Galatians 6:1-5
It has been said that people in our world love Jesus but can’t stand the church. Several books have been dedicated to this recently, including such titles as, “I Love Jesus: I Hate the Church,” and “Damage Control: How to Stop Making Jesus Look Bad.” When people read about or hear about Jesus, they recognize something there that they find attractive and even beautiful. True, the deeper their understanding of Jesus goes, the more they should understand their need for repentance, but there is something beautiful about Jesus nonetheless. On the other hand, their interactions with Christians have turned them off to Church and commitment to Christ. They like what they see in Jesus, but they know too many Christians.
In all reality, we will never be perfect. The church is not a collection of jewels of perfection, it is a collection of people healing and growing in Christ. But we are too often guilty of eating our young and killing our wounded. Paul goes to great lengths at the end of Galatians to describe a different kind of life that is available to the believer. God’s kind of life at work in his people is more healing than it is wounding, it puts together more than it tears apart, it restores more than it destroys.
Paul begins this application of God’s life by describing someone in one of the most vulnerable positions possible.
“Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness.” (vs. 1)
What was once private has become public. What someone has tried hard to conceal has become known. In many ways, this person is now at the mercy of those who know their secret. Thus, Paul calls on the most mature among us. He wants those who are literally “spirit-led” to oversee the management of this brother or sister. And what he says next should come as a kind of thunder clap.
Our natural inclination when someone falls is to mock or shun. Whether to their face of behind it, we are accustomed to looking down on someone, or proclaiming that we are too smart for their too-obvious and atrocious error. We are more likely to gossip about them and build fictional scenarios of their past and evil path that led them to their exposure. We are even more likely to take our new-found position of moral power to control and manipulate. So the thunderous command from Paul is, Restore!
And we do so gently, even meekly. We are to keep diligent regarding our own potential failures and our own brokenness. If we think more of ourselves – if we consider ourselves above the fray or morally superior – we deceive ourselves. If we are not clear about our own frailty, we are lying to ourselves. If, however, I have an honest assessment of how much I need God’s constant forgiveness and grace, we will react in a Christ-like way when a brother or sister is caught. Instead of derision we will react in humility before God and grace toward the fallen.
What do you see when you see a broken soul—any broken soul? What do you see when you see a brother or sister in Christ caught in sin? What do you see when you watch the world tumble along caught in its own sin? Do you see junk? Do you see a wasteland of useless humanity? Do you see a member of your congregation that needs to go?
To be sure, restoration requires that the restored recognize their sin and need for forgiveness. But my job is to give the grace God gave me. My job is to give the kind of forgiveness that requires God’s life at work within me. If you have the opportunity to reach out to a broken and fallen human, restore!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Sons and Daughters of God
Galatians 4:1-7
When the Galatian believers turned away from the gospel of Christ and began following the false teaching of legalism, they had no idea what they were giving up. Paul strains to make the riches available only in Christ as obvious to them as he possibly can in order to convince them to return to the free grace and life of Christ. In this passage, Paul tells a common story to make his point.
Even though an infant heir is born to his father’s estate, and even though he will one day receive the riches available to him, he is completely powerless to lay hold of that inheritance until the day he comes of age and his father grants him his right. And until that day, he has no different access to the estate than the slaves of the household, even the most trusted of the slaves.
In the same way, Paul says, while we were infants we were enslaved to the basic principles of this world. Before Christ came and changed things for the Galatians, not only were they no better than the infant in the estate, they were, in fact, enslaved by the things of this world. Being a slave to anything is language we don’t like to use, but we have to come to terms with it in order to understand the true state of things between the human without Christ and the moral and spiritual structure of this world.
The things of this world enslave us. Enslavement means coercion. It means your passions and brokenness make you do things you “don’t want to do.” It means they build and shape your desires and as such they cause you to do things. Enslavement means less of me and more of my captor. As my flesh and sinful desires do their work, they become my thoughts, emotions, actions and words. My captor runs me and I fade into the shadows. Enslavement means captivity without hope of freedom. The principles of this world without Christ have no intention of holding onto me for a season and then moving on. This is a lifetime project they are on, and unless something happens I will die enslaved to them.
