Author Archives: Christopher J Wiles

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About Christopher J Wiles

Hey there. My name's Chris. I'm a teaching pastor at Tri-State Fellowship, and a research writer for Docent Research Group. Thanks for stopping by; be sure to stay connected by subscribing to blog updates and more.

The true and better Moses (Hebrews 3-4)

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For me, one of the most compelling things about Christianity is its coherence—that the pieces of God’s story come together to form a whole.  The Bible isn’t a bunch of different stories collected between two covers; it’s one story, from beginning to end, and it’s a story about Jesus.

THE EDGE OF PROMISE

As I was reading the story of Moses this past week, I was struck by the fact that though the Pentateuch (those first five books of the Bible) is so focused on Israel’s journey to the Promised Land, the people never actually get there.  Moses leads them to the border—though they never actually go in.  It isn’t until the book of Joshua that we see the people actually enter into God’s Promised Land.

The writer of Hebrews notes that neither Moses nor anyone in Israel’s great hall of fame truly experienced the full breadth of God’s promises:

39 And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, 40 since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect. (Hebrews 11:39-40)

This side of the resurrection, each of us is a sojourner, an exile, someone wandering toward God’s future yet never truly getting there—yet. 

We catch a hint of this as the book of Deuteronomy winds to a close:

And Joshua the son of Nun was full of the spirit of wisdom, for Moses had laid his hands on him. So the people of Israel obeyed him and did as the Lord had commanded Moses.

And there has not arisen a prophet since in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face, 11 none like him for all the signs and the wonders that the Lord sent him to do in the land of Egypt, to Pharaoh and to all his servants and to all his land,12 and for all the mighty power and all the great deeds of terror that Moses did in the sight of all Israel.  (Deuteronomy 34:10-12)

Israel, of course, had many prophets who followed Moses.  It may be that they regarded some of these prophets as more or less successful than one another, but ultimately Moses was the man most admired by God’s people.

Except, if we understand how these pieces fit together, then we must conclude that we need a prophet—a true and better Moses—to lead us not merely to the edge of God’s promises, but into them to see them fulfilled.

THE TRUE AND BETTER MOSES

Jesus is the true and better Moses.  The writer of Hebrews picks up on this exact theme, noting that while Moses served God as a servant, Jesus was faithful as a son:

3 Therefore, holy brothers, you who share in a heavenly calling, consider Jesus, the apostle and high priest of our confession, 2 who was faithful to him who appointed him, just as Moses also was faithful in all God’s house. 3 For Jesus has been counted worthy of more glory than Moses—as much more glory as the builder of a house has more honor than the house itself. 4 (For every house is built by someone, but the builder of all things is God.) 5 Now Moses was faithful in all God’s house as a servant, to testify to the things that were to be spoken later, 6 but Christ is faithful over God’s house as a son. And we are his house if indeed we hold fast our confidence and our boasting in our hope.

7 Therefore, as the Holy Spirit says,

“Today, if you hear his voice,
8 do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion,
on the day of testing in the wilderness,
9 where your fathers put me to the test
and saw my works for forty years.
10 Therefore I was provoked with that generation,
and said, ‘They always go astray in their heart;
they have not known my ways.’
11 As I swore in my wrath,
‘They shall not enter my rest.’” (Hebrews 3:3-11)

You may recall that Moses and the Israelites had previously doubted God and refused to enter the land when they saw the Canaanites there.  Their fear—their disbelief—condemned them to their wandering (Numbers 13-14).  They did not at that time get to experience God’s rest, a lesson the writer of Hebrews uses to illustrate the consequences of not turning our focus to Christ.

Jesus promises a better rest, not found only in the land but in the eternal splendor of God’s renewed and restored Kingdom.  The writer of Hebrews takes the word “rest,” applying it not only to the Promised Land of Israel’s history but to the promises of God’s eternal future:

8 For if Joshua had given them rest, God would not have spoken of another day later on. 9 So then, there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, 10 for whoever has entered God’s rest has also rested from his works as God did from his. 11 Let us therefore strive to enter that rest, so that no one may fall by the same sort of disobedience. (Hebrews 4:8-11)

Jesus is the true and better Moses, whose obedience leads us all into a new world of promise, a renewed and restored creation where perfect joy and perfect justice flow like the fabled milk and honey of Israel’s dreams.

In today’s political and social climate, there are many things that engender fear and disbelief.  But hope engenders hope, and by looking toward God’s glorious future, we are reminded that the battle scars we bear are not exceptions or setbacks to God’s great promise—they are the very reasons for it.  And so we turn, this day and always, to the true and better Moses, to the Savior whose obedience leads us onward into the very heart of promise.

God’s “appalling” mercy (Deuteronomy 34)

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“You cannot conceive, my child, nor can I or anyone, the appalling…strangeness of the mercy of God.”  Graham Greene wrote these words about the fictional characters of his novel Brighton Rock, words meant to underscore God’s unfathomable grace toward even those who’d turned his back on Him.  As a novelist, Greene tended to see something redemptive about the pure love of impure people.  As Christ-followers, we both affirm and challenge this idea: that God does indeed extend an “appalling” mercy toward the broken, though never on the purity of our love, but the purity of his own.

We should therefore view Moses’ mistake not merely as an example of human error, but also of divine grace, of an “appalling” mercy that reminds us of the incredible compassion of God.

