally he deflected to take the focus off. What are You asking me for? He’s not my responsibility. Why would You even ask?
Instead of jumping at the chance to own up to his sin and repent, he points the finger back at God for even making it an issue. He shifts the focus from his own sin, from murder and deception, and makes the issue all about God asking. All about God suggesting he might have something to do with his brother’s whereabouts.
God knew what Cain did. He didn’t come to Cain with guns blazing. He didn’t come and accuse, “Why did you kill your brother?” He came asking Cain to tell Him what he did. “Cain, won’t you tell Me? Where’s your brother?”
He came offering Cain the opportunity to be restored and forgiven.
The issue was never that God asked where Abel was. The issue wasn’t that God put some extraordinary expectation on Abel’s brother that he keep track of him. The issue wasn’t that God pointed out Cain’s sin.
The issue was that Cain first failed to heed the warning to master sin that was crouching and waiting for him. And that he second failed to take responsibility for his failure.
Sin crouches. And waits to attack.
God seeks us out. And waits to forgive.
We can let sin master us. Or we can let the Master forgive us.
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Pancakes and Sinners
When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner.” (Luke 7:29)
I have a tattered piece of yellow legal paper with a lot of notes scribbled on it. It’s my “List of Stuff to Write About.” You’d think a geek like me would have a way to keep these notes that is a little more, well, digital. But I still use the old fashioned lined yellow paper. One of those cryptic notes I have written there says “Last Lecture pp. 70-71, ‘Pancake.’” This paper is pretty much with me all the time now, so that I have it around when something comes along I want to remember. It worked out then that I had it along when I was on a long road trip recently and finally had the chance to finish reading Randy Pausch’s The Last Lecture. Definitely worth the read, by the way.
The pancake notation comes from an account Pausch shares in the book of spending time with his niece and nephew and how they would make pancakes together. Rather than round pancakes, he recalls, “we were always making weirdly shaped animal pancakes. There’s a sloppiness to that medium that I like, because every animal pancake you make is an unintentional Rorschach test.” His niece and nephew would often say, “‘This isn’t the shape of the animal I wanted.’ But that allowed us to look at the pancake as it was, ” he would continue, and “imagine what animal it might be.”*
You might remember the time when Jesus was invited to a Pharisee’s home for dinner. As He reclined at the table, a woman with a famously sinful history stopped in, and as she wept behind Him, she used her own tears and her hair to wash His feet and then poured perfume on them. Simon, the Pharisee host, was appalled. He’d never seen anything so outrageous.
He stands and watches in disgust, thinking to himself that if Jesus only knew who she was, He wouldn’t allow it. If He were really a prophet, he thinks, He’d know who she is. He’d be able to see. Jesus would be as mortified as he was.
What Simon doesn’t get, of course, is that Jesus is far more than a mere prophet. And so He not only knows what kind of woman this is, but He also knows what Simon is thinking. And He calls him on it. Simon, He says, is there something you’d like to share with the whole class? Simon, there’s something I want you to know. There’s something I’d like to share with you.
He goes on to tell the story of two men with debts of varied amounts. And He points out that when the debts are forgiven, the one with the greater debt would love his master more for having been forgiven more.
He notes that this woman clearly understood her need for forgiveness far more than did Simon, the self-righteous Pharisee. She would love Jesus more because she would experience forgiveness in such a much more profound way.
It’s a story of love and forgiveness, and a story of self-importance and self-righteousness.
But it’s also a story of a pancake.
Yes, a pancake.
A weirdly shaped pancake. Not a round pancake. Not a pancake that turned out in the animal shape that was intended. A misshapen pancake that didn’t turn out how it was supposed to. A freak pancake that seems to be nothing but disappointing.
Anybody can see that the pancake is all wrong. Anybody can see that the pancake didn’t belong there. Anybody can see.
But remember what Randy Pausch said about the pancake. The fact that it did not look like the animal it was intended to be allowed them to look at it as it was. They could put aside their expectations and just see the pancake in its true form. And determine from there what it really was.
Jesus could do that with this woman. Just like all of us, she was not all she was created to be. She had a massively sinful history. So to anyone looking on, she was nothing but a walking mass of sin. She wasn’t one of the perfectly formed pancakes. All Simon and anyone else looking on could see was her sin. Not her, just her sin. Jesus could see beyond her sin and see who she was. See who He made her to be. And appreciate her broken and humble worship when she spent her very self to wash His feet.