But there is another option to being an infant or a slave in the household: you can be a son. In one of the more powerful twists in the book, Paul writes:
“But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, "Abba! Father!" So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God.” (4:4-8)
An infant doesn’t have the power in themselves to become the heir, so their Father needs to do the work. And that is exactly what God did. In his eternal wisdom, God sent his Son, the second member of the Trinity, into this world to live this life in this flesh, to die this death, and to conquer it all for God’s children. Then he sent the Spirit of his Son, the third member of the Trinity, to reside within us to secure our relationship and inheritance. As a child of God, we call our Creator, Abba.
The work of Christ in this life was to redeem us and give us the adoption as sons. Christ bought back our lives; he paid the price necessary to put us back into right relationship with God. Then, and only then, do we become God’s sons and daughters.
God walked through the orphanage, picked you, paid the price, signed the papers, and took you home. You are a child of God, and the riches of his life and presence are available to you now and for all of eternity.
When the Galatian believers turned away from the gospel of Christ and began following the false teaching of legalism, they had no idea what they were giving up. Paul strains to make the riches available only in Christ as obvious to them as he possibly can in order to convince them to return to the free grace and life of Christ. In this passage, Paul tells a common story to make his point.
Even though an infant heir is born to his father’s estate, and even though he will one day receive the riches available to him, he is completely powerless to lay hold of that inheritance until the day he comes of age and his father grants him his right. And until that day, he has no different access to the estate than the slaves of the household, even the most trusted of the slaves.
In the same way, Paul says, while we were infants we were enslaved to the basic principles of this world. Before Christ came and changed things for the Galatians, not only were they no better than the infant in the estate, they were, in fact, enslaved by the things of this world. Being a slave to anything is language we don’t like to use, but we have to come to terms with it in order to understand the true state of things between the human without Christ and the moral and spiritual structure of this world.
The things of this world enslave us. Enslavement means coercion. It means your passions and brokenness make you do things you “don’t want to do.” It means they build and shape your desires and as such they cause you to do things. Enslavement means less of me and more of my captor. As my flesh and sinful desires do their work, they become my thoughts, emotions, actions and words. My captor runs me and I fade into the shadows. Enslavement means captivity without hope of freedom. The principles of this world without Christ have no intention of holding onto me for a season and then moving on. This is a lifetime project they are on, and unless something happens I will die enslaved to them.
But there is another option to being an infant or a slave in the household: you can be a son. In one of the more powerful twists in the book, Paul writes:
“But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, "Abba! Father!" So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God.” (4:4-8)
An infant doesn’t have the power in themselves to become the heir, so their Father needs to do the work. And that is exactly what God did. In his eternal wisdom, God sent his Son, the second member of the Trinity, into this world to live this life in this flesh, to die this death, and to conquer it all for God’s children. Then he sent the Spirit of his Son, the third member of the Trinity, to reside within us to secure our relationship and inheritance. As a child of God, we call our Creator, Abba.
The work of Christ in this life was to redeem us and give us the adoption as sons. Christ bought back our lives; he paid the price necessary to put us back into right relationship with God. Then, and only then, do we become God’s sons and daughters.
God walked through the orphanage, picked you, paid the price, signed the papers, and took you home. You are a child of God, and the riches of his life and presence are available to you now and for all of eternity.
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Name
Revelation 3:12
Companies and brand names compete for your loyalty by creating a culture of brand recognition and consumer atmosphere. You learn through billboards and commercials that certain kinds of people wear certain brands of clothing and eat at certain restaurants. And then, companies and their marketing firms hope, you will decide to look like and eat like those people in the attempt to have a piece of the lives they have. Plenty of people—especially young people—become loyal consumers of a certain brand in order to have the same cache the people they see in the commercials have.
To put someone’s or something’s name on you is a gesture of loyalty. There is even a level of character imitation when we take a name and put it on. Politicians pass out buttons and bumper stickers hoping you will be recognized as their supporters, even their followers. We often associate with names and movements because we want to become like them.
In Scripture, having a name written on you is not much different. It is a symbol of loyalty, of character development, and even a sign of protection. Maybe the most infamous example of people “taking on a name” is the mark of the beast in Revelation. Whatever the bewildering “666” turns out to be, it is ultimately a mark of intense loyalty and association. Those who take on the mark are making a final association—we will follow this person and this cause come hell or high water.