We should recall that Moses’ crime went deeper than merely striking a rock he was commanded to speak to.  No; his condemnation was for his failure to uphold the Lord as holy (Numbers 20:12).

But if we read our Old Testament carefully, we should note that Moses is hardly the first to commit such a transgression.  Remember Nadab and Abihu?  These were the sons of Aaron, men who earned their place in history as the men who offered “strange fire” before the Lord:

Now Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, each took his censer and put fire in it and laid incense on it and offered unauthorized fire before the Lord, which he had not commanded them. 2 And fire came out from before the Lord and consumed them, and they died before the Lord.3 Then Moses said to Aaron, “This is what the Lord has said: ‘Among those who are near me I will be sanctified, and before all the people I will be glorified.’” And Aaron held his peace.  (Leviticus 10:1-3)

Don’t miss the reason this penalty falls on them.  God says that he “will be sanctified,” that is, his name will be made holy.  Aaron’s sons disregarded the Lord’s command and did what seemed right in their own eyes.  They failed to uphold the holiness of God.  Moses disregarded the Lord’s command and did what seemed right in his own eyes.  He failed to uphold the holiness of God.

I wonder if this ever crossed Aaron’s mind when he saw what Moses was doing.  Was he remembering his sons?  Did he feel the tears on his cheeks all over again?

But Moses would not share the same fate.  Though barred from entering the Promised Land, Moses would be permitted to see its borders:

Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho. Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho. And the Lord showed him all the land, Gilead as far as Dan, 2 all Naphtali, the land of Ephraim and Manasseh, all the land of Judah as far as the western sea, 3 the Negeb, and the Plain, that is, the Valley of Jericho the city of palm trees, as far as Zoar.

And the Lord said to him, “This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, ‘I will give it to your offspring.’ I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not go over there.”

So Moses the servant of the Lord died there in the land of Moab, according to the word of the Lord, 6 and he buried him in the valley in the land of Moab opposite Beth-peor; but no one knows the place of his burial to this day. Moses was 120 years old when he died. His eye was undimmed, and his vigor unabated. 8 And the people of Israel wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty days. Then the days of weeping and mourning for Moses were ended. (Deuteronomy 34:1-8)

Make no mistake: the reason the author describes Moses’ ongoing vitality was to remove any suggestion that Moses died of natural causes.  His remains were never recovered, most immediately to ensure that even in death Moses never entered the land, but perhaps also to prevent anyone from building a shrine to the memory of a mere man.

Moses’ life was supernaturally taken to fulfill God’s earlier promise.  But Moses also died with the vision of God’s promise laid before him in hill and in valley.  Obviously, Moses did not write down the details of his own death.  Though Moses is the author of the Pentateuch—those first five books of the Bible—a later editor felt it necessary for future readers to know of Moses’ fate, a fate both tragic and merciful, of grace and justice mingled sweet.

Through the progress of God’s revealed story, we know that Moses lost his earthly rewards but not his eternal destiny.  Moses appears alongside Elijah in front of Jesus and his closest followers.  Some even believe Moses will be one of the two witnesses described in Revelation 11.  And regardless of where Moses’ dust now resides, it will one day be gathered together that he might join Israel in the Promised Land when God restores his creation.

These things, too, are further examples of God’s “appalling” mercy.  Appalling because it defies our simply expectation of cause and effect.  And appalling that we, too, might be the recipients of God’s great grace.  That God should die that I might live is an appalling form of mercy, that the righteous should die for sinners like us should never cease to take us aback with its shocking strangeness.  To be given, like Moses, even the smallest glimpse of God’s eternal promise—well, this too is appallingly strange.  Every other major religion relies on the steadfast rules of cause and effect.  The gospel is greater and stranger than that.

Every one of us has made mistakes.  Every one of us has failed to uphold God as holy.  Yet as long as our trust is in the forgiveness offered through the cross, then we, too, might experience God’s appalling mercy, a mercy that lifts us out of the darkness of our shame, and lifts our eyes to a greater horizon ahead.

My will be done (Numbers 20)

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Is there any greater lie that we tell so routinely as: “I accept these terms and conditions?”  Every so often one of my computer programs will undergo some routine software update and, after finishing, will ask that I reaffirm my commitment to their terms and conditions.  Except, like most sane human beings, I have no time whatsoever to scroll through the multi-page document.  I just hit “accept” so I can keep on truckin’, as if Steve Jobs is working from beyond the grave to make liars of us all.

No one reads those terms and conditions.  I think technically the Apple corporation has power of attorney over me.  Except I wouldn’t know, because I just hit “accept” without ever reading the agreement.

God is ferociously and wonderfully holy.  His righteous character provokes our allegiance.  In the story of the exodus, God uses Moses to redeem his people from Egyptian captivity, and uses Moses to lead his people to the Promised Land.  This, as we said, is the central focus of the “Pentateuch,” the first five books of the Old Testament.