The pancake that is noticeably the wrong shape can be seen for what it really is, can experience what its creator made it for. The perfectly round pancake gets to just be a round pancake.
Simon was wrong. Jesus knew who she was. He knew what kind of woman was touching Him. He knew she was a sinner.
He saw the pancake as it was. And He imagined what it could be.
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*The Last Lecture, Randy Pausch, Copyright 2008, Hyperion, 77 West 66th Street, New York, New York
Long Division
I have come to bring fire on the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! But I have a baptism to undergo, and how distressed I am until it is completed! Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division. From now on there will be five in one family divided against each other, three against two and two against three. They will be divided, father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law. (Luke 12:49-53)
When JP was in fourth grade, a friend convinced me to volunteer with her in his classroom. She had a son in the same class, and thought it would work out well if we traded off weeks, going every other Wednesday over lunch. Well, it should have worked out. Except that sometimes I just forgot to go. And except that sometimes I don’t know that I am that much smarter than a fifth grader.
For those few days that year I actually showed up, fifth grade math was kind of cool. The kids worked independently at various levels, and their teacher just needed a few extra hands on deck to help out when they had questions. I was impressed with how hard they worked and how willing they were to learn. But it wasn’t tough to spot those few kids that really just wanted you to give them the answer. For every question.
A lot of the time they were working on division. Long division. Where you have to show your work. I never liked having to show my work. I didn’t always take the best route to getting to the right answer, and showing my work just gave that away. Sometimes I’d find their approach kind of baffling. If they had a problem like “452/12″ I’d just ask them how many times 12 would go into 45 to get started. They’d check their multiplication tables and scratch their heads and say, “20?” Hmm. Try again. “Ok, well, how about 19 then?” They’d check it and see that they were pretty far off and then look at the tables again. Eventually they’d get to it, by trial and error.
I tried to think then of what it was like to not know how to do long division. To be still trying to learn it, and have it not yet have “clicked.” Too far back. I couldn’t remember.
I don’t know what it was like before Jesus walked the earth, either. My whole reality is constructed around His already having come. Because I can read all of Scripture, before Him and after Him, I can know what His whole purpose was in coming. I can understand from the first mention of Him that He came not to be an earthly king and rescue the people from their temporary oppression, but that He came to give Himself as a sacrifice, to reign in a completely different way. That He would flip the world upside down before it was all done. I have the benefit of being able to see the whole picture.
The folks who walked with Jesus — the disciples, the masses — didn’t see the whole picture. It hadn’t clicked yet. They wanted their king. They wanted their rescuer. They wanted peace on earth.
Right now.
Here in Luke 12, I suppose that the people could have accused Jesus of some cognitive dissonance. What He was saying didn’t match what He was supposed to be about.
What do You mean You didn’t come to bring peace on earth? What do You mean You’re going to bring division? Weren’t You there when the angels sang to the shepherds about Your arrival? They said “peace on earth.” That’s what the shepherds told everybody. Didn’t You get the memo? Peace on earth, Jesus. That’s what You came for.
Jesus really takes a tone in this passage that must have been rather alarming. He talks about His own distress over what’s to come. He warns about the punishment meted out to unfaithful servants. He slams the crowd for their hypocrisy. And then He says that He’s come to bring fire on the earth, and wishes it were already ablaze, going on to talk about how families will even be divided against one another. The parallel passage in Matthew takes an equally distressing tone, where He refers to coming with a sword rather than fire. He goes on to tell them that the world will hate them because of Him and that he is sending them as sheep among wolves.
This was clearly not a feel-good message day. Long division, short division, double division. Division was going to happen. They were going to have to show their work.
Here’s the thing. If we live our lives the way He called us to, we know that others will be drawn into the Kingdom. We know that from reading the rest of the Word. But if we listen to all that He’s telling us, then we have to also know that if we live our lives the way He called us to, that not everyone will like that. Not everyone will like us. It may not be a big love-fest, peace on earth, welcome to the party kind of day. Certainly, within the body of believers we are warned against division. But that’s a different deal. Jesus tells us that His very being will cause division — between those who accept Him and believe in Him and those who reject Him. There’s a massive divide, a huge chasm that opens up there. And sometimes it will cause separation from those most close to us.
That’s a hard word. That’s a painful message. That’s a difficult thing to accept.