But that is not the only name written on people. When God promises relationship and salvation from the troubles of this world to the church in Philadelphia, he says this:
The one who conquers, I will make him a pillar in the temple of my God. Never shall he go out of it, and I will write on him the name of my God, and the name of the city of my God, the new Jerusalem, which comes down from my God out of heaven, and my own new name. (3:12)
This name is so important to Christ, he repeats the idea three times. It turns out that God writing his name on his people is not just a mark of relationship and loyalty between them, it is a marker of protection. In chapters 7 and 14 those marked with his name are protected for life eternal with their God. And in a dramatic prophecy in Ezekiel 9, God’s wrath does not commence until his faithful worshipers are protected by having God’s name inscribed on their foreheads.
Look down at what you are wearing. Look around the room you are sitting in. Bring to mind the books you read and the shows you watch. What names have you chosen to associate with? What and whose character are you trying to emulate? Above any and every name is the name of Jesus Christ.
Bearing the name of Christ is the ultimate and eschatological association. Come what may, I will bear the name of my Savior and Redeemer. He will be to me the most important consideration in life and in death. His Word is my final rule of faith and action. His Empowering Presence is my daily food and water. His glory and call will be my guide.
Other names will compete for your attention, your money, your worldview, and for your life. This is why the promise is to the one who “conquers.” It takes effort – even warfare – to faithfully bear the name of Jesus Christ.
Companies and brand names compete for your loyalty by creating a culture of brand recognition and consumer atmosphere. You learn through billboards and commercials that certain kinds of people wear certain brands of clothing and eat at certain restaurants. And then, companies and their marketing firms hope, you will decide to look like and eat like those people in the attempt to have a piece of the lives they have. Plenty of people—especially young people—become loyal consumers of a certain brand in order to have the same cache the people they see in the commercials have.
To put someone’s or something’s name on you is a gesture of loyalty. There is even a level of character imitation when we take a name and put it on. Politicians pass out buttons and bumper stickers hoping you will be recognized as their supporters, even their followers. We often associate with names and movements because we want to become like them.
In Scripture, having a name written on you is not much different. It is a symbol of loyalty, of character development, and even a sign of protection. Maybe the most infamous example of people “taking on a name” is the mark of the beast in Revelation. Whatever the bewildering “666” turns out to be, it is ultimately a mark of intense loyalty and association. Those who take on the mark are making a final association—we will follow this person and this cause come hell or high water.
But that is not the only name written on people. When God promises relationship and salvation from the troubles of this world to the church in Philadelphia, he says this:
The one who conquers, I will make him a pillar in the temple of my God. Never shall he go out of it, and I will write on him the name of my God, and the name of the city of my God, the new Jerusalem, which comes down from my God out of heaven, and my own new name. (3:12)
This name is so important to Christ, he repeats the idea three times. It turns out that God writing his name on his people is not just a mark of relationship and loyalty between them, it is a marker of protection. In chapters 7 and 14 those marked with his name are protected for life eternal with their God. And in a dramatic prophecy in Ezekiel 9, God’s wrath does not commence until his faithful worshipers are protected by having God’s name inscribed on their foreheads.
Look down at what you are wearing. Look around the room you are sitting in. Bring to mind the books you read and the shows you watch. What names have you chosen to associate with? What and whose character are you trying to emulate? Above any and every name is the name of Jesus Christ.
Bearing the name of Christ is the ultimate and eschatological association. Come what may, I will bear the name of my Savior and Redeemer. He will be to me the most important consideration in life and in death. His Word is my final rule of faith and action. His Empowering Presence is my daily food and water. His glory and call will be my guide.
Other names will compete for your attention, your money, your worldview, and for your life. This is why the promise is to the one who “conquers.” It takes effort – even warfare – to faithfully bear the name of Jesus Christ.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Rejecting Christ
Mark 15:1-20
People reject Jesus for all kinds of different reasons. Some of them are deeply emotional and personal reasons, and some of them are thought through and deliberate. Things were no different when Jesus walked the streets of Judea, and in these courtroom scenes in Mark, we learn why the religious leaders and why the political leader of the day rejected Jesus.
The Sanhedrin were desperate to find something to use against Jesus that would send him to his death. They were so desperate they broke all their normal rules for trial and accusation, concocted false witnesses and searched for any testimony that would condemn Jesus. They finally landed on a misrepresentation of Jesus’ own words, “I will destroy this temple that is made with hands, and in three days I will build another not made with hands” (14:58). The religious leaders looked for and found a religious reason to reject Jesus.