Along Israel’s journey, God provides for his people, often using Moses as his instrument for doing so.  In one scene, God commands Moses to strike a rock to produce water for the people (Exodus 17:5-6).  Later, God issues the same command, though with a slight variation:

2 Now there was no water for the congregation. And they assembled themselves together against Moses and against Aaron. 3 And the people quarreled with Moses and said, “Would that we had perished when our brothers perished before the Lord! 4 Why have you brought the assembly of the Lord into this wilderness, that we should die here, both we and our cattle? 5 And why have you made us come up out of Egypt to bring us to this evil place? It is no place for grain or figs or vines or pomegranates, and there is no water to drink.” 6 Then Moses and Aaron went from the presence of the assembly to the entrance of the tent of meeting and fell on their faces. And the glory of the Lord appeared to them, 7 and the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, 8 “Take the staff, and assemble the congregation, you and Aaron your brother, and tell the rock before their eyes to yield its water. So you shall bring water out of the rock for them and give drink to the congregation and their cattle.”9 And Moses took the staff from before the Lord, as he commanded him. (Numbers 20:2-9)

Moses is now commanded not to strike the rock, but to speak to the rock.  But here’s what happened:

10 Then Moses and Aaron gathered the assembly together before the rock, and he said to them, “Hear now, you rebels: shall we bring water for you out of this rock?” 11 And Moses lifted up his hand and struck the rock with his staff twice, and water came out abundantly, and the congregation drank, and their livestock.  12 And the Lord said to Moses and Aaron, “Because you did not believe in me, to uphold me as holy in the eyes of the people of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this assembly into the land that I have given them.” 13 These are the waters of Meribah, where the people of Israel quarreled with the Lord, and through them he showed himself holy. (Numbers 20:10-13)

Moses did not adhere to the terms and conditions.  He struck the rock, contrary to God’s earlier commands.  His penalty?  He would not be permitted to enter the Promised Land.  The penalty sounds devastating, until we again consider the ferocious and awe-inspiring character of God, a God who offers grace yet still demands obedience from his followers—especially those he uses as leaders.

In fact, if we look closely, we find that Moses drifted off course in several areas of leadership:

  • He rebuked the people harshly (v. 10)
  • He took credit for what God was doing (v. 10—“shall we bring water…?”)
  • He lost his temper (v. 11)
  • He disobeyed God (v. 11)

The sum total reveals a lack of trust and a lack of acknowledgment of the true holiness of God.

C.S. Lewis once famously wrote that when we stand before God, there are two and only two kinds of people in the world: those who humbly say to God, “Thy will be done,” and those who proudly say, “My will be done.”  Though a faithful servant, in this moment of his life, Moses took the latter course.  And there will be times when we do the same.

It’s easy to drift into selfishness, isn’t it?  If you’re wondering what this might look like for you, think of it this way: have you ever caught yourself saying or thinking one of the following?

  • I expect credit for my accomplishments.
  • I wish other people wouldn’t get in my way.
  • What I ignore today can be handled tomorrow.

All of us are prone to moments of selfishness and weakness, but the cumulative effect of these thoughts causes us to drift away from holiness and toward our own happiness.  And there is no greater tragedy than self-interest.

And here’s where it gets a little more frightening: Moses’ way of doing things didn’t result in immediate failure.  He was successful.  Water really did come out of the rock.  His consequences lay ahead of him.  I think what this means is there will be times in our lives when we are operating outside the boundaries of God’s character—and things will go just fine.  People may even speak well of us.  But inside we will be sickly and selfish, the consequences of which will eventually leave us desiccated and empty.

This is why the idea of “drifting” is so important. No one drifts toward holiness.  All of us, on our own, drift toward center, drift toward self.  This is why we need the gospel.  The cross shatters our illusions of greatness; it reveals to us the ugliness of our deepest depravity.  But when the cross shatters our wrong self-image, it replaces it with the image of the Son.  In Christ we are granted the power once again to be bent toward God and toward neighbor; we are set free to serve a greater master, and once again experience the power to love someone else.  The cross beckons us to surrender the idol of self-interest, and enables us to finally utter, “Thy will be done.”

 

 

“Summer Slide” (Hebrews 11:23-29)

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It’s called the “Summer Slide” or “Summer Learning Loss.”  If you’re a parent or an educator, you’ve probably experienced it.  When kids leave school for the summer, they tend to lose the information they gained over the year.  Some studies report that when measuring verbal and math skills, some students lose as much as 2-3 grade levels of ability in only three months.

Yikes.  I mean, how long have you or I been out of school now?  Probably a lot longer than three months.  We’ve forgotten a lot.  A lot. 

Educators and professionals report that there are specific strategies for helping children overcome the summer slide—mainly by finding simple ways the brain working over the summer:

“As simple as it sounds, reading books can reverse the summer slide in literacy skills for even the poorest children. Richard Allington, a professor at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, and his colleagues found that giving kids 12 books to read over the summer was as effective as summer school in raising the students’ reading scores….Another study…found that regardless of family income, the effect of reading four to five books over the summer was large enough to prevent a decline in reading-achievement scores from the spring to the fall. Kim’s other finding: children who said they had easy access to books over the summer ended up reading more. So seasonal alarm bells aside, the best way to push back against the summer slide is with your library card.”[1]

Here’s where we’re heading: the “summer slide” can happen to any of us, and I’m not just talking about your ability to help your kids with their math homework.  I’m talking about our spiritual lives.  While faith isn’t about developing a “skill set” like reading or math, there’s a rhythm and a pattern to our walk with God that, when broken, has ripple effects for most of the rest of our lives.

No one’s saying that it’s wrong to take a summer vacation.  No one’s saying it’s wrong to enjoy some time off at your beach house or on the boat.  What we want, however, is for each of us to be as intentional with our spiritual habits as we are about our recreational habits.