But He wasn’t kidding. He wasn’t making stuff up. Maybe in your family and your world everybody knows Jesus and you haven’t seen that division firsthand. But ask someone who has. Ask someone who has accepted life from Jesus from the middle of a world that hates Him and find out what that is like. Talk to someone who has been disowned by his family. Talk to my friends serving God in North Africa about why they had to change their names and why they have to meet with believers in secret to avoid arrest.
The good news of the Gospel of Jesus Christ brings life. Jesus does bring peace to my heart. And to yours, if you know Him. But when the Gospel is at work, it also divides. It cuts between light and darkness. It separates believer from unbeliever.
Division reminds me of how much work we still have to do.
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Can You Hear Me Now?
If after all this you will not listen to me, I will punish you for your sins seven times over. I will break down your stubborn pride and make the sky above you like iron and the ground beneath you like bronze. Your strength will be spent in vain, because your soil will not yield its crops, nor will the trees of the land yield their fruit. (Leviticus 26:18-20)
Remember a little while ago we talked about how God will let the curse do its work to drive us back to Him? It’s a recurring Old Testament theme and it comes up here again in Leviticus 26 where I’ve been reading. This passage takes it a little further, draws it out some to really help the people understand the blessing that comes of obedience, and the curse that comes from turning our backs to God.
When I read this passage, I have to go beyond the simple explanation, that God inflicts vengeful punishment for sin. There’s so much more here. God gives opportunity after opportunity after opportunity to return to Him. The curse is painful, no doubt about it, but His ultimate desire is that we come running back to Him, recognize our need to stay close to him.
In the first part of the chapter, He talks about the blessing. What happens when we are obedient, when we hold to His commands. This is some good stuff. Take a look: the fields will yield abundant harvest, they will enjoy peace, enemies will fall before them, God will dwell with them and will not abhor them. He will walk among them and they will be His people. That’s really the best part of all.
But see what happens when they disobey. If they fail to keep His decrees, if they thumb their noses at Him and tell Him to take a leap, then He will bring on them “sudden terror.” They’ll suffer wasting diseases and have the life drained from them. He will set His face against them (the opposite of Him walking with them above, this is the saddest part of all) and their enemies will defeat them.
Then this progression starts in the description that you just can’t miss. There are five sections in the text that describe what will happen if they turn their backs to God, if they walk away. Each time, it’s clear God intended to restore them. That He intended the curse to work to drive them back to Him. It’s not supposed to feel good to be away from God. Here, He makes that painfully clear. He wants to keep giving them a chance to turn back, to repent, to return. He keeps asking, Can you hear Me now?
Verse 18: “If after all this you will not listen to me, I will punish you for your sins seven times over.” Can you hear Me now? If they still don’t listen, He’ll break through their stubborn pride. The sky will be as iron and the ground like bronze.
Verse 21: “If you remain hostile toward me and refuse to listen to me, I will multiply your afflictions seven times over, as your sins deserve.” Can you hear Me now? He will send in wild animals to rob their children and destroy their cattle.
Verses 23-24: “If in spite of these things you do not accept my correction but continue to be hostile toward me, 24 I myself will be hostile toward you and will afflict you for your sins seven times over.” Can you hear Me now? He’ll bring the sword upon them, send a plague, give them over to their enemies and starve them out.
Verses 27-28: “If in spite of this you still do not listen to me but continue to be hostile toward me, 28 then in my anger I will be hostile toward you, and I myself will punish you for your sins seven times over.” Can you hear Me now? The listed consequences are nasty. I’d rather not go into most of them. In the end, the land is laid waste and the people are scattered.
Finally, verse 36: “As for those of you who are left, I will make their hearts so fearful in the lands of their enemies that the sound of a windblown leaf will put them to flight. They will run as though fleeing from the sword, and they will fall, even though no one is pursuing them.” CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?
Each time in this progression, God gives another chance. That clean slate we just talked about. He allows them the opportunity to come back and be restored. Starting in verse 40, the God of second chances shows His mercy and His grace and His deep desire to redeem. He has a covenant with His people that He so longs to keep. If they come back, and confess their sin and hostility, and humble their hearts, He will not reject them, He will not break His covenant. He will be their God.
That was the whole point. Not just to punish. Not just to extract justice. But to drive the people back to Him. To allow them to be painfully aware that they were in the wrong place and that they needed to return home.