It might sound odd to put it this way, but people often reject Jesus for religious reasons. The threat Jesus posed to them was to their tightly-packaged and self-styled religion. It is true they were trying to be devout followers of God, but their legalism had become their idol and their means of controlling the people. Jesus openly, and sometimes violently, rejected the legalism of the Pharisees. He even did it before crowds of people, changing their loyalties from the scribes and Pharisees to himself. Jesus freed the people from the religious leaders’ monopoly of religious practice.
What is important is that when the Sanhedrin were confronted with the truth, they clung instead to what they wanted to be true. This is a powerful force in the human heart. To be confronted with the truth of Jesus Christ means I need to change. It means I need to come to the realization I am no longer in control, and I am no longer my own lord and master. On the other hand, if I get to set the religious rules and realities, I am much more comfortable. Paul tells us that people will reject the truth because what is false suits their own pleasures (2 Timothy 4:3).
Pilate, on the other hand, was not a religious man. He was a political creature who worked his way up the ladder of power, and eventually took his own life when he has his position stripped from him. What is important for our discussion here, is that he was convinced of Jesus’ innocence. Three times in Mark 15 Pilate presses the crowd and Sanhedrin to make sure they want to condemn Jesus to death. The record of Pilate in the other Gospels makes it even clearer that he knew Jesus to be innocent—his wife even had a dream warning him not to have anything to do with Jesus’ conviction. So what caused him to send an innocent man to a tortuous death? Mark 15:15 provides the answer, “So Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd…delivered him to be crucified.”
Pilate, face-to-face with the truth, picked the false path because it was politically and culturally expedient; it pleased and placated the crowd. He chose the path of least social resistance. This is another powerful force in the human heart. It is easier for us to pick our own ease and comfort and the accolades of others over the truth of Jesus Christ. But when we do, there is a high price to pay. When my own desires, ease and comfort are king, I will be willing to bend and compromise everywhere else. Pilate went so far as to send Jesus to his death. I will compromise on all my commitments, including friends, family, career, and even God.
But if I chose Christ, against what is easy religiously and culturally, I gain the whole world. When I lose my soul to him, I get it back. When I accept the truth of Jesus Christ, it sets me free.
People reject Jesus for all kinds of different reasons. Some of them are deeply emotional and personal reasons, and some of them are thought through and deliberate. Things were no different when Jesus walked the streets of Judea, and in these courtroom scenes in Mark, we learn why the religious leaders and why the political leader of the day rejected Jesus.
The Sanhedrin were desperate to find something to use against Jesus that would send him to his death. They were so desperate they broke all their normal rules for trial and accusation, concocted false witnesses and searched for any testimony that would condemn Jesus. They finally landed on a misrepresentation of Jesus’ own words, “I will destroy this temple that is made with hands, and in three days I will build another not made with hands” (14:58). The religious leaders looked for and found a religious reason to reject Jesus.
It might sound odd to put it this way, but people often reject Jesus for religious reasons. The threat Jesus posed to them was to their tightly-packaged and self-styled religion. It is true they were trying to be devout followers of God, but their legalism had become their idol and their means of controlling the people. Jesus openly, and sometimes violently, rejected the legalism of the Pharisees. He even did it before crowds of people, changing their loyalties from the scribes and Pharisees to himself. Jesus freed the people from the religious leaders’ monopoly of religious practice.
What is important is that when the Sanhedrin were confronted with the truth, they clung instead to what they wanted to be true. This is a powerful force in the human heart. To be confronted with the truth of Jesus Christ means I need to change. It means I need to come to the realization I am no longer in control, and I am no longer my own lord and master. On the other hand, if I get to set the religious rules and realities, I am much more comfortable. Paul tells us that people will reject the truth because what is false suits their own pleasures (2 Timothy 4:3).
Pilate, on the other hand, was not a religious man. He was a political creature who worked his way up the ladder of power, and eventually took his own life when he has his position stripped from him. What is important for our discussion here, is that he was convinced of Jesus’ innocence. Three times in Mark 15 Pilate presses the crowd and Sanhedrin to make sure they want to condemn Jesus to death. The record of Pilate in the other Gospels makes it even clearer that he knew Jesus to be innocent—his wife even had a dream warning him not to have anything to do with Jesus’ conviction. So what caused him to send an innocent man to a tortuous death? Mark 15:15 provides the answer, “So Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd…delivered him to be crucified.”