This week we’re going to look at Moses, whose shining example is tainted by a single great mistake.  In the book of Hebrews, the unnamed author lists Moses among the many great “heroes” of the faith:

23 By faith Moses, when he was born, was hidden for three months by his parents, because they saw that the child was beautiful, and they were not afraid of the king’s edict.

24 By faith Moses, when he was grown up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter, 25 choosing rather to be mistreated with the people of God than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. 26 He considered the reproach of Christ greater wealth than the treasures of Egypt, for he was looking to the reward.

27 By faith he left Egypt, not being afraid of the anger of the king, for he endured as seeing him who is invisible.

28 By faith he kept the Passover and sprinkled the blood, so that the Destroyer of the firstborn might not touch them.

29 By faith the people crossed the Red Sea as on dry land, but the Egyptians, when they attempted to do the same, were drowned.  (Hebrews 11:23-29)

We probably all have an image of Moses from the old Charlton Heston movie.  It is through Moses that God reaches into human history to rescue his people from Egyptian slavery.  This movement out of Egypt—an event we know as the “exodus”—became symbolic of the way that God redeems all his people from the slavery and bondage of sin.

So it is fitting that the writer of Hebrews should use Moses as an example of the kind of faith that we should strive for.  But as we will see, Moses’ record was hardly spotless.  What lessons might we learn?

  • First, we recognize that God’s perfect plan always comes about through imperfect people. All of us are deeply flawed.  It is equally fitting, then, that the writer of Hebrews directs our thoughts to Moses’ faithfulness rather than Moses’ failure.
  • Second, we recognize that God is gracious. Moses’ failure resulted in God’s discipline, but not his full wrath.  Moses is counted among the heroes of faith, and even supernaturally appears alongside Elijah on Jesus’ mount of transfiguration (Matthew 17:1-8), so it’s clear that Moses never lost his salvation.
  • Third, these great achievements should also remind us that there are none so great that may not have a moment of failure.  When we find ourselves at our most successful, those may the times when we are most vulnerable.

In the days ahead, we’ll see how the frustrations of leadership prompted Moses to “drift” from his steadfast course—even in a seemingly subtle way.  And it may also reveal the way our own heart attitudes can cause us to drift from holiness in search of our own happiness.

 

[1] Annie Murphy, “Do Kids Really Have ‘Summer Learning Loss?’” Time.com, July 1, 2013, http://ideas.time.com/2013/07/01/do-kids-really-have-summer-learning-loss/

Let’s Go (John 15:12-17)

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Unless you live under a rock—or just somewhere far removed from kids—you’ve probably been hearing a lot about the new craze called “Pokemon Go.”  I know I’m young (-ish), but I’m just a notch or two too old to have grown up during the height of Pokemon’s initial popularity, so I actually had to have someone explain what “Pokemon Go” is all about.  It’s actually all in the name: a “Pokemon” is a magical creature popularized by a card game (and related products) in Japan.  The “Go” part is where things get interesting.  You start by downloading the app to your phone or mobile device.  The app coordinates with GPS, so when you use the app you have a map of your neighborhood.  The map features markers in random locations that indicate where you find a Pokemon.  So while most games are played just by sitting still and using your thumbs, Pokemon Go requires you to physically travel to those locations.  So if my map shows a Pokemon over by the City Park, then I have to physically travel to the City Park.  Once I arrive at the location, the app allows me to find the Pokemon using the phone’s camera feature.  Looking at the screen, I can locate the Pokemon, at which point I am able to “catch” it.

You have to give the designers credit: here’s a game that’s actually getting people off the sofa and moving, and certainly blurring the usual boundaries that exist in neighborhoods as people share a love for a common quest.

On the other hand, I can’t help but laugh at the obvious modern parable: legions of people motivated to chase after things that aren’t real.  If that’s not a metaphor for the human condition, I don’t know what is.

We are, indeed, “prone to wander,” as the old hymn writer intoned.  Whether chasing Pokemon, chasing a fantasy relationship, wealth, career, what have you.  All the same, it seems that human beings were never meant to stand still.  Jesus himself describes faith as something of a journey, and those who take the narrow road find life.

In John, Jesus tells his followers that there is a new relationship that comes from “abiding.”  Staying close to Jesus changes our status before God:

12 “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. 13 Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. 14 You are my friends if you do what I command you.15 No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you. 16 You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you. 17 These things I command you, so that you will love one another. (John 15:12-17)

The contemporary world has reduced humans to mere consumers, or at least it tries to.  The modern world brought us from God’s image-bearers to mere homo sapiens, the latest model in a blind, evolutionary process.  The postmodern world has reduced us still further to homo ludens, “humans at play.”

The gospel restores our dignity by positioning us as agents of God’s kingdom, friends who are granted the privilege of sharing in the work that God is performing in the world around us.  It’s not for nothing that Adam’s original task was to tend the garden.  Now, the body of Christ is likewise called to “bear fruit.”  Pay very attention to this latter part of the text: verse 16 says that the Christian’s purpose is to “go and bear fruit.”  Go.  This is John’s version of the Great Commission.  Jesus came so that we may have “life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10). Now, Jesus tells his followers (tells us) that our mission is to cultivate that life in others.