I don’t believe that all adversity is punishment for sin, or even always a natural consequence we suffer because of our own sin or someone else’s. But I do believe that just as God did with His people in Leviticus, He will allow us to experience devastating pain, horrible desolation, in order to lead us to restoration. Because the truth is that none of those things that He said would happen could be worse than the prospect of being eternally separated from Him. So He will give us opportunity after opportunity to come home.
He’ll say over and over and over, Can you hear Me now?
Until we hear Him. And until we come back home.
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Jubilado
In this Year of Jubilee everyone is to return to his own property. (Leviticus 25:13)
Jubilee is a great word. Doesn’t it just sound good? Even if you don’t really know what it is?
I remember once in Argentina asking our friends what their dad did for a living. They answered that their father was “jubilado.” Jubilado. Like Jubileed, if we could say that.
Nelson was retired. He was set free from the obligations of his work. He was jubilado.
If the Sabbath year was all about rest, the Jubilee was all about redemption. God makes a pretty strong point, and often, that the Sabbath is to be kept holy. Keep a day, keep it holy, keep it to focus on Me and rest. And as we saw yesterday, every seventh year even the land was to be given a Sabbath rest. And every seventh Sabbath year was to be the Year of Jubilee.
Every 50 years they celebrated the Jubilee. There are a number of things going on with this idea of the Jubilee. You should look into it sometime. I’m not going into a lot of detail about it. I’m leaving a lot out. I want to look just at the redemptive aspects. I want to look at how God desires restoration. How He doesn’t want our losses to be devastating and permanent. How He wants us to have a hope.
In the introduction to the Jubilee in Leviticus 25 God spells it out. Yesterday we talked about how the sale of land wasn’t permanent, it was based on the number of crops that could be harvested before the next Jubilee. It wasn’t a permanent sale because in most cases, the land would revert to the original owner at that time.
Now take a look at what this chapter says about one of their fellow countrymen becoming poor. It comes up four times in the chapter. First, if he becomes poor and has to sell his land to make ends meet, the land should be redeemed by a relative, or if the man later acquires resources again, he can redeem it himself. But if it hasn’t been redeemed, it will be returned to him at the Jubilee.
Second, if he becomes poor and can’t support himself, the others are to help him as they would an alien or temporary resident. Don’t take advantage. Don’t charge interest. Don’t sell him food at a profit. Give the guy a fighting chance so he can continue to live among you.
Third, if he becomes poor and sells himself to one of the others, he is not be made a slave, but rather treated as a hired worker or temporary resident. Let him work for you until the year of Jubilee. Then release him and his family and let them go back to their land.
And finally, if he becomes poor and sells himself to an alien or temporary resident who has acquired wealth, there are some ways he can be redeemed. If he is not, then he is to be released at the Jubilee.
God recognizes that things aren’t always going to work out. Whether by misfortune or bad choices, we may lose all we have. Of course this passage looks at our material losses. But it can be much bigger than that. We have far more than what is limited to our material lives. And it’s possible to lose it all.
God says we can be restored. God has a plan for our redemption. God gives us the Jubilee to release us from our poverty and restore us to our original land. Give us a fresh start. A clean slate. That’s what the Jubilee is all about.
We get another chance. We get another crack at making it work. At doing it right. God never intended our losses to be permanent. He longs for our restoration. He designed the Jubilee to give us that opportunity.
It seems to me that the cross was the biggest Jubilee there ever was. Every debt we ever had, every loss we ever suffered, every sin we ever committed, all of it was covered at the cross. Jesus paid the price to redeem us. To buy us back. To let us have our land back. To restore us to all the fullness God intended for us.
God never intended for this loss, the loss of our relationship with our Father, to be permanent. He planned for the biggest Jubilee of all time, the time when Jesus would shed His blood to purchase our redemption. To bring us back. There’s no greater second chance, no bigger clean slate than that.
When we need another chance — whether we need to accept that work on the cross and be redeemed and have our relationship with the Father restored or whether we’ve blown it innumerable times and need that ongoing forgiveness and restoration — He’s there waiting.
The Jubilee gives us hope. We can be jubilado.
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Oh, It’s You
When evening came, his disciples went down to the lake, where they got into a boat and set off across the lake for Capernaum. By now it was dark, and Jesus had not yet joined them. A strong wind was blowing and the waters grew rough. When they had rowed three or three and a half miles, they saw Jesus approaching the boat, walking on the water; and they were terrified.But he said to them, “It is I; don’t be afraid.” Then they were willing to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the shore where they were heading. (John 6:16-21)
Sometimes I think that I don’t fully realize what it must have been like for the disciples to walk with Jesus every day. I’ve heard and read the stories for so many years that, sadly, they kind of bounce off me a little. They seem rather commonplace. And then I stop to wonder what it must have been like to actually experience this stuff first hand, without having read the stories in advance. No pre-work. No background material. Just day-to-day experiencing life with the Savior and the new adventures each day would bring. Completely out of the blue.