Pilate, face-to-face with the truth, picked the false path because it was politically and culturally expedient; it pleased and placated the crowd. He chose the path of least social resistance. This is another powerful force in the human heart. It is easier for us to pick our own ease and comfort and the accolades of others over the truth of Jesus Christ. But when we do, there is a high price to pay. When my own desires, ease and comfort are king, I will be willing to bend and compromise everywhere else. Pilate went so far as to send Jesus to his death. I will compromise on all my commitments, including friends, family, career, and even God.
But if I chose Christ, against what is easy religiously and culturally, I gain the whole world. When I lose my soul to him, I get it back. When I accept the truth of Jesus Christ, it sets me free.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Willing Slaves of Christ
Revelation 1:1
The book of Revelation tends lay in a fog. We may only read it when we get worried about world events, or at the end of our yearly reading program, and it is almost always a frustrating book to try and figure out. It contains odd and difficult to understand visions, dreams, beasts and creatures. Much of what John sees and writes down is in a form foreign to us, and we don’t always know how to go about tackling the interpretation of the book.
This is an odd, though common, irony. From the very start of the book, it is intended to be a revelation of Jesus Christ. Though that word “revelation” is the Greek word for apocalypse, it means to have something unfolded and explained to us. And who or what is the target of that unfolding? It is Jesus Christ. The book of Revelation, for all its uniqueness, reveals Jesus Christ to us in ways the rest of the NT only hints at.
One of the keys to the revelatory nature of this book lies in an important concept John uses twice in his opening thoughts. God reveals the contents of this book to his servants in general, and reveals it specifically to his servant John (1:1). By the time John writes this book down (probably as late as 95 A.D.), the title of “servant” of Christ is loaded with meaning.
This word is a powerful indicator of a believer’s relationship with Jesus Christ. It means to be a “bond slave,” or someone who has willingly become the slave of another. For example, after Peter and John suffer persecution at the hands of the religious leaders of the day, they return to their church and pray. Part of what they say is in Acts 4:29:
“And now, Lord, look upon their threats and grant to your servants to continue to speak your word with all boldness.”
The early church took this title of “willing slave” upon themselves: they were not given it, they took it. And as Paul writes to the various churches, he commonly calls himself the servant, or bondservant, of Jesus Christ (Romans 1:1, Philippians 1:1). John also calls himself a servant of Jesus Christ. And as such he faithfully writes down all he sees and hears and compiles the book of Revelation.
It is no small thing to say John faithfully wrote down this book. He was the subject of persecution, the people he wrote to were as well, and the things contained in the book are not all roses and rainbows. John was a servant of Christ even when it meant his own (severe) discomfort, and when he probably didn’t like what he was seeing and getting from God.
As such, he stands as an example of what it means for me to be a willing slave of Jesus Christ. It means he is the most important thing to my life and my decisions. It means God is always right and good even when present circumstances are not easy or comfortable. It means I can and should fulfill my calling no matter what that means for my position and place in life. Taking the label of servant means I act as though God is Lord, not me.
And what results? Well, for one thing, God wants to reveal his Son Jesus Christ to his servants through the pages of Revelation. To encounter this Christ through the lens of the trials and difficulty of this world requires a right relationship with him: being a willing servant to a sovereign God.
The book of Revelation tends lay in a fog. We may only read it when we get worried about world events, or at the end of our yearly reading program, and it is almost always a frustrating book to try and figure out. It contains odd and difficult to understand visions, dreams, beasts and creatures. Much of what John sees and writes down is in a form foreign to us, and we don’t always know how to go about tackling the interpretation of the book.
This is an odd, though common, irony. From the very start of the book, it is intended to be a revelation of Jesus Christ. Though that word “revelation” is the Greek word for apocalypse, it means to have something unfolded and explained to us. And who or what is the target of that unfolding? It is Jesus Christ. The book of Revelation, for all its uniqueness, reveals Jesus Christ to us in ways the rest of the NT only hints at.
One of the keys to the revelatory nature of this book lies in an important concept John uses twice in his opening thoughts. God reveals the contents of this book to his servants in general, and reveals it specifically to his servant John (1:1). By the time John writes this book down (probably as late as 95 A.D.), the title of “servant” of Christ is loaded with meaning.