To abide is to go.  To abide is to become a missional cultivator who connects others to the life-giving “Vine” of Christ.  Do we not believe that there is great joy to be found in that—perhaps even greater joy than a smart-phone game can produce?

A few years ago I found myself in the City Park here in Hagerstown.  It was a Saturday in the Springtime, and therefore slightly more crowded than usual.  On the sidewalk was a little girl riding her bicycle, and in her front basket she had a large pile of freshly-picked yellow dandelions.  She paused in front of me to hand me one, for which I thanked her.  She grinned excitedly and turned to her nearby parents, shouting: “Mommy! Mommy!  I gave the man a flower!”  There’s joy in going.  There’s joy in giving.  And there’s a difference, I think, between our childish pursuit of selfish fantasies, and a childlike capacity for wonder, and for grace.

Let’s go.

#lovematters (1 John 4:16-21)

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We live in the age of the hashtag.  Even if you abstain from social media, you are constantly bombarded by sound bites and slogans designed to convey not the truth, but some caricature of it.

Recent tragedies have generated a whole new set of competing slogans.  Black lives matter, we’re told.  All lives matter, others counter.  Supporters of law enforcement add that blue lives matter.  And of course many arguments are made over which of these slogans is most accurate, or most helpful as we seek to sort through declining trust in law enforcement and a spirit of racial injustice.

So which is it?  Black lives?  Blue lives?  All lives?  Frankly, I think we’re asking the wrong question if we’re debating whose life matters.  I think it’s a better question to ask: what does it mean to matter?  And to whom do we matter?  It’s like the old story of the carpenter and the watchmaker.  The carpenter says, “I need to hammer this nail,” so the watchmaker hands him a pocketwatch.  The carpenter drives the nail into the board, but the watch is now in pieces.  “Huh,” he observes, “this mustn’t be a very good watch.”  It’s absurd, of course, but why?  Because the watch isn’t meant for that purpose.  Understanding what it means to matter is a question of purpose, yet we as a culture decided long ago that we had no common purpose; we would remain a nation of individuals, each of us plotting our own course.  Yet without purpose there can be only brokenness.

What an opportunity for the gospel to shine.

THE CALL TO LOVE

We’ve been focusing on what it means to “abide,” using John’s writings as our guide.  Yesterday we noted that the surest starting point for abiding in Christ is to believe the fundamental nature of the gospel: that in Jesus God came to earth to pay our infinite debt so that we might experience fellowship in him.  But John’s first letter focuses not only on the facts of faith but also their results.  Abiding starts with faith in Christ, but it is made manifest in the love of Christ:

16 So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him.17 By this is love perfected with us, so that we may have confidence for the day of judgment, because as he is so also are we in this world.18 There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.19 We love because he first loved us. (1 John 4:16-19)

The starting point for Christian love is the love God has shown us.  Do you see how the gospel empowers us to love in a way religion never can?  Religious teachers can instruct their followers to love people, but the only thing this might produce is mechanical obedience.  Religion says: “Love others and God will love you.”  The gospel says: “God loves you, therefore you’re free to love others.”

THE DANGER OF ABSTRACTION

This is partly why empty religion can be so destructive.  If I embrace religion—apart from the grace of the gospel—then I may be tempted to think that God loves me because of my own goodness, my own achievements.  And once I start believing that, then I tend to compare others to myself.  Pretty soon, others start looking less worthy of my love because they don’t match my own standards.

John cautions against this, saying:

20 If anyone says, “I love God,” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen. 21 And this commandment we have from him: whoever loves God must also love his brother. (1 John 4:20-21)

Abiding is about loving others.  When John speaks of “brother,” he’s most likely referring to fellow followers of Christ.  But surely love for our neighbors (Mark 12:32) is an essential part of Christian obedience.

In a world driven by slogans, it’s so easy to get off the rails.  Love withers when we reduce human beings to mere abstractions.  What do I mean?  I’m talking about the way we label others as “thugs,” or “racists,” or “liberals.”  We shut down conversations because we don’t want to listen to what others have to say.  We ignore pleas for racial sensitivity because it sounds to us like liberal propaganda, and with enough digging we can prove that the facts on our side, by golly so isn’t it time to just move on?  We fail to love when we dig up dirt on shooting victims, feeling somehow assured that if we can learn that they were somehow guilty of other, lesser crimes, we can sleep better knowing that these men were “thugs” who contributed to their own ill fates.  We love our brothers—but we make sure we reserve our love for those without a rap sheet.  A world of cause and effect gives us comfort and assurance, because it means that I can have control over my fate so long as I cling to my moral record.

The gospel shatters this, because it tells me that I am so broken that the God of the universe had to die to save me.  And because Christ died for the wayward and the broken, the gospel gives me assurance that no one—not even those I might be tempted to label as a “liberal” or a “racist” or a “thug”—is beyond his reach.

THE URGENCY OF “GRACIOUS CONTENTION”

There is division in our nation like never before.  Now, more than ever, we need the Church, we need a community of men and women who abide in Christ and manifest this love in their interactions with others.

Now, I sense that some of you will be bothered by some of this, because surely, with all this division, not every side can be right and there are many voices and positions worthy of being challenged.  Indeed, the message of the cross runs counter to a cultural message of “empowerment.”  Christians are at odds with the world, and conflict is inevitable.