John 6 captures a series of those adventures through the eyes of “the disciple Jesus loved.” We just saw the other day how Jesus stretched the disciples’ faith by feeding a vast multitude with a tiny amount of food. After that, to avoid being taken and made king by force, Jesus sent the disciples off by boat and He slipped away to the mountain to pray. Later, Jesus met up with His men by walking on the sea to their boat. Matthew and Mark tell this story as well, both including a little more detail than John. Matthew focuses on Peter’s faith, short-lived though it was, in stepping out of the boat and walking briefly on the surface of the water to meet Jesus, before plunging below the sea and having to be rescued. Mark focuses on how terrified the disciples were to see what appeared to be a ghost walking toward them.
John, as the disciple Jesus loved, took another different look at the event. He focused on what one already focused on the deep love relationship between him and His Savior would find important. He focused in his brief account on how the disciples were willing to receive Him. Once they knew Who He was.
Like Matthew and Mark, John notes that when they saw Jesus approaching, the disciples were struck with terror. Who wouldn’t be? Here again, we have to remember that these guys hadn’t read this story 62 times. This had never happened to them before. It hadn’t happened to anybody they knew. It hadn’t happened to anybody they didn’t know. This was a brand new horribly freakish thing going on. In the middle of a storm on the sea, there was a guy walking toward them. Well, maybe not a guy. Maybe a ghost. It was time to be terrified.
As He approached, the interaction was very brief. “It is I; do not be afraid.” And then they were willing to take Him into the boat.
Even though they’d never heard of such a thing before, never experienced anything like it, they were fine once they heard His voice, once they heard Him say it was Him. Oh, it’s You. Jesus, it’s You. Their terror left them. They came to their senses. And they were willing to take Him into the boat.
Once they knew it was Jesus.
Then they were willing to take Him into the boat.
Stuff God’s doing sometimes scares the daylights out of me. I don’t see clearly what He’s doing. I don’t hear His voice. I see wind, and waves, and clouds, and sea spray. And then I see something coming through that mess that scares me senseless. And I don’t realize He’s at work. I don’t realize it’s Him.
Once we know it’s God, we become willing to take Him into the boat. We become willing to let Him work in our lives. We become willing accept what He’s doing. The willingness comes of knowing Who He is, and of knowing it’s Him indeed.
Knowing it’s Him makes all the difference in the world.
Knowing it’s Him makes me willing to let Him into my boat.
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When You Can’t Have Your Quiet Time Without Gagging
“The person with such an infectious disease must wear torn clothes, let his hair be unkempt, cover the lower part of his face and cry out, ‘Unclean! Unclean!’ As long as he has the infection he remains unclean. He must live alone; he must live outside the camp.” (Leviticus 13:45-46)
A funny thing happened while I was reading Leviticus today. That’s an interesting thing all on its own, since there’s not that much funny in Leviticus.
I was reading in chapter 13, which, while it has some important teaching for the people of Israel, I just couldn’t help but find a little icky. Well, more than a little icky.
You might know that I have something of a terribly overactive gag reflex, such that simply brushing my teeth can turn into a complete heave-fest at times. But I can’t say I’ve ever been provoked to gag by reading the Word as I was today. And I hate to say that I was. It’s not how I feel about the Word generally speaking. But it’s the truth this time.
Leviticus can stimulate your gag reflex?
Trust me, just thinking about it right now is doing it to me all over again. I’m feeling a little twitchy. Perhaps I’d best get to it before something happens here at my computer.
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Here we go. Moses gave instructino about various conditions that could make a person ritually unclean, as well as the various processes by which the unclean status would be confirmed by the priest and also by which the person could be restored.
We’ve been all through the different types of food that were clean and unclean. There’s the process by which a woman be purified after childbirth. And then there’s a section all about the ceremonial uncleanliness of fabrics spoiled by mildew which would give even an insurance claims person pause.
And right between them is this long, detailed portion addressing the issue of infectious diseases. The various types of sores and skins lesions by which a person was made ritually unclean, the means by which they could be purified, the methods by which the priest could distinguish between infectious diseases and harmless rashes.