This word is a powerful indicator of a believer’s relationship with Jesus Christ. It means to be a “bond slave,” or someone who has willingly become the slave of another. For example, after Peter and John suffer persecution at the hands of the religious leaders of the day, they return to their church and pray. Part of what they say is in Acts 4:29:
“And now, Lord, look upon their threats and grant to your servants to continue to speak your word with all boldness.”
The early church took this title of “willing slave” upon themselves: they were not given it, they took it. And as Paul writes to the various churches, he commonly calls himself the servant, or bondservant, of Jesus Christ (Romans 1:1, Philippians 1:1). John also calls himself a servant of Jesus Christ. And as such he faithfully writes down all he sees and hears and compiles the book of Revelation.
It is no small thing to say John faithfully wrote down this book. He was the subject of persecution, the people he wrote to were as well, and the things contained in the book are not all roses and rainbows. John was a servant of Christ even when it meant his own (severe) discomfort, and when he probably didn’t like what he was seeing and getting from God.
As such, he stands as an example of what it means for me to be a willing slave of Jesus Christ. It means he is the most important thing to my life and my decisions. It means God is always right and good even when present circumstances are not easy or comfortable. It means I can and should fulfill my calling no matter what that means for my position and place in life. Taking the label of servant means I act as though God is Lord, not me.
And what results? Well, for one thing, God wants to reveal his Son Jesus Christ to his servants through the pages of Revelation. To encounter this Christ through the lens of the trials and difficulty of this world requires a right relationship with him: being a willing servant to a sovereign God.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
The Spirit Is Willing And The Flesh Is Weak
Mark 14:32-42
Jesus’ prayer in the garden of Gethsemane is one of the more interesting passages in Mark’s Gospel for several reasons, not the least of which is that it is a unique insight into his preparation for the cross. For days and even weeks, Jesus taught and led the disciples preparing them for what was coming. Their worlds are about to be turned upside down and Jesus wants them to be as prepared as possible.
But in the prayer in the garden, we catch a glimpse of Jesus preparing himself. He brings three disciples close to where he prays, and then moves deeper into the garden to be alone with his Father. Jesus prays a shocking prayer: he refers to God in the most intimate terms possible at the moment of his greatest crisis by calling him “Abba Father”; he reveals the struggle in his own heart and mind with utter candor by telling God he would like this cup to be removed from him; and, ultimately, he submits to the will of God in a trying and torturous moment.
On the other hand, the disciples were sleeping. Jesus asked them to stay awake, but the Passover meal and four glasses of wine were taking their toll. Jesus set them near him telling them to remain awake and pray with him, and I have no doubt they had every intention of doing so. But instead of vigilant prayer in the middle of the night, they fall asleep. Honestly, I probably would have done the same thing.
Part of what Jesus tells them when he comes to wake them up is a powerful glimpse into the lesson of the prayer in the Garden. When he finds them asleep he says, “Simon, are you asleep? Could you not watch one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing but the flesh is weak” (vs. 37-38).
How have you heard that phrase used: “the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak”? How have you used it? It is not uncommon to use this phrase to excuse our behavior. We might have failed at actually doing something of value or help, but at least our hearts were in the right place. After all, our spirits were willing but you can hardly blame me for my flesh being weak.
When we place this phrase back into context, however, it ceases to be an excuse or an explanation, and becomes a correction. Jesus fully expected their flesh to be strong enough to keep up with the intentions or desires of the spirit within them. Our desires, even the best of them, don’t do us much good if they are never acted upon. If I desire with every ounce of my being to be kind, loving, patient and thoughtful toward my spouse but every word or action of mine is short-tempered, cruel and selfish, what good have my desires done anyone? I may intend to follow Christ with my whole life: to stay attentive and steadfast, to tithe and give of myself. But if I do none of those things, what good have my desires done for myself and the kingdom of God?
Don’t misunderstand: our desires need to be in line with God’s desires. That way, when we act on our desires, we act out the will of God.
It is entirely possible to follow the example of Christ in this passage. We can have a flesh—a lifestyle—that is ready to do what we rightly desire to do. Christ wrestled in the garden. He was shockingly honest about how he felt, but his spirit was willing to do what the Father ultimately wanted done. In the garden he surrendered his will, and on the cross his body naturally and inevitably followed.
I need to learn the lesson of surrendering my will to God’s will now, so that when the time comes for my flesh to follow, it is the most natural thing for me to do.