Love is not opposed to such conflict and such challenges.  To avoid disagreements is to relegate oneself to apathy rather than the bold love God showed us through Christ.  In his book Political Discipleship, Graham Ward of Manchester University suggested that what we need is a climate of “gracious contention,” meaning that we allow for the liberty to wrestle with important issues with an attitude of grace.  There is a world of difference between disagreeing and being disagreeable.  But love for our neighbor remains our guiding principle.  For while there may be no easy answers to our current crises, we can be confident that ultimately, eternally, love truly wins.

Abiding in belief (1 John 4)

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Are you sure you’re saved?  All of us, I suspect, have asked ourselves this question at some time or another.  If you’re anything like me, you might have prayed the “sinner’s prayer” a few dozen times just to make sure that one of your salvations “took,” kinda like sending that sweater through the wash again just to be sure that stain’s out.

We’ve been talking this week about “abiding.”  Abiding means staying close to Jesus, to immerse ourselves in his character and his teaching.  So how can we be really sure we “abide?”

YOUR OWN PERSONAL JESUS

No one, not even the Beatles, will ever be more famous or more widely known than Jesus Christ.  He is the central figure of all human history.  Even our calendars are organized around the periods of “B.C” (“before Christ”) and “A.D.” (annulus Dei, the “year of our Lord”).

But who is this man?  What do we say about him?  As much as religion has been pushed to the corners and margins of our society, it’s a pretty safe bet that your friends and neighbors might echo many of the cultural assumptions that circulate about Jesus.  From the “Jesus fish” on your minivan to the “Jesus is my homeboy” t-shirts sold at Urban Outfitters, Jesus stands somewhere between fashion statement and cultural icon.  Rapper Kanye West famously appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine with a crown of thorns, promoting his hit song “Jesus Walks.”

Years ago the question we were asking was: “Should we believe in Jesus or not?”  High-minded academics used to describe themselves standing at the edge of “an ugly broad ditch.”  On one side was the Christ of history.  On the other stood the Christ of faith.  They could believe in a historical man named Jesus, but…miracles?  Resurrection?  These proved too difficult to believe.  But today’s world has made the jump, it seems.  We’ve leapt across the ditch only to find ourselves in a hall of mirrors.  Everyone has “their own personal Jesus,” a personalized savior for a nation of rugged individuals. And so we find ourselves like the Roman guard of Oscar Wilde’s play about the life of Christ: “[Jesus] is everywhere,” he tells King Herod, “and we cannot find him.”

ABIDING AND BELIEF

We can’t possibly say enough about the similarities between our world and the ancient one. John was writing from the city of Ephesus.  But even the believers living in the city understood only the teachings of John the Baptist:

And it happened that while Apollos was at Corinth, Paul passed through the inland country and came to Ephesus. There he found some disciples. 2 And he said to them, “Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed?” And they said, “No, we have not even heard that there is a Holy Spirit.” 3 And he said, “Into what then were you baptized?” They said, “Into John’s baptism.” (Acts 19:1-3)

They had the part, not the whole.  Paul had to explain to them that John’s baptism only pointed toward someone greater—Jesus himself.  It was this sort of halfway-religious world that John found himself in, though John would see both Peter and Paul die while he carried on.  Perhaps motivated by this, perhaps urged on by friends, John penned a biography of Jesus that we now know as the gospel of John.  But John wrote other parts of our Bibles as well, such as the enigmatic book of Revelation and a series of letters we know as “1, 2, and 3 John.”

The first letter John wrote was about this exact topic.  The people in John’s world believed in Jesus, yes, but their image of Jesus was shaped by cultural forces and personal expectation.  If you read 1 John, you see that much of what John writes is a swirling meditation on the unity between proper belief and Christian conduct.

13 By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. 14 And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Savior of the world. 15 Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in him, and he in God. (1 John 4:13-15)

You’ll notice, of course, that John uses the same image here of “abiding” in Christ.  And what evidence does John give for knowing we abide?  Because we have the Spirit, he tells us; the same Spirit the believers that Paul had encountered didn’t even know about.  But John continues.  He emphasizes that proper belief in Jesus is the key to abiding.  To believe that Jesus is fully God and fully man—this is, according to John, the starting point of an abiding relationship with God.

Christianity is a religion of belief, not works.  We know this, and yet we may often feel tempted to think ourselves unworthy of God’s love because we lack the right credentials, or because we just don’t feel spiritual enough.  Maybe we even wrestle with repeated sins, feeling disqualified from active faith because we can never seem to get it right.  All of these things are worthy to address as we mature in our faith.  But they are not the measurements of our faith.  The assurance of our salvation is not the quality or quantity of our faith; it’s the object of our faith.  Understanding who Jesus is—that is, knowing him to be God in human skin—this is the essential foundation of our faith.  Why?  Because only God could go to the cross to offer an infinite sacrifice to pay our infinite debt, and God must do this as a human being to atone for the sin of Adam.

Faith produces confidence.  Theology—the act of studying and learning about God—isn’t just an exercise of ivory-tower academics.  It’s for all of us.  Just as food means more to those who are hungry, just as air means more to those who are choking, so does faith mean more to those who are doubting. For doubt is not the opposite of faith.  No, the opposite of faith is actually speculation, the art of bending the truth to fit our own private assumptions and felt needs.  Doubt is not the opposite of faith, but its absence.  And so in the darkness of our mind’s eye, Christ’s truth shines with clarity, with radiance, with beauty.