I’m starting to feel it again.
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Getting beyond the difficult details for me, in verse 45 the text goes a little further in defining what a person with one type of these diseases must do because of his condition.
He was to wear torn clothes and keep his hair messy. But this was more than just what I do on a Saturday.
This person also had to live outside the camp, alone. And he had to cry out “Unclean! Unclean!”
What a tragic thing.
Illness already upsets us. We worry. We fret. And we feel awful.
But I would expect that the slightest rash or sore on their skin would really send the Hebrews into a real state.
Was this an infectious disease that would require that they endure complete isolation?
Would this little scab on their arm mean they would have to leave their families, be completely ostracized by their community, and live alone?
And worse, would it mean complete humiliation as they looked like a mess, covered their faces, and shouted everywhere they went, “Unclean!”
Don’t look at me! I’m unworthy! I can’t be touched! I can’t be loved!
Don’t approach me. Don’t expose me. I’m not clean.
I must be alone.
I am not clean.
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You know, we’re not the Hebrews. We don’t have to panic every time we get a little something on our skin. We can see a doctor, get a prescription, maybe an excuse to skip a day of work, and we get better. We don’t have to make a wreck of ourselves and leave town.
But there’s a time for each of us when we have to recognize that, for other reasons, we’re unclean.
We fall short. We are not holy, we are not pure.
We are, in God’s presence, unclean.
And because of that, we look like a wreck. We don’t even have to cry out “Unclean! Unclean!”
Everything about us says it without the words.
And we have to live outside the camp, outside God’s presence.
Our sin won’t let us near Him.
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We don’t have to stay there though. God made a way to bring us back into camp. To allow us to be clean.
Ceremonially? Sure. But more than that.
Clean inside. Clean outside.
Through the cross, we can be made clean.
In the very first chapter of Isaiah, we’re told “Come now, let us reason together,” says the LORD. “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.”
He washes us. We don’t have to shout that we are unclean.
And in Hebrews 10 we are told how we can enter the Most Holy Place with confidence, because of the blood of Jesus, and that we can “draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water.”
Now we can yell, holler and scream everywhere we go, “Cleansed! Cleansed!”
Cleansed by the blood of the Lamb!
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Getting Your Picture with Jesus
As Jesus went on from there, two blind men followed him, calling out, “Have mercy on us, Son of David!” When he had gone indoors, the blind men came to him, and he asked them, “Do you believe that I am able to do this?” “Yes, Lord,” they replied. Then he touched their eyes and said, “According to your faith will it be done to you”; and their sight was restored. Jesus warned them sternly, “See that no one knows about this.” But they went out and spread the news about him all over that region. (Matthew 9:27-31)
Isaac recently returned from a trip to Nashville for a youth gathering. His group soon became known for their bright green shirts, each with a word from the theme for the week emblazened on the front so that when they all stood in line, in the right order, the group spelled out “Becoming the Hands and Feet of Jesus.” Isaac’s word was “Jesus.” A few times during the week, folks wanted to have their picture taken with him so they could say they got their picture with Jesus.
In Matthew 9, all kinds of people wanted their picture with Jesus. He was out on His big miracle tour, healing people everywhere He went. He’d finished the Sermon on the Mount, healed a whole bunch of people, calmed a storm, raised a young girl from the dead and experienced His power going out when a woman of great faith just reached out and touched His cloak as He went by. Now a couple of blind guys are following Him, wanting their chance for the miracle, hoping for their chance at life. Have mercy on us, Son of David! Heal us! We want to see! We believe You can do this!
They acknowledge their faith that He can heal them, He touches their eyes, and now they can see. Now they can see. Those of us who can see, who have always been able to see, can’t get this fully. We can barely imagine what it would be like to see, for the first time. We imagine, and surely we imagine only very poorly. We can only know being able to see after never having seen while it’s still in the context of knowing what it’s like to see. What these guys experienced is simply beyond comprehension. It had to be absolutely overwhelming.
And in the midst of the outrageous new experience they were having, one they’d given up years ago ever hoping to have, Jesus takes a stern tone with them. They were dancing and jumping around or maybe just wandering around and looking. Just looking. Looking at everything they could possibly take in. And suddenly Jesus, this One Who touched them in such a marvelous, miraculous way, gets all serious on them.
“See that no one knows about this.”
What? Why?