Jesus’ prayer in the garden of Gethsemane is one of the more interesting passages in Mark’s Gospel for several reasons, not the least of which is that it is a unique insight into his preparation for the cross. For days and even weeks, Jesus taught and led the disciples preparing them for what was coming. Their worlds are about to be turned upside down and Jesus wants them to be as prepared as possible.
But in the prayer in the garden, we catch a glimpse of Jesus preparing himself. He brings three disciples close to where he prays, and then moves deeper into the garden to be alone with his Father. Jesus prays a shocking prayer: he refers to God in the most intimate terms possible at the moment of his greatest crisis by calling him “Abba Father”; he reveals the struggle in his own heart and mind with utter candor by telling God he would like this cup to be removed from him; and, ultimately, he submits to the will of God in a trying and torturous moment.
On the other hand, the disciples were sleeping. Jesus asked them to stay awake, but the Passover meal and four glasses of wine were taking their toll. Jesus set them near him telling them to remain awake and pray with him, and I have no doubt they had every intention of doing so. But instead of vigilant prayer in the middle of the night, they fall asleep. Honestly, I probably would have done the same thing.
Part of what Jesus tells them when he comes to wake them up is a powerful glimpse into the lesson of the prayer in the Garden. When he finds them asleep he says, “Simon, are you asleep? Could you not watch one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing but the flesh is weak” (vs. 37-38).
How have you heard that phrase used: “the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak”? How have you used it? It is not uncommon to use this phrase to excuse our behavior. We might have failed at actually doing something of value or help, but at least our hearts were in the right place. After all, our spirits were willing but you can hardly blame me for my flesh being weak.
When we place this phrase back into context, however, it ceases to be an excuse or an explanation, and becomes a correction. Jesus fully expected their flesh to be strong enough to keep up with the intentions or desires of the spirit within them. Our desires, even the best of them, don’t do us much good if they are never acted upon. If I desire with every ounce of my being to be kind, loving, patient and thoughtful toward my spouse but every word or action of mine is short-tempered, cruel and selfish, what good have my desires done anyone? I may intend to follow Christ with my whole life: to stay attentive and steadfast, to tithe and give of myself. But if I do none of those things, what good have my desires done for myself and the kingdom of God?
Don’t misunderstand: our desires need to be in line with God’s desires. That way, when we act on our desires, we act out the will of God.
It is entirely possible to follow the example of Christ in this passage. We can have a flesh—a lifestyle—that is ready to do what we rightly desire to do. Christ wrestled in the garden. He was shockingly honest about how he felt, but his spirit was willing to do what the Father ultimately wanted done. In the garden he surrendered his will, and on the cross his body naturally and inevitably followed.
I need to learn the lesson of surrendering my will to God’s will now, so that when the time comes for my flesh to follow, it is the most natural thing for me to do.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Take and Eat, Take and Drink
Mark 14:22-31
The Lord’s Supper is a crucial point for Jesus, the disciples, and every follower of Christ. The meal of the Passover was celebrated by God’s people year after year for centuries to commemorate what God did for his people when he delivered them from captivity in Egypt and to look forward to the day when the Messiah would come and complete the job. When God’s people went to the effort to come to Jerusalem and prepare the Passover meal, they identified with their God and not another, and they identified themselves with these people—these people who owed their very existence to the gracious salvation of God.
On this night, however, Jesus breaks with tradition and takes the meal upon himself. Everything the people of God have been waiting for is now fulfilled in him.
Jesus took the bread, spoke the traditional blessing and passed it out. The common practice was for the bread to be passed out in silence as each member at the table allowed the significance of the act to sink in. On this night Jesus broke the silence with, “Take, this is my body.” This bread the disciples and their people took for centuries represents the body of this man, Jesus Christ. In his telling, Luke adds, “which is given for you.” For the disciples, this is a vivid image. Animals were sacrificed over and over by the hundreds of thousands to cover the sins of God’s people. But they cannot complete our forgiveness, so they needed to return the next year and repeat the ritual. Sacrifice, sin, repeat.
Jesus’ body will be given in the same way the lamb’s body was—it will be sacrificed. But unlike the lamb, the Lamb’s sacrifice will cleanse us once and for all of our sins.
Jesus took the cup, spoke the traditional blessing and passed it out. Like the bread, the traditional practice was to pass the cup in silence as each person there prayed for the coming of the Messiah. Jesus, however, again broke the silence with, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many.” In the Old Testament, when a covenant was struck between two people or between God and his people, it was sealed with the shedding of blood. In their minds the life of a thing was in its blood, and to shed it was the most solemn act possible to signify that the covenant was sealed and both parties were bound by its terms.