To flourish or wither (John 15)

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I have a confession to make.  It won’t be easy; some of you will never forgive me for keeping so dark a secret.  But here goes: I kill plants.  Like, all plants.  I used to own a houseplant.  It died under my care.  I did all I could, but for the life of me (and the death of the plant…) I had no idea if I was overwatering or underwatering or if the poor thing really just wanted a cup of coffee or something.  A year or so ago my neighbors asked me to water their plants while they were on vacation.  I ended up praying that they would return soon because I was already starting to see some brown leaves emerging.  All of this would be perfectly understandable if you didn’t know that my first job out of college was working with plants (including in a greenhouse) for the USDA.  C’est la vie, or something like that.

Plants really have only one of two fates.  They thrive and flourish, or they wither and die.  There’s no real setting for “neutral,” at least not for very long.

Jesus seems to be saying something similar in his message to “abide.”  Yesterday we talked about how to “abide” in Christ means to be connected and committed to Jesus in a personal way.  Today I thought we’d take a personal look at the results of this.  Let’s revisit the passage, this time paying attention to the results of abiding (highlighted in bold) and the results of failing to abide (underlined):

 “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. 2 Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. 3 Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. 4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. 6 If anyone does not abide in me he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. 7 If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. 8 By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples. 9 As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love. 10 If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. 11 These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full. (John 15:1-11)

(On a side note, this is actually a good exercise for things such as family devotions, etc.—an easy way to practice the habit of simply observing the text)

If you focus on just the highlighted portions, you get a snapshot of the mature Christian life.  Abiding produces growth.  “Fruit” is a symbol for life, a life that begins with our walk with Christ and stretches onward into eternity.  And it is a life, Jesus tells us, that is marked by the fullness of joy.  Jesus even promises that an abiding person can expect answers to his prayers—though we should note that the condition is a heart that is truly abiding in Christ.

Negatively, look at the underlined portions.  I don’t think Jesus necessarily means a loss of salvation, though he certainly emphasizes a loss of fellowship, a loss of effectiveness, a loss of joy.

It’s cliché to say that our world suffers from a lack of devotion to God.  Devotion to self is a cancer that causes our nation to wither like a bundle of drying branches.  Our notion of “progress” is often a myth, and every news cycle, every election cycle proves that indeed, history truly does repeat itself, often transfigured into an uglier form than it was before.

The gospel makes no promises of our happiness, but it makes a powerful promise of lasting joy.  Imagine that—on the night before he was publicly tortured and killed, Jesus promises joy for those who abide in him.  The problems that flicker across our television and computer screens are not interruptions in our call to joy; they are reminders of the sheer necessity of joy.  “Abide in me,” Jesus asks us.  “Stay close…that’s where joy is found: fresh and wild and alive.”

 

 

Snipers, sirens, and “abiding” in a “peek-a-boo world” (John 15)

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Pain is one of few things that grow when shared.

For the first time in human history, technology has given us front-row seats to some of the greatest human tragedies—death, injustice, and outrage broadcast live through social media services, only to be replayed endlessly in our 24-hour news cycle.  Police shootings.  Outrage.  Backlash.  It’s as if the pain overflows from our screens and etches into our hearts like an acid bath.

How do we process such images, such emotions, such stories?  What—if anything—do we tell our children?  Where lies the responsibility of God’s people in all of this confusion?

None of these questions have easy answers.  What I thought we might do this week is look at our scheduled passage in light of everything that’s happening in our nation.

 

THE TRUE VINE

John’s biography of Jesus splits into two basic parts.  The first half provides an overview of Jesus’ ministry, a period lasting at least three years.  But the second half focuses on the final week of Jesus’ life—from his arrival in Jerusalem to his death and resurrection.  Time slows down.  John offers us a glimpse of Jesus’ teachings in detail.  At the famous “last supper,” Jesus offers his disciples an extended speech of what life will be like as they carry on his mission here on earth.  It won’t be pretty, he seems to emphasize, but we can take comfort in claiming Christ as our source of strength.  In John 15, the disciples rise from the table and proceed to go to the garden to pray, and it’s in this movement that Jesus offers one of his most enduring lessons:

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. 2 Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. 3 Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. 4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. 6 If anyone does not abide in me he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. 7 If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. 8 By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples. 9 As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love. 10 If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. 11 These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full. (John 15:1-11)

The Hebrew scriptures contained numerous comparisons between Israel and the “vine” and related imagery—not always positively.  Jesus says here that he is the true Vine, the true source of life.  And this life is experienced by “abiding” (some translations might say “remaining”) in him.

 

OUR “PEEK-A-BOO WORLD”

Our world is not one prone to “abide” in much of anything.  No; our world is far more accustomed to what’s “trending” and what’s popular. More than twenty years ago, Neil Postman wrote a groundbreaking book called Amusing Ourselves to Death.  In it he described the modern era as a “peek-a-boo world:”

“where now this event, now that, pops into view for a moment, then vanishes again. It is a world without much coherence or sense; a world that does not ask us, indeed, does not permit us to do anything; a world that is, like the child’s game of peek-a-boo, entirely self-contained. But like peek-a-boo, it is also endlessly entertaining.”

We should find it all the more compelling that Postman wrote this years before the tyranny of the smart phone and the world of social media.

Perhaps we might feel Postman goes too far in describing this world as “entertaining,” but today’s digital age offers endless outlets for outrage but little room for lasting—and that’s the key word, here—lasting empathy.  It’s like the U2 lyric: “it’s true we are immune, when fact is fiction and TV reality.”

 

BEING “INTO” JESUS

The poet Wendell Berry once wrote that “sometimes you sink into a place, and sometimes a place sinks into you.”  A “peek-a-boo world” doesn’t offer much depth to sink into.   Sink into shallowness, and you hit bottom rather quickly.

Jesus’ command is to “abide.”  The Greek word meno most literally meant “to reside” or “to stay,” the way you might “abide” in your house.  But the word also seems to have a deeper meaning—a spatial metaphor, for you academics out there.  We do something similar in English, actually.  When learning a foreign language, we might say that a person learns more when they are “immersed” in that culture.  Or what about the way we talk about our hobbies, interests, or ideas?  We might say: “I’m really into the Orioles” or ask “Are you into politics at all?”  What do we mean by into?  Obviously it’s not literal.  It’s a powerful way of describing our close connection and identification.

To “abide” means being “into” Jesus, it means being immersed in his life and teachings.  It sounds so trivial to say it that way, but perhaps it’s because we’re so used to a culture of “contacts” that we’ve lost the art of true connection.

We can “abide” in the stories and sentiments expressed on the nightly news or the conversations that swirl around the water cooler.  If we sink into these conversations these ideas could very well sink into us.  We could quickly find ourselves struggling with anger, despair, and further division.

Or we could abide in Jesus.  We could stay close to Jesus.  I don’t mean to suggest that there are not immediate solutions to the problems we face, but I am confident that our ultimate source of peace and justice is found only in Christ.  The cross demonstrated Christ’s willingness to suffer and die next to broken sinners like you and me, and the empty tomb demonstrated God’s power over the most obstinate force in the universe—death itself.

Abide, Jesus says.  Stay close.

When we hear about “breaking footage…” Stay close.

When we learn of another victim… Stay close.

When others’ opinions stir our anger… Stay close.

When our children are looking for answers, we tell them to stay close to The Answer, the Alpha, Omega, the One who promises that when his name is exalted, he draws all men to himself.

Stay close.

Repent! (Luke 13:6-9)

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“Repent” is one of those words that’s been lost in the noise of religious culture.  It’s a word you hear from sweaty-faced TV preachers pleading for your moral conscience.  It’s a word you see written on cardboard signs and held by self-appointed prophets at the stadium or the airport.  It’s a word you might assume to mean: “Better get your act together!”

We return now to Luke’s biography of Jesus.  Earlier we’d looked at the way Jesus challenged his audience by saying that just because tragedy happens, it doesn’t mean the victims “had it coming.”  We’d talked about how when we read tragic newspaper headlines—like the recent shooting in an Orlando nightclub—it’s tempting to think through who we can blame, or find ways to distance ourselves from the moral complexity of the situation.

Jesus tells his audience—then and now—that we are all called to “repent:”

6 And he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came seeking fruit on it and found none. 7 And he said to the vinedresser, ‘Look, for three years now I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and I find none. Cut it down. Why should it use up the ground?’ 8 And he answered him, ‘Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and put on manure. 9 Then if it should bear fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’” (Luke 13:6-9)

Even here we see the themes we’ve been discussing all week.  Justice is coming, but the greater aim is for restoration and mercy.

This parable underscores Jesus’ command in verses 3 and 4, earlier: “unless you repent, you will likewise perish.”

What does it mean to “repent?”  As we hinted at above, we might assume that “repentance” is about making a change in behavior.  We cease doing bad things, and we start doing good things.  We stir up a feeling of being really, really sorry for what we’ve done, with sour-faced promises to “never do it again,” as if we’re a pack of unruly middle schoolers and God is the principal, standing with his arms folded.

“Repent” means to change, to turn.  The Greek word was even used by the “college professors” of the ancient world to refer to the way a character would change his course in the middle of a story.

The same is true for the Christian life, but if we look at the total scope of Christian faith, we must conclude that we change not our habits, but our hearts.  “Our hearts are idol factories,” John Calvin famously wrote.  And he’s right.  We have the tendency to love things more than we love God.  Therefore, what the Bible calls “sin” is really just a form of dis-ordered love.  If I love money more than God, I may become a prisoner of greed.  If I love sex more than God, then I become a prisoner of lust.  And so on.

We can easily imagine how the posture of our hearts directly results in the actions of our hands, can’t we?  So it’s not enough to change the externals—we have to look at what’s underneath.

“Repent,” then, is about re-ordering our loves.  It’s about placing God back at the apex of our hearts; it’s about seeing his beauty, his goodness and allowing his character to stir our affections so that we are gradually transformed into the image of his Son.

Truthfully, this is a daily task.  As more things flood our attention, our hearts are constantly being shaped and molded into what Paul called “the pattern of this world” (Romans 12:2).  The reason the Church has emphasized spiritual disciplines (prayer, Bible study, etc.) is that these practices help us re-order our lives (and our loves).

This means that “repentance” isn’t just for the “lost” people “out there.”  It’s for all of us, all of those who seek to continually exult the name of Jesus, and see his kingdom as supremely valuable over every earthly empire.