He’s just done the most amazing thing that these guys could ever hope to experience. He gave them their life back. And now they are not supposed to tell?
He had His reasons. He had His timing. He intended for the world to know, at the right time. But this wasn’t it. So guys, I’m happy to do this for you, because of your faith and because it brings glory to My Father. But keep it between us for now. See that no one knows about this.
And just how were they supposed to see that no one knew? They looked different now. And they saw differently. They saw. How could they possibly hide this?
Well, we know from the text they never found a way to pretend they still couldn’t see. Matthew says they went out and spread the news about Him all over the region. The Message is a little more blunt. “But they were hardly out the door before they started blabbing it to everyone they met.”
If this were today, these guys would have had their cell phones out, taking pictures. “Hey, Dave! Here, take my phone. Get a picture of me with Jesus! This is so cool. I’ll actually be able to see the picture this time.” And they would have emailed them to everybody on their contact lists and posted them on Myspace and Facebook. This is the guy that healed me. This is the One that gave me my sight, gave me my life. I want you to know what’s going on with me. I want you to know Him.
They couldn’t be silent. Even though Jesus told them to. They went and blabbed it to everyone they met.
What Jesus instructed these men to do seemingly was the exact opposite of their hearts’ response to what He had done. A heart that had been healed, that had been rescued from death, would want to shout from the rooftops. That heart would want evidence of its lifegiving experience posted on the Internet. Jesus told them to be quiet. Don’t tell. Don’t let anyone know. (Not yet.) But they couldn’t do it. They blabbed it everywhere they went. They sent out the emails with their picture with Jesus.
These guys were like Jeremiah, who couldn’t keep it in either. He lamented that if he had to keep it in, not mention Him, not say His name, God’s Word would burn in him. Jeremiah was weary of holding it in, and found he could not do it. Just like these guys. They just couldn’t not tell.
Today Jesus tell us the opposite. Tell everybody. Get up on the rooftops and scream it at the top of your lungs. I’ve come to bring sight to the blind. I’ve come to bring life to the dead. I’ve rescued you. I’ve saved you. I’ve forgiven you.
And sometimes, sometimes, we act like He gave us the command He gave the blind guys. Don’t tell anybody. See that no one knows about this.
Oh, ok. Jesus, I can do that. I was hoping You’d ask that. I’d be glad to keep this between You and me. I can keep my faith a private thing. I can do that.
And we do.
But He gave us a different command. Turn on the light where it’s dark. Open the doors where they’re closed. Get up on the rooftop. Hit the send button. I’m here. I’m ready. Bring the people to Me.
I want to be like these guys. Unable to contain myself over the good new of what He’s done for me. I want to be shouting it from the rooftops. I got my picture with Jesus. I want to send it to everyone I know.
I want everyone to know how to get their picture with Jesus.
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Isaac’s friend Monti wanted his picture with Jesus. He’s a friend Isaac met at the rescue mission in Nashville, a graduate of their rehab program. Monti’s had an impact on Isaac, and others. You can read his story, listen to his music, and be inspired at http://www.myspace.com/montimusiconline.
Keep the Doo-doo in the Litter Box
Write this to Sardis, to the Angel of the church. The One holding the Seven Spirits of God in one hand, a firm grip on the Seven Stars with the other, speaks: “I see right through your work. You have a reputation for vigor and zest, but you’re dead, stone-dead. Up on your feet! Take a deep breath! Maybe there’s life in you yet. But I wouldn’t know it by looking at your busywork; nothing of God’s work has been completed. Your condition is desperate. Think of the gift you once had in your hands, the Message you heard with your ears—grasp it again and turn back to God. If you pull the covers back over your head and sleep on, oblivious to God, I’ll return when you least expect it, break into your life like a thief in the night.” (Revelation 3:1-3, The Message)
(If you’re offended by bathroom talk, you might want to skip this post.)
The kitten taught me something. Something besides the daily reminder that she remains in my house and still needs a new home. In some ways, I’ve actually been impressed with Sanchez. Cats apparently are kind of smart. Smart enough to train themselves to use a litter box. To my amazement, she’s yet to have an accident on the floor.
There’s a funny thing I noticed the other day though. When she gets done with her work, she spends a fair amount of time scratching in the box, presumably to cover up what she’s done and keep the place nice and tidy. This must come through the same instinctual route as learning to use the box in the first place. But when she’s done scratching, there’s litter all over the place. And the other stuff in the box is still exposed. Still sitting right there in the open. And sometimes, for all her work to clean up the place, she manages to just throw pieces overboard, out of the litter box and into her bedding area.
She does all the right stuff. She just doesn’t seem to get why she does it. She doesn’t understand the point, so she doesn’t really get the job done.
John was told in Revelation to write to the church at Sardis that they were doing all the right stuff. They had a great reputation for all they were doing. They looked like they were full of life. But God saw right through their work. In the NIV, it says their deeds were not complete. They looked alive but they were dead. The church at Sardis was doing everything right. And yet they were doing nothing right at all.
There’s no point in using a litter box if you’re just going to toss the poop back out when you’re done. There’s no point in looking like we’re alive if we’re really stone-dead.
We couldn’t figure out for a while why Sanchez’ box kept smelling so bad. We knew she was using the litter box. And she was doing such a good job of scratching afterward. Then we found the doo-doo hiding behind the litter box, stinking the place up. There is simply no point in going through the motions and making it look one way when it is in all truth the complete opposite. All it does is mask the problem and keep it from getting cleaned up.
Sanchez sometimes looks like she’s doing it all right, but she’s throwing poop around. She’s just going through the motions.
The church at Sardis looked like they were really alive, but they were dead. They were just going through the motions.
Same for me. Just doing stuff to look like I’ve got it right is like kicking doo-doo out of the litter box. Acting alive when I’m dead just stinks the place up.
My heart has to be in what I’m doing. And that means I need to let God have my heart fully, completely.
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Barking the Apple Tree
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.” John 15:1-8
Since we moved into our home 14 years ago, we have systematically removed nearly every tree. Despite what the previous owners may have believed, a shelter belt of trees is just not necessary in town.
Most of the trees I wanted removed. But it broke my heart to cut down the apple tree. This tree produced the most delicious apples. But one day it stopped bearing fruit.
It had something to do with an overactive puppy stripping all the bark off the trunk.
I’ll tell you something. Losing that tree was very sad. It was way more than “just a latte.” Ma’am.
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The summer after the the tree was degloved, knowing it would probably be the last crop we’d ever get, I spent a day up in the tree trying to get as many apples brought in as I could. After only one spectacular, death-defying crash from the top of ladder to the ground (I’m ok), we had enough apples to make a pie for everybody in town.
And when my brother-in-law inadvertently hauled all the good apples to the dump grounds along with the bad ones, I made him go back in to find every last one and bring them back. These apples were priceless.
Mom came out for the weekend and we cut and peeled and made junkyard apple pies and apple crisp and apple butter until we couldn’t stand it any more.
Between my aversion to cooking, heights and anything remotely related to gardening, you have to know that this was good fruit.
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We learned from the landscape guys that the tree would die. “Maybe tomorrow, maybe a year from now,” they said. But it would die.
Which is exactly what it did.
I guess trees have a vascular system, and when that’s damaged, oxygen doesn’t get to the roots and water doesn’t get to the leaves. The spring after that last crop of apples, it didn’t even bud.
And then the tree was dead.
The bark was stripped off and it could not survive.
It could not produce. It had to be cut down.
Instead of bearing the tastiest apples the world has ever known, it became the apple wood that a grateful friend would use to barbecue and smoke meat.
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The vine is different than the apple tree, but there are some common realities for both. When you read Old Testament descriptions of destruction and devastation, the Word often talks about both the vine and the fig tree together. In the book of Joel, alongside the laying waste of the vines is the stripping off the bark of the fig tree. The King James says that
He hath laid my vine waste and barked my fig tree.
The tree needs oxygen and water to survive and bear fruit. The branches have to stay connected to the vine in order to survive and bear fruit. Either way, there has to be an attachment to the source of life.
The supply line cannot be disrupted.
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Here, Jesus tells us He is the true vine. The real thing. We are the branches. We have to stay connected to Him to get life. To get what we need to bear fruit. The branch lying on its own in the yard doesn’t produce fruit. It doesn’t even survive. It has to be connected to the vine. The tree with the bark torn away doesn’t yield fruit. It might look like it’s alive a little longer than a severed branch. But it’s disconnected from its source.
Maybe tomorrow, maybe a year from now. It’s going to dry up. It’s going to die.
And once the branches are dead, they are bundled up and tossed into the fire.
They’re used for a tasty barbecue.
And that’s it.
I need to be with Jesus. I need to remain in Him. I need his Word to remain in me.
I need to stay close.
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The Conversation