This new covenant will be sealed with the literal blood of Jesus Christ, and it is sure. This new covenant does what no other covenant or sacrifice could do—it forgives every sin. God told Jeremiah about this sacrifice by saying, “For I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sins no more” (31:34). Isaiah describes the act of the cross this way: “he poured out his soul to death and was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many and makes intercession for the transgressor” (53:12).
Because of the cross, Jesus now stands between God’s justice and my sin. Instead of receiving the just punishment of my sins, I now receive forgiveness and grace because Jesus bore my sin on the cross.
With each element, Jesus not only told us what it meant, he commanded us to take and eat and drink. We take in, we consume, the body and the blood of Jesus each time we take communion. It is a powerful and public act of identification and consecration. When I take communion, I tell the world I belong to this God and not another. I tell the world I belong to these people, the Body of Christ here on earth. I not only identify with the other believers in my church, but every believer across the globe and across time. Many believers take communion openly and proclaim their allegiance with Christ. Many believers huddle in dark corners due to persecution and take the body and blood of Jesus Christ. I belong to them and they belong to me. It is an acted parable; the acting of the story is the telling of the truth of it.
Take and eat and take and drink for, “whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life” (John 6:54).
The Lord’s Supper is a crucial point for Jesus, the disciples, and every follower of Christ. The meal of the Passover was celebrated by God’s people year after year for centuries to commemorate what God did for his people when he delivered them from captivity in Egypt and to look forward to the day when the Messiah would come and complete the job. When God’s people went to the effort to come to Jerusalem and prepare the Passover meal, they identified with their God and not another, and they identified themselves with these people—these people who owed their very existence to the gracious salvation of God.
On this night, however, Jesus breaks with tradition and takes the meal upon himself. Everything the people of God have been waiting for is now fulfilled in him.
Jesus took the bread, spoke the traditional blessing and passed it out. The common practice was for the bread to be passed out in silence as each member at the table allowed the significance of the act to sink in. On this night Jesus broke the silence with, “Take, this is my body.” This bread the disciples and their people took for centuries represents the body of this man, Jesus Christ. In his telling, Luke adds, “which is given for you.” For the disciples, this is a vivid image. Animals were sacrificed over and over by the hundreds of thousands to cover the sins of God’s people. But they cannot complete our forgiveness, so they needed to return the next year and repeat the ritual. Sacrifice, sin, repeat.
Jesus’ body will be given in the same way the lamb’s body was—it will be sacrificed. But unlike the lamb, the Lamb’s sacrifice will cleanse us once and for all of our sins.
Jesus took the cup, spoke the traditional blessing and passed it out. Like the bread, the traditional practice was to pass the cup in silence as each person there prayed for the coming of the Messiah. Jesus, however, again broke the silence with, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many.” In the Old Testament, when a covenant was struck between two people or between God and his people, it was sealed with the shedding of blood. In their minds the life of a thing was in its blood, and to shed it was the most solemn act possible to signify that the covenant was sealed and both parties were bound by its terms.
This new covenant will be sealed with the literal blood of Jesus Christ, and it is sure. This new covenant does what no other covenant or sacrifice could do—it forgives every sin. God told Jeremiah about this sacrifice by saying, “For I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sins no more” (31:34). Isaiah describes the act of the cross this way: “he poured out his soul to death and was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many and makes intercession for the transgressor” (53:12).
Because of the cross, Jesus now stands between God’s justice and my sin. Instead of receiving the just punishment of my sins, I now receive forgiveness and grace because Jesus bore my sin on the cross.
With each element, Jesus not only told us what it meant, he commanded us to take and eat and drink. We take in, we consume, the body and the blood of Jesus each time we take communion. It is a powerful and public act of identification and consecration. When I take communion, I tell the world I belong to this God and not another. I tell the world I belong to these people, the Body of Christ here on earth. I not only identify with the other believers in my church, but every believer across the globe and across time. Many believers take communion openly and proclaim their allegiance with Christ. Many believers huddle in dark corners due to persecution and take the body and blood of Jesus Christ. I belong to them and they belong to me. It is an acted parable; the acting of the story is the telling of the truth of it.
Take and eat and take and drink for, “whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life” (John 6:54).